Check This Out...

Warning: The following post contains a great deal of hyperbole.

Commercial #1
Like my new blog design? Yeah, me too. I.love.it.

Seriously, the design itself could not be cooler, and the process could not have been easier. I worked with this fabulous woman from this fabulous company and got a cool new blog in about 7 weeks for a ridiculously low price.

And coolest of the cool, I will now be changing my blog title and tagline periodically. Folks gave me such great ideas, and I think it would be completely fun to change it up at will. So while it’s still called Zany Mothering today, the next time you come it will probably be called something else. I'm feeling so inspired by the new design that I may actually update my profile.

So if you are hankerin’ to change up your blog, you should give the ladies at ruby and roja a holler. (…and there I just proved that I am indeed from Southern Ohio…)

Commercial #2
Occasionally I know people. Not big people, like say Michael Keaton – he of the Batman/Mr. Mom fame. But smaller fry. Folks who work hard and are great at what they do.

For example, I happen to know one fabulously talented photographer, and said photographer gifted us with a free infant photo session when Eily was born.

He said he needed practice photographing infants. He said we’d be doing him a favor. What he didn’t say was that I’d cry when I saw the photos.

So if you are in the Columbus area and you want amazing photographs of your children (or yourself), you should totally do a photo session at Franz Photography. Again with the incredibly easy to work with and ridiculously low prices.

How lucky am I these days?

Cool New Stuff

Lots of cool new things happening here at Chez RH, and since I usually bellyache and share all my various and assorted worries here (see any posts labeled Keith Richards, asthma, food allergies, or other stuff that worries me), I thought I’d take a minute to tell you about some good stuff.

Zane Good Stuff
My kid read his first word on Saturday. Honest to goodness, read it. Didn’t memorize it as the next word in the story. Didn’t guess it from contextual clues. He read it. As you can imagine, I was seriously proud.

Proud enough that we carted the baby to the library yesterday to pick out some “readers” so that he can practice the glorious act of reading. Because while I wasn’t going to push him into reading, now that’s he’s expressed interest, I can’t stop fantasizing about all the nerdy-fun we’re going to have reading together everyday for the rest of his childhood. (That’s how it works right?!)

The word was “off” by the way, so because I can’t contain my pride, here it is…Hot off the press! My kid can read one word in the preceding sentence!

More Zane Good Stuff
Zane is losing his first tooth. This morning he yelled up the stairs that he had “hurt” his tooth, and all I could think was G!@% D$#%@ Cap’N Crunch. Not only are you a sugary devil, now you go physically assaulting my boy’s choppers.

In actuality, the Vile Cap’N merely further loosened a tooth already destined to leave his mouth in the near future. So this is totally cool because Zane feels like such a big boy, but also kind of breaks a mama’s heart. You know, since Zane is getting to be such a big boy.

Eily Good Stuff
It’s official. We have a girl who smiles. Yep, she did it on her 4 week anniversary of life - looked at me big as anything with a wide-mouthed grin and sparkling eyes. For a bit, I thought it might be gas, but she has repeated it often enough that I’m quite sure that it’s a real-deal smile.

My Good Stuff
Getting a new blog design, friends. Yep, I’m revamping the whole thing. I may even change the title. It smacks of favoritism to have the title of your blog reflect only one of your children, doesn’t it?

As I read the sidebar last month, it barely seemed to be talking about my life anymore. For starters, Zane will be 5 next week – yikes! – and his food allergies and asthma don’t take up nearly the space in our lives as they once did. We rarely dash off to the ER or doctor these days. I’m creating a fulfilling work/life, and I get through most days pretty well. (I am, however, still married to the cynical, sarcastic man who makes me laugh every day, and Zane is still wildly adorable so not everything is different, I suppose.)

So…it’s time for a change, but I can’t figure out a new name for the blog which embraces all this good new stuff – Zane’s improved health, new baby, new work, etc.

Any ideas? ZanEily Mothering? Ryan-Hart the Lion Heart? The Rare Blogger?

What do you think?

Edited to add: BTW, my first name is totally fair game in the whole blog re-naming. Bring on the days of the week madness!

No More Words*

Although I have every intention of posting more during my “maternity leave” (what that even means when you work for yourself, I’m not sure), there are a few reasons that I’m not sure that’s realistic. The major reason being my rapidly dwindling vocabulary coupled with the increasing lack of the necessary faculties to string said words together.

