I am leaving for Ottawa after lunch. It will be sooo sweet.
I am very much looking forward to sitting by the pool at my parents' place and reading. And sleeping. And hopefully playing chess with V. And maybe even writing. Knitting for sure.
As usual, I packed last minute, because I hate packing with a fookeen passion, and this time I just can't fit everything I need for a week in Ottawa and a weekend in Charlevoix in a backpack. I tried. For real. So, I've got a suitcase. I hate suitcases. They're heavy and awkward to lug around.
I am happy, though, because I am travelling by train. I LOVE the train. The dudes are really nice if you smile at them (which apparently doesn't happen very often). And I have my iPod all loaded up with good tunes. Yesss. Good times.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
The Little DJ That Could
Unreal.
First the Dr. slid the Doppler on my belly and we could hear Vvooom-Vvooom, real slow. That was my blood flow. A little lower and to the right, however, there was a rave party going on. For the rest of the day, H and I would look at each other once in a while and do our best imitations of Shrimp’s heartbeat. I think I’ve replayed that sound in my mind every hour since yesterday. I am still in awe. The other thing that took my breath away was hearing H’s reaction. I could not see him – all I heard was him sucking in his breath when the beat came on the speaker. I laughed and the Doppler moved. No more baby beat. Then we found it again and the Dr. was nodding in time. It was…wonderful.
Shrimp’s got a little setup in there with little turntables and all. Right now, he’s working on getting the bass down pat. And it sounds very promising.
First the Dr. slid the Doppler on my belly and we could hear Vvooom-Vvooom, real slow. That was my blood flow. A little lower and to the right, however, there was a rave party going on. For the rest of the day, H and I would look at each other once in a while and do our best imitations of Shrimp’s heartbeat. I think I’ve replayed that sound in my mind every hour since yesterday. I am still in awe. The other thing that took my breath away was hearing H’s reaction. I could not see him – all I heard was him sucking in his breath when the beat came on the speaker. I laughed and the Doppler moved. No more baby beat. Then we found it again and the Dr. was nodding in time. It was…wonderful.
Shrimp’s got a little setup in there with little turntables and all. Right now, he’s working on getting the bass down pat. And it sounds very promising.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
PsychoBird and Captain Nemo
Okay, okay - I was wrong last week. I was too excited: I miscounted. Shrimp was eleven weeks old. Now Shrimp is twelve weeks old. (I wanted to write he’s twelve weeks old – how odd is that?) And I’ve got my first appointment with my ob-gyn this afternoon…I’m not sure what he’ll do. Something about checking the height of the top of the uterus, along with the usual prodding around where only H usually does. H is coming with me. Not to supervise the prodding around. But hopefully to hear the heartbeat. I hope we get to hear it this time – I hope ob-gyns do this. I just can’t believe we have to wait to twenty weeks to see our mini-us at our first ultrasound! That’s at five months, yo! Long time to wait. I’m just saying. So, more news later.
I read it’s important to have your questions ready when you have appointments like this. Weird thing is – I don’t have questions. I’m not worried about anything. I am feeling great. I am eating okay, I am sleeping sort of okay (read on for explanation on title of this post), and I just don’t have weird, bothersome things happening to me. Well, besides having painful (impressively big) breasts and having shooting pain for a couple of seconds when I sneeze. And a swelling belly. So long story short, I have no questions for the Dr. this afternoon. I’m going to tell him we’re thinking of having a doula and that we want to hear our baby’s heartbeat. We might stage a sit-in if he tells us he can’t. I’ll rip the stethoscope from his neck, run to the nearest bathroom with H in tow, lock the door behind us and do it myself, dammit. Oh – you need a Doppler. We’ll figure it out. No sweat. My man’s a technofreak.
And now the moment you have all been waiting for: the explanation for the title of this post. Why PsychoBird? Because a PsychoBird lives in my neighborhood. This little fucker is playing with my mind. I’m sure he is all cute and fluffy-brown with his beady black mini-eyes and his cute head cocking thing and the little hopping move I adore, he was maybe even born this spring, but he’s playing with my mind nonetheless. I suspect his favorite spot is right outside my bedroom window.
Other interesting feature of pregnancy: you have to pee a lot. So I almost always (read: six nights out of seven a week) need to get up in the middle of the night. Usually only once, around three or four. If it’s three, I get back to sleep. And if it’s four, that’s when my feathered foe strikes. He waits till I get back in bed and close my eyes, then starts screaming. Technically, it’s not called screaming, but that’s what it sounds like to me at four in the morning. And it’s not melodic little fluffy birdie chirping – it’s wake up cause I’m telling you to screaming.
Since it’s impossibly hot at night, we sleep with the window open. So I hear this bastard going tweet - no wait it’s not tweet it’s eee! - waiting one or two seconds, then eee! again, and keeping this up – I swear you could use this in techno he’s so timed – for fifteen, sometimes twenty minutes at a time. Just long enough to get me annoyed. And fully awake.
