Beh-Be Prepared

My big sister, who has a baby and a 4-year-old, took me to the baby store yesterday and helped me buy everything we need for the first two weeks of our baby’s life. This was a LOT of stuff. I feel completely relieved to have all the little diapers, washcloths, onsies, ointments, soaps, blankies, pads, tubs, bins, and pails that a newborn needs right away. We still have 6 weeks until she comes, but I just felt so out of control. I’m a person who likes to be in control, and here I am “planning” for a factor that is completely unpredictable. I don’t know when she’ll be born, I don’t know whether she’s going to be an easy or difficult baby, I don’t know when I’ll be able to work again, and I don’t know how the rhythm of my home-life is going to change. This is a control freak’s worst nightmare! At least now I know that I don’t have to stop by Target on the way home from the hospital. Now THAT sounded like a nightmare.

[Image from: http:// www.zaskmedical.com]

Unsure Ants

Huge victory for me, Scott, and Tillie—we have health insurance! Sadly, there is a brief gap in the coverage. For six days, starting today, we have no insurance. So, until next Wednesday, please do not ask us to participate in any dangerous or labor-inducing activities. We just can’t afford it!

[Image from: http://frostfirepulse.com/blog/cmarcelo]

I Live in the Future

A tech support guy in India took over my computer today to help me solve a problem I was having with MS Word. It’s pretty cool to be on the phone with someone while they are moving your cursor and talking to you about what is on your screen. I never tire of watching the body-snatching of my PC by remote IT personnel, but it was doubly thrilling for it be by someone on the other side of the world. This and car GPS make me think we are now living in the future.

[Image from: http://www.myplasticheart.com/]

Sewing Cryptology

I finally decided to combine the four sets of sewing notions that I have accumulated in the last 15 years—my own from various projects and the three sets inherited from my mother’s mother, my father’s mother, and my husband’s mother. It is pretty fun to see all the different colors of thread that we have used, the types of buttons we chose, and the different accessories and tools that pile up from all the different eras during which we four have sewed. It also makes me feel a little closer to these ladies, because I have gleaned just a little insight into their crafty pasts.

I came upon this one yellowed envelope with iron-on transfers for personalizing clothing. It had an aged look and an antique font that made me guess it was from one of my grandmothers’ collections. I opened up the letter sheet to see what she must have spelled. Because a “C” was missing, I figured maybe it was used to spell my father’s name, “Cliff.” But this theory didn’t quite work out with the other gaps. (I felt a little bit like Mendeleev piecing together his first periodic table.) After a little puzzling and detective work and I discovered it spelled out “Chuck” my uncle’s name. I don’t know why, but it just melted my heart to think of my grandma carefully cutting out and ironing these letters onto one of little Uncle Chuck’s team uniforms 40 years ago.

Feet Loaf

I’m not sure if it is the abundance of salty beach town food or just that time of my pregnancy, but my feet have finally started swelling. I’m not sure why I am surprised by this turn, as I was warned they would by all books, friends, and pregnancy-related media that I have read. Alas, I have two puffy loaves for feet. They look like little round buns with tiny, pink sausages for toes. None of my shoes fit. The only footwear I can squeeze on are a pair of cheap, red, Target-brand flip-flops. I now have the appearance of someone who has finally given up. My clothes have stains where my belly has caught dropped food, my rotund tummy peaks out ridiculously from under all of my now-too-small pregnancy tops, my pants are all near splitting threshold, and I’m wearing cheap flip-flops. There are six more weeks of this. That means 6 more centimeters of belly growth and 6 more pounds of weight gain. I just don’t understand quite how it will work physically. Ugh.

[Image from: http://www.ezfood.ca/dough.htm]

Beach Barnacle

Today I wanted to dig a giant hole in the beach sand—one that would be the exact right size to fit my belly. I imagined that this would be the only way that I could sleep on my stomach until the baby is born. Damn, I miss that feeling! Unfortunately, the wind picked up, the umbrella broke, and we all got tired of the sun before I could manage this lengthy engineering project. So sad! I really want to pretend for just a little while that I was not pregnant.

[Image from: http://iceblog.puddingbowl.org/archives/2006/01/]

No Squidding

I took a quick trip to Port Aransas this weekend to visit with a friend who is doing research there this summer for her dissertation on squid behavior. It turns out that not a lot of people do squid research—not because squid are boring (quite the opposite is true!), but because they are so darn hard to keep alive in captivity. Karin has spent many times more hours hunting for live specimens than actually getting to perform tests on these slippery little critters. Her tests, by the way, involve scaring the squid, which I find completely hilarious. They are like little nervous old ladies, pacing the tank, inking at the slightest provocation, and blinking their skin-chromatophore patterns pseudo-menacingly whenever someone approaches them. I want to give them tiny umbrellas to shake at the riffraff!

Last night, Karin and I went for a little midnight squid hunt to try and catch more test subjects. She has met many seasoned fishermen in her summer quest, and they have tutored her in the fine arts of trawling, hand netting, cast netting, and probably a dozen other forms of squid-napping. They’ve also pointed out all the best places for catching squid. We went to three of them last night and did some cast netting. At two of the locations, fishing was not allowed, which made the whole thing even more exciting. I just yearned to have the police drive up and arrest a biologist and a very pregnant lady for illegal angling! Alas, my rebel fantasies remain unlived—no one noticed us.

We caught nothing, but we did encounter a curious pod of dolphins. They were quite interested in us and surfaced a few times near where we stood. Dolphins make me nervous. (Why? That’s another blog entry…) Something about it being night-time, the illegality of our actions (oh thrill!), these slick and mysterious visitors, and learning a new skill that involves tethering yourself to a net—the combination made for quite an exhilarating adventure! I guess I’m easy these days.

[Image from: http://laughingsquid.com/laughing-squid-photo-by-brian-mccarty/]

Gendergarten

It’s really hard not to fantasize and/or worry about what my kid is going to be like. We’ve ruled out a few screenable diseases, but she could still be sickly, mentally retarded, deformed, schizophrenic, autistic, stupid, ugly, handicapped, or allergic to sunlight (it’s called polymorphic light eruption), and the list goes on… And then there are all the things that are not related to physical or genetic problems. She might want to get an ugly tattoo on her face, devil horn implants, or those super-stretched ear lobes with a matching lip disk, or she might want to become a scientologist. She might even, horror of horrors, become a republican! I consider myself open-minded, but what will I say when it really comes down to “Why can’t I, Mom?”

What other kind of new ideas she will bring to us? In what unfathomable new ways will I be challenged by her generation’s new trends or anti-establishment values? Thinking that she might be gay or punk-rock doesn’t concern me because she has so many wonderful role-models among my friends. However, the other day I was trying to sort out how to spell her name (Matilda or Mathilde), and a friend of mine said, “Well, you never know. She could end up transgendered and want you to call her Tom.” Um…is that Thom with an “H”?

That was when I realized that it’s just not worth thinking about her future just yet. Here I am considering myself as so ahead of the curve, all ready to accept and love my gay, overly-pierced child, and then I have to sit up all night collecting my thoughts on whether I would blink if she told me she wanted a penis for her 16th birthday. I’ll have to discuss it with Scott, but I think she might have to wait until she is 18.

[Image from: http://www.dikenga.com/films/firecracker/]