For example, in my seriously sleep-deprived state I had the following conversation with SRH yesterday:

Me: I took Eily to the grocery store and got stuff for dinner tonight.

(This said proudly as I’ve been unable to take a dinner from conceptualization through implementation for, say, about three weeks.)

SRH: Great! What are we having?

Me: (long pause as I struggle to remember the name of the dish) Umm…chicken…in a pot…with ‘tatoes.

That’s right. That was my articulation of dinner. Chicken…in a pot…with ‘tatoes. I couldn’t even get out potatoes or even taters, for goodness sakes.

Sleep feels like a long-lost friend. Vocabulary is rapidly failing. Sanity cannot be far behind.

The cause of all this in-articulation, 3 weeks

*You tell me that you love me while you’re looking away. No more words. No more words, and no more promises of love.

(In this semi-lucid state my crazy love for bad song lyrics is more and more pushed to the fore. At some point, I will do a whole post of lyrics…just strung together…and then you will know my pain.)

So…Ummmm…Yeah…We Had a Baby

I know it’s been an inexcusably long silence from me here. (I mean, when I left you I was about to be induced with a baby who was threatening to be small for gestational age…geez, how did that go?!?!).

And I totally left you hanging there, but in my defense, I figured that every person who reads this blog could find out another way that the wonderful baby had been born, so I went totally off-line for a bit and let SRH handle the announcin’ and such.

But, since you asked…

Eily (rhymes with “Riley”) was born June 4, 2008 at 7:56am. She weighed a respectable 5lbs. 12 oz and was 19.5 inches long.

Take that Small for Gestational Age Police – boo ya! She may have been born officially qualifying as “small for gestational age” by being between the 5^th and 10^th percentiles, but by 5 days old, she was in the 15^th percentile. And every doctor agreed that she’s just a small baby. No issues. Perfectly healthy. Just small.

So, as you can imagine we are very sleep deprived and deliriously happy. That being said, the sleep deprivation is currently edging out the ability to blog this evening, so I asked SRH to give me 10-12 words so that I could do a “word association” post since I’m not all that able to string thoughts together right now. (SRH word in black…my response in purple. And yes, I know that I’m supposed to do the first word that comes to mind, but I find that sleep debt has taken actual words right out of my head and replaced them with roundabout phrases.)

Movie…I’ll never see one of those again.

Baby…Parasite. Ummm, I mean very sweet-smelling, make my heart sing, parasite.

Salt…Pepa. (Yo, yo, yo, yo baby pop. Yeah you! Come and give me a kiss. Better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed.)

Rehab…No, no, no.

Laughter…funny stuff.

Nursing…sore, cracked, bleeding nips. That being said, it’s much easier this time around.

Food…yes, please.

Abs…I’m so never having those again.

Groceries…could totally use some of those. How can two adults not make it to the grocery store for over 3 days after stating their intention to go there?

Sandal…I’m always up for a smart pair of black sandals.

Fan…Fantastic, fanfare, fanfic, fantasia, fan-demonium. Okay, I’m stopping now.

Sleep…Ha! I laugh at the thought of sleep. I also cry a little bit, too.

Talk at you soon – I think. I can’t really tell what’s next for our family since I’ve never had two children before. Crap, I’m a mother of two.

She’s our wee, small peanut…but at least she’s still in my tummy

Just to give a quick update: saw the perinatologist today, and I’m still pregnant so that is fabulous news indeed.

Obviously, there was no induction today. My amniotic fluid levels are okay. We saw a beautifully beating heart, “breathing” movements, two kidneys, and a wonderful little profile.

Less than fabulous is the fact that the baby appears to be on the small side - small enough to cause the doctor concern. Not small enough to order an immediate induction today, but enough to order non-stress tests/fluid checks and make the recommendation for induction next week.

Many, many, many details could be given here…call/email me if you’d like them…but basically they don’t know why she’s so small, and it’s not an emergency, but they’d like to get her out once she hits 38 weeks.

(I’ll be officially 38 weeks according to my doctor next Wednesday, so she has scheduled my induction for next Tuesday at 9pm. She’s apparently taking this “induce at 38 weeks” recommendation from the perinatologist quite seriously. Which I kind of appreciate and also kind of freaks me out.)