Eee! Pause. Eee! Pause. Eee! Pause. Wake up! Pause. Fuckin’ now! Pause. Eee!
Even after shutting the window when I hear the first couple of eees, I can still hear him. I try to fall back asleep, every time. It never works. So after half an hour to 45 minutes of tossing and turning, which half the time wakes H up, I get up and go sit on the couch with my mini-wheats and Boo. And thus my day begins at four, with PsychoBird.
I have (almost serenely) chosen to accept PsychoBird as my new conditioning partner. Surprised? Me too. But PsychoBird is getting me used to waking up at four in the morning, because he/she knows Shrimp will eventually emerge from his Nautilus and demand breastmilk from Captain Nemo, sometimes at four in the morning.
This morning, I didn’t fight it or get pissed off. I just got up and had some cereal and spent quality time with Boo, who was delighted. And then I fell asleep on the couch with a purring heap of happiness next to my belly.
I read it’s important to have your questions ready when you have appointments like this. Weird thing is – I don’t have questions. I’m not worried about anything. I am feeling great. I am eating okay, I am sleeping sort of okay (read on for explanation on title of this post), and I just don’t have weird, bothersome things happening to me. Well, besides having painful (impressively big) breasts and having shooting pain for a couple of seconds when I sneeze. And a swelling belly. So long story short, I have no questions for the Dr. this afternoon. I’m going to tell him we’re thinking of having a doula and that we want to hear our baby’s heartbeat. We might stage a sit-in if he tells us he can’t. I’ll rip the stethoscope from his neck, run to the nearest bathroom with H in tow, lock the door behind us and do it myself, dammit. Oh – you need a Doppler. We’ll figure it out. No sweat. My man’s a technofreak.
And now the moment you have all been waiting for: the explanation for the title of this post. Why PsychoBird? Because a PsychoBird lives in my neighborhood. This little fucker is playing with my mind. I’m sure he is all cute and fluffy-brown with his beady black mini-eyes and his cute head cocking thing and the little hopping move I adore, he was maybe even born this spring, but he’s playing with my mind nonetheless. I suspect his favorite spot is right outside my bedroom window.
Other interesting feature of pregnancy: you have to pee a lot. So I almost always (read: six nights out of seven a week) need to get up in the middle of the night. Usually only once, around three or four. If it’s three, I get back to sleep. And if it’s four, that’s when my feathered foe strikes. He waits till I get back in bed and close my eyes, then starts screaming. Technically, it’s not called screaming, but that’s what it sounds like to me at four in the morning. And it’s not melodic little fluffy birdie chirping – it’s wake up cause I’m telling you to screaming.
Since it’s impossibly hot at night, we sleep with the window open. So I hear this bastard going tweet - no wait it’s not tweet it’s eee! - waiting one or two seconds, then eee! again, and keeping this up – I swear you could use this in techno he’s so timed – for fifteen, sometimes twenty minutes at a time. Just long enough to get me annoyed. And fully awake.
Eee! Pause. Eee! Pause. Eee! Pause. Wake up! Pause. Fuckin’ now! Pause. Eee!
Even after shutting the window when I hear the first couple of eees, I can still hear him. I try to fall back asleep, every time. It never works. So after half an hour to 45 minutes of tossing and turning, which half the time wakes H up, I get up and go sit on the couch with my mini-wheats and Boo. And thus my day begins at four, with PsychoBird.
I have (almost serenely) chosen to accept PsychoBird as my new conditioning partner. Surprised? Me too. But PsychoBird is getting me used to waking up at four in the morning, because he/she knows Shrimp will eventually emerge from his Nautilus and demand breastmilk from Captain Nemo, sometimes at four in the morning.
This morning, I didn’t fight it or get pissed off. I just got up and had some cereal and spent quality time with Boo, who was delighted. And then I fell asleep on the couch with a purring heap of happiness next to my belly.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Thought of the Day
Funerals suck dead rhino balls.
And to make matters worse, some people actually go to funerals to see who will be there and greet you at the door by saying - isn't is great to see you, I was wondering whether you'd show up or not! And then they walk away. Strange.
That makes these people suck dead rhino balls.
In better, happy news, Shrimp is twelve weeks old today!
Holy crap. That means I'm almost at four months! And I feel great.
And to make matters worse, some people actually go to funerals to see who will be there and greet you at the door by saying - isn't is great to see you, I was wondering whether you'd show up or not! And then they walk away. Strange.
That makes these people suck dead rhino balls.
In better, happy news, Shrimp is twelve weeks old today!
Holy crap. That means I'm almost at four months! And I feel great.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Spam Haiku
Seen this morning in my inbox, as three distinct titles of e-mails. Probably meant to offer me to enlarge my penis, start taking Viagra or seeing live action from hot single pussies in my area (what am I waiting for?):
Went gripe her Elijah
You rabbi torpid
Not bewhisker may hundred
...and so I decided that was the Spam Haiku Of The Day. More to come, surely.