I’m a bit overwhelmed, but all the testing today said she’s healthy and doing exactly what she should be doing in there so I’m generally feeling positive and confident.

And the docs seem to agree that it would be best if I just go into labor naturally beforehand so I’ll still be using all your tips – and anymore you want to provide – to avoid induction next week.

Wish us luck!

37 Weeks!!!!!!!

(Writers’ Disclaimer: I am today, 37 weeks pregnant according to my doctor. I happen to know, due to being ridiculously obsessed with exact date of conception – a common affliction for couples experiencing infertility - that I will not really be 37 weeks pregnant until Friday. And also, this whole pregnancy counting thing has me completely confused. I thought last week that the doctor said that if I made it through Wednesday, I’d be at 37 weeks. But this week she said if I made it to Wednesday that would be good. Ack! Note to doctor: the use use of the correct and exact preposition is very important to women on bed rest.)

Anyhoo…the doctor said yesterday that I am now free to resume normal activities. In fact, she said that I can run a marathon if I’d like. Because now THE BABY IS OFFICIALLY FULL-TERM! Oh sure, I’m still 3 weeks away from my due date, but it’s been clear for several weeks now that I’m not going to make that date, and now the baby is medically considered full-term.

Can I get an “amen”?

That’s right, friends. I am now full-term, and the baby can come out at any time. Don’t think I am not grinning from ear to ear. Don’t think that SRH and I didn’t do a high-five at midnight last night. Don’t think I didn’t have a celebratory margarita this morning. (Okay, I didn’t, but I certainly wanted to.)

And now, irony of ironies, I have to see the perinatal specialists this week and there is a possibility that I will have to be induced on Friday. Why in the world would that occur, you ask? Weren’t you just the lady who was trying to lay down the majority of the day so that the baby wouldn’t come out?

Indeed. That was me. But now, it seems that the baby may be a bit small and/or my amniotic fluid may be low. So I have to have an extra special ultrasound to get the baby’s size and measure the amniotic fluid. There are a lot more details, but the gist is that I was induced with Zane because of low amniotic fluid, and I am fairly determined not to have that happen again.

So today…I was up and around almost every second. I took Zane shopping for new shoes. We had a play date. I carried a 2 year old down a flight of stairs. I sat on an exercise ball and visualized my cervix opening like a flower, and SRH and I took a long walk after dinner. SRH and I were going to do The Old Bone Dance, but he narrowly escaped that task because I just read an article that said that it’s really not an effective way to bring on labor, and my pelvis hurts enough.

So, bloggy friends, any wisdom to share? Any tips for going into labor before Friday at 9am?

Anatomically Incorrect

Perhaps the child has a point?

Tonight Zane was in champion “stalling for bedtime” form. He yelled messages down the stairs to us, read a book on the potty for a good 10 minutes, complained about imaginary injuries, and asked for extra good night kisses.

At one point, this is the conversation we had – yelled down the stairs because we wouldn’t let him come down to tell us.

Zane: What are you guys watching?

Me/SRH: Just a show on TV, buddy…

Zane: Are you guys watching one of my shows?

Me/SRH: No.

Zane: Are you watching Noggin?

Me/SRH: NO!

Zane: Well, what are you watching?

SRH: Just a show about volcanoes, Zaney. (This was brilliant because Zane is slightly fearful of volcanoes but they don’t throw him into paroxysms of terror like, say, sirens).

Zane: Volcanoes?

Me/SRH: Yep. You wouldn’t like it.

Zane: Do you know what else volcanoes can be called?

Me/SRH: What, buddy?

Zane: Vulvas.

Me/SRH: What?!

Zane: Volcanoes can also be called vulvas.

Me: (laughing hysterically)

SRH: No, no they can’t buddy. Volcanoes are not called vulvas.

Me: (to Scott) Well, they are now.

Zane: Yes, they are. They explode just like vulvas.

Okay, so back to the drawing board on the whole “using the correct terms” for body parts. Apparently, we’ve not been clear enough if our child believes that volcanoes and vulvas are interchangeable.

Whoa there, Nelly!

Dearest Fred,*

There is so much to say to you, sweet baby girl. So much to describe: the awe and fierce happiness I feel about your growing inside me, my heart’s gratitude that we get to have you in our lives, the anticipation of meeting you. But if I get to only tell you one thing, the message is…

DON’T COME OUT NOW!

No really, don’t. We’re not ready. You’re not ready. Nobody is ready.

Scoot back up in there and take a breather. There’s no reason to be hanging down below my ischial spines– you get another 6 weeks in Spa de la Mama, enjoy them. There is no rush.

Not that we don’t want you here. No, siree. Your papa and I are certainly looking forward to your arrival. We’re simply also looking forward to completing the remodel, finishing up some work projects, and getting your nursery together before you join us.

But mainly, we want you to stay in there because we want you to be completely healthy when you come out.

You can imagine my surprise last week at the doctor’s visit when she said that you were about to make a run for the border and deliver at any second. (Or perhaps you cannot imagine my surprise because you are a mere 34 weeks gestational age and so have no experience with obstetrical visits and shocking news yet. And actually, she didn’t say you were coming at any second. She just kept repeating how “low” you were. I have taken a bit of neurotic license with this one).

Anyway, I knew you had dropped, and so I mentioned to the doctor that I thought this tended to happen later in a pregnancy. The doctor wasn’t overly concerned, but decided to do an internal exam after I told her that I’d been having some pelvic pressure since then.

And then the following conversation occurred with my feet in the stirrups:

Doc: Oh…you are very low.

Me: Yeah, I know. I was amazed that I’d dropped.

Doc: Yes, very, very low.

Me: Uh- huh.

Doc: You’re at a +1 station right now.

Me: Hmmm… (that was me faking that I knew what that meant)

Doc: No, I don’t think you understand. If you were in labor right now, you would be pushing.

Me: Oh.

Doc: (shaking her head) That’s very impressive.

There followed a discussion where we determined that I needed to get monitored to see if I was having contractions (I was) and possibly go to the hospital. Apparently since the contractions were very mild, I was allowed to go home to rest. And rest, and rest some more.

So that’s what I’ve been doing…resting. I don’t do that very well, really. But I’m determined to keep you in – because I totally have complete control here - so I’ve been pushing myself like crazy…to rest.

This means, however, that I am left with a lot of time resting and thinking about what needs to be done. So there has been some preparation for your arrival:

- We bought you some preemie clothes, just in case. Completely surreal, that. They’re all “3-5 lbs” size. Yikes! But we gave them to Mimma and told her not to wash them until we actually get a hospital admission. Hey, it’s good to have them, but if you do end up being full-term, we’re taking those sweet little clothes back, mama.

- SRH through action/thought/deed/and strong non-verbals pressured the contractor into speeding things up in the remodel a bit. By this, I mean that he started working beside the contractor and would cast dirty looks his direction all the while muttering, “The baby is coming, the baby is coming” over and over. He’s subtle, your papa.

- I hired the painter to come next week to paint the kitchen, office, bathroom, and your nursery.

- Mimma came over and cleaned the entire downstairs, and Papa and I are pulling the upstairs together. Just so you know, we are filthy, filthy people. Perhaps this will change when you get here, but I wouldn’t count on it.

- We’ve completed the pre-registration forms for the hospital.

- I’ve scheduled the hospital tour and childbirth refresher class. Those both happen by next Sunday, so hopefully that’s soon enough.

- I’ve sorted and washed the 0-3 months clothes that we’ll reuse from Zane, and washed the new stuff that we have for you.

I think that’s about it, chica. The nurse said that we shouldn’t plan to make it to our due date, but there are always surprises, and I’ll know more when I see the doctor on Friday. Or when I go into labor, I suppose.

So, try to hang tight in there, child. There’s a whole big world to see out here, but you have plenty of time.

Much love,

Mama

*And of course, your name is not Fred, but we don’t know exactly what your name is yet. We’re trying to wait to meet you before making any rash decisions…and Zane has decided that if you can’t be named Cabbage or Truck, then he shall call you Fred. So it’s what we have to work with right now.

I'm Trying to Think Here!

I may have mentioned this before, but SRH has – on occasion – made the following comment to me, It must be hell to be in your head.

And though this might sound a bit harsh, he’s actually just commenting that I have so much going on in my head at any given moment, he’s not sure how I function through all the chatter. And truthfully, neither am I.

And it’s been a particularly high-chatter time in the old noggin recently. I attribute this to the pregnancy and the whole working-for-myself transition, but the origin of it really doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I thought I’d try to blog about it so that other people can share my hell. Lucky blog reader.

At any given morning these days, here’s the conversation in my head:

Me: Okay, so what needs to get done today?

Baby in the Belly: Uh…I don’t know what your plans are, but you better start off whatever you’re doing with some protein. I’m trying to grow some gray matter here.

Keith Richards (my errant, but benign, liver tumor): Not so fast there, you saucy wench. I’m still in effect down here on your right side. I haven’t been getting much air time now that the princess is on the way, but I’m still here and you don’t want me to… (unidentifiable garbling)

Me: Are you threatening me, Keith? Because I’m pretty good to you. I haven’t eaten 14 sausages in a row for years and I have drastically reduced my consumption of red meat - all to give you more room.

Baby in Belly: Can I have some shrimp?

Keith: She doesn’t even like seafood, bambino. Now eat some melba toast and shut it.

Exhaustion (a ubiquitous new player on to the scene): Well, if we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to have to insist we go back to bed.

Me: What? No! We’ve only been up 15 minutes! Okay, let me think. What is protein-rich, low fat, won’t expand my stomach too much – see, I’m taking care of you Keith – and can be fixed in the next two minutes?

Baby in Belly: What about taking care of me? I’m your long-awaited, much anticipated second child. You went through Clomid to get me lady. Don’t mess it up now. FEED ME.

Keith: Baby, you weigh, what, a pound and a half? You’ve only been bigger than me for the past month. I was here before you and I’ll be around after because – unlike the party planned for you on or near June 18 - there aren’t any plans to evacuate me from her body.

Me: Shhhhhhh…both of you…I’m trying to think.

Looming Project A: I don’t have much to say about breakfast, but I should remind you that you have some outstanding emails to attend to. And I don’t have to tell you that this is a big project, and you’re new to the team. And you did quit your job to do exactly this.

Baby: HUNGRY!!!!

Looming Project A: And you really should take on some of that “to do” list you wrote out last Friday. It was over page long – all stuff that you’re paid to do.

Keith: Speaking of pay, I did mention that that’s what I’ll make you do should you decide to break your fast on oatmeal or somesuch, didn’t I?

Me: Oatmeal? Keith, oatmeal is low fat and fiber rich. It’s good for me – and you and the baby. We all win.

Keith: Yes, but it takes up an uncomfortable amount of room in your stomach while it’s digesting. All in all, I’m not a big fan of the oatmeal these days.

Baby: And oatmeal doesn’t have much protein. I’m totally down with protein – and I mean the animal- meat kind of protein - these days. I think it has something to do with the very important neural connections that I’m trying to develop this.very.second.

Me: Heading to the kitchen as we speak guys, hang in there.

Exhaustion: Ohhhh…I’m sorry. Not quick enough, Zany Mama. I’m going to have to dock you two hours this morning. Come on, let’s go lay down.

Me: Okay…okay. Let me just get some breakfast, get Zane to preschool, do a bit of work, talk to the contractor, and then….Crud. Then I’ll have to eat again. But I promise to meet you after lunch.

Exhaustion: Don’t worry. I’ll be here.

Keith: As will I!

Baby: Me, too!

Looming Project A: I’ll just sit quietly over here, but you know you’ll have terrible guilt and recrimination later if you avoid me.

Me: I hear all of you. Now leave me alone. I’m going to go eat a smoothie followed by a lean but nourishing slab of ham. There. Everybody happy?

Interesting. Several sources of this conversation reside in one small space - 24 weeks

Please note, the above exchange does not represent the views and voices of:

• Possible Exciting Project X
• Sciatica
• Old Job
• Upcoming Work Trip
• Kitchen/Bathroom/Office Remodel
• CRankiness Associated with Pregnancy (CRAP)

I will, no doubt, share some of their input at a later date.

To Infinitive and Beyond!

There are many quirks that come with Zane’s sensory processing disorder that are quite charming. For example, he gives me directions to wherever we’re going (he always has a preference), I never have to wonder what to get him for a gift (trains), and he has an urgent need to have a blanket covering his pillow at night so he doesn’t “stick”.

You see the charm here, right? These idiosyncrasies are easy to accommodate, and they make him feel secure – we all win. So while I’ve appreciated all the help he’s gotten from occupational therapy, I’ve also secretly hoped that he doesn’t lose these loveable little foibles that make him uniquely him.

But as his auditory processing improves with occupational therapy, he’s talking more and more – which is actually giving us a whole new set of things to feel delighted by. Recently, it’s like we’ve had a little person who doesn’t speak English as his first language living with us. More to the point, the child is in love with infinitives.

My favorite so far:

Mama, I like this music. It makes me feel like to dance.

So dance, my sweet boy, dance. Whenever you feel like to dance, you go right ahead.

In Which I Attempt to Document this Gestation

The other day SRH and I were at a bookstore – because we have the hottest date nights in town – and I happened to pick up a pregnancy journal.

You know, a pregnancy journal. One of those books you write in daily/weekly/monthly to memorialize all those special moments of your coming child’s gestation. If you have only one child – or are pregnant with your first – you totally know to what I’m referring. You may even have smiled when I brought it up.

If you have more than one child – or are on your second + pregnancy – I’ll give you a minute to remember. Ah yes, there it is - the pregnancy journal.

So, for about 2 seconds in the book store I contemplated getting the journal. This would be a nice way to commemorate this pregnancy, I thought. You did one for Zane, I continued. This baby deserves to be documented in the same way.

And then I realized that I’d have to actually start in the middle of the journal as I am now 22 weeks pregnant – over half way there - and I haven’t written a thing down. And that seemed a bit half-assed, even for me.

So I thought, Heeeeeeeey…you have a blog. Why not write in that and call it square?

So here it is. The first entry of perhaps the worst pregnancy journal ever. But I care about this baby that’s coming, dammit. And I’m going to write 3-4 entries before June to prove it.

Entry #1 –What’s Different With This Pregnancy?

When people tell me I’m cute/little/barely showing, I simply say “thank you”. Last time I was pregnant, I vehemently tried to disabuse everyone of this notion. I was, dare I say, a wee bit offended by their inability to see that I was a great big sow of a woman who was carrying a ginormous child.

This time, I don’t even mention that I have gained 20+ pounds and that I’m measuring large. Nope, no siree. I simply thank them and pretend that I am cute/little/ barely showing – even though I feel like my major task of every morning is stuffing five basketballs into maternity clothes. (Two up top, one in front, and two bouncing along behind me).

I’m not reading any pregnancy books. Last time I had a whole slew of them – with this one being my favorite. I obsessed over what was happening for the baby during a particular week. I looked forward to the week changing over so I could read about what was going to happen in the upcoming week. I knew what symptoms I should be having, what foods I shouldn’t eat, and when I would get certain tests.

Yesterday, I went to the library and visited to the pregnancy/childbirth section – mostly because I felt like I should. And I could not for the life of me muster up the interest to even check one single book out. I was all, Meh…I probably won’t read this anyway. Baby Girl and I seem to be getting along just fine. Why would I want to read about it?

So, instead I walked out with some porn. Um, excuse me, erotica. Because second trimester sex is a really wonderful gift, friends. Thank goodness that hasn’t changed.

Now…I have a hard time remembering where exactly I am in the pregnancy. Is this week 22 or 23? Is my due date June 18 or 21^st? When does this second trimester end? Crap. I’m totally unprepared here.

Fear of miscarriage. Having lost a pregnancy last summer and being plagued by bleeding and cramping during the first trimester of this pregnancy, I have been aware of the fragile-ness of gestation in a way that I never was with Zane. But that’s a downer, and I’ll post more about it another time. (That time being when I’m totally into killing your buzz.)

On the other hand…now that I finally believe that we’re going to have a baby at the end of all this…

I am looking forward to meeting this little one in a way that I never did with Zane. It’s true. I wondered what Zane would be like. I fantasized about having a child, but my anticipation was always clouded with the anxiety about how I would be as a mother. Can I do this? I wondered.

This time, though, I know I can do this. SRH and I are actually quite decent parents, and while I can’t imagine what adding another child into our household mix will do exactly, I feel quite certain that we will manage it.

Now, it’s just all about meeting her. Seeing her for the first time, touching her little baby skin, smelling her soft breath, and getting to love who she will be.

Pretty awesome stuff, that.

Slightly less awesome will be the sleepless nights, the dirty diapers, and the sore, cracked bleeding nipples. But I’m up for it, and it’s definitely worth at least trying to keep a journal for.

Drumroll Please

Let's go through the signs and symptoms, shall we?

I'm craving sweets...

Baby's heartrate was above 140...

I have some pregnancy-related acne...

I didn't have any morning sickness...

I'm not excessively hairy with this pregnancy...

I am "carrying high" - look like I swallowed a basketball...

SRH has gained weight right along with me...

I took 8 cranberry supplements and chugged Lydia Pinkham's tonic the week before I ovulated...

The needle/wedding ring swung in large circles over my tummy...

And, of course, the drano didn't bubble when I mixed it with my urine...

...It must be a girl!
(and here I thought I needed an ultrasound to confirm the news)

Place Your Bets*

Tomorrow is the day of days...the "tour of the baby" ultrasound.

So what do we think, friends? Boy or girl?

*And I expect every person who still reads this blog (yes, both of you) to share your guesses.

We Interrupt this Bloggy Vacation…

...to say that today I quit my job. And not like quitting my job last June – that time when I walked into my boss’ office and she said, “Oh my god. Are you quitting? Don’t quit. Just don’t quit. Okay. We can work something out, just don’t quit without trying to work something out.” And I was all, “Okay.”

Nope. Not like that at all.

Today, after months of being overwhelmed and exhausted and feeling pulled between my day job and this consulting stuff that seems to be going somewhere, I decided to quit.

Well actually, it wasn’t today that I decided to quit. I’ve been percolating on it for a while and told myself about 6 weeks ago that if I got one more consulting gig, I was going to quit my job.

Then about 4 days later, I got another gig.

And then 3 days after that, I got another one.

But was I convinced? Oh no. For you see, I am from the School of the Formerly Poor, where each lesson ends with the phrase - Do not ever leave a regular paying job.

So I hemmed and I hawed (is this how you spell that?)…and I dithered and I dathered (which I’m quite sure is not how you spell that)…and I talked it over ad nauseum with SRH.

And after much dismay and deliberation, I decided to go for it.

Today.

Today I quit my job.

And if it was the worst decision of my life and puts my family in the poorhouse and my children’s lives in jeopardy, I can always get another job, right?

The Confidant

As a person who is intrinsically nosy (i.e. why I became a therapist), I have always consoled myself with the fact that while I am overly inquisitive about what’s going on in other people’s lives, I am also intensely interested in figuring out my own dynamics as well. So when my friend Karen, put this personality test link up on her blog, I couldn’t resist. I had to know more about myself.

Here I am:

Turns out, I’m an INFJ – an apparently rare personality type. I knew it! I knew it! Not only am I one of only four people in the United States who hates cheese, but I am also a characterological anomaly. I’m like the unicorn in the make believe land of personality - except I exist.

And I am, apparently, a little strange.

No matter. I was intrigued by some of the insights about my personality that seemed right on target. For example:

Because the INFJ has such strong intuitive capabilities, they trust their own instincts above all else. This may result in an INFJ stubborness and tendency to ignore other people's opinions. They believe that they're right.

Yeah, you got a problem with that?

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people…On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts…

It’s like looking in a mirror, people, reading this stuff.

INFJs are highly intuitive, empathetic and dedicated listeners. These traits tend to act as a "tell me what's wrong" sign on their forehead…

This trait makes people at the grocery store tell me all about their troubled marriages, their son’s criminal behavior, their daughter’s recent abortion, and their aunt’s third nipple.

(As an aside, I have started wearing my iPod whenever I go out alone so that folks don’t think they should talk to me.)

But here’s the quote that stopped me in my tracks:

At intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood…

I sent this quote to BFF Zingerzapper, and she cracked up. To her, this is such a part of my character that it doesn’t even bear discussion.

And so…and here you other intuitive types might guess where this is going…I’m taking a bit of a bloggy break.

Not a long one. Just for a few weeks. I’m feeling a need to “withdraw into myself” and replenish.

As proof of my good faith, I leave you with a few blog post ideas that have been rattling around in my head:

• Good Lessons from a Bad Boyfriend
• Yoga Toes
• Occupational Therapy is Magic
• On Guilt
• I Quit this Job…So Why Am I Still Working Here?
• Round Two with the Critical Inner Voice

See, I’ll have to write these up. So don’t fret, ma petite pumpkins, I’ll be back…in a while…it’s just part of my personality.