I would be interested in knowing everyone's interpretation of this haiku.
Pointers to help you in your reflexion:
Elijah: Hebrew prophet (9th century) who ranks with Moses in saving the religion of Yahweh from being corrupted by the nature worship of Baal.
Torpid: Apathetic, numb.
Bewhisker: To equip with whiskers.
Went gripe her Elijah
You rabbi torpid
Not bewhisker may hundred
...and so I decided that was the Spam Haiku Of The Day. More to come, surely.
I would be interested in knowing everyone's interpretation of this haiku.
Pointers to help you in your reflexion:
Elijah: Hebrew prophet (9th century) who ranks with Moses in saving the religion of Yahweh from being corrupted by the nature worship of Baal.
Torpid: Apathetic, numb.
Bewhisker: To equip with whiskers.
Friday, June 09, 2006
I Will Hurt Technology Very Badly
Dammit. (You know it ain't good when a post starts with Dammit.)
I remember the time when I had to get up to change the channel on my parents television.
I remember having to turn the dial. And it made a loud clunk-clunk sound when I did so.
Things were simple then.
Just yesterday I was telling P how cool it is now that we have a new amp and kickass speakers and gimme a Y, gimme an A, gimme a Y - what does that spell. But today, not so much with the yayness. I want to throw all things with little lights and buttons and obscure abbreviations and codes out the fucking window and pretend I don't know what a television is.
I have been busy today. And I am in my pyjamas because the only pair of pants that fits me now is in the wash. I am lounging, so to speak. Feels good. And I feel that since I must return the first season of 24 to a buddy next week, might as well watch the episodes I haven't watched yet. It's a quarter to three. I can fall asleep watching 24 and have wet dreams about Keifer Sutherland if I want to.
So I turn on the TV. Step one.
I power up the amp. Step two.
I turn the DVD player on, stick the disk in. Step three. By now, I know my hydro bill is shivering with excitement. I am not, yet, because Keifer is not on the screen yet. But soon, I tell myself...soon.
Then I sit, with a total of three remotes in my lap. I try not to look like this is ridiculous, instead adopting a cool, demure attitude as I expertly aim the amp remote towards the beast and punch the button marked DVD. Because that is what I am going to do, I am going to watch a DVD. The little green light moves next to the DVD setting in the list on the front of the beast. ( Yyesss!) Then I grab hold of the VCR remote to change the setting to L1, because right now it is set to the TV and the one channel we get. Wait - did I confuse you with the VCR thing? Ha. Thought so. Because that, my friends, is exactly when I got confused. So I took the third remote - the one for the DVD - and pressed PLAY. And nothing happened. Blue screen of death on my TV. So I thought, OH! I forgot to switch the VCR to VCR. Because obviously now it's set to TV. And I want to watch a DVD. Which is connected to the VCR. Because everything else is.
Then everything was a blur. I was still sitting in my rocking chair, but the three remotes were on the floor around the TV, even though I was sitting 4 meters away. And now I have just finished trying to put matching batteries back into each one of the remotes after having retreived them from under the TV stand. And I've left a message at my technofreak's office. He knows the exact sequence of buttons to push on all three remotes in order to watch ONE FUCKING 45-MINUTE SHOW.
When we got the amp my technofreak told me he would write down the procedure to make things easier for me to switch things around and I told him to fuck off, I wasn't a retard.
Seriously. And the truth is - we actually have four remotes. The fourth one is for the projector. We barely use it. But I still think we've got four remotes too many. Why can't we just control things with our X-Box controllers! Oh wait - we can. Aw fuck it.
In other news - D got news today that he is accepted as a pilot. I am extremely happy for him - it has been his dream since he was still wearing diapers, I think. I wonder how many remotes you need in a plane.
I remember the time when I had to get up to change the channel on my parents television.
I remember having to turn the dial. And it made a loud clunk-clunk sound when I did so.
Things were simple then.
Just yesterday I was telling P how cool it is now that we have a new amp and kickass speakers and gimme a Y, gimme an A, gimme a Y - what does that spell. But today, not so much with the yayness. I want to throw all things with little lights and buttons and obscure abbreviations and codes out the fucking window and pretend I don't know what a television is.
I have been busy today. And I am in my pyjamas because the only pair of pants that fits me now is in the wash. I am lounging, so to speak. Feels good. And I feel that since I must return the first season of 24 to a buddy next week, might as well watch the episodes I haven't watched yet. It's a quarter to three. I can fall asleep watching 24 and have wet dreams about Keifer Sutherland if I want to.
So I turn on the TV. Step one.
I power up the amp. Step two.
I turn the DVD player on, stick the disk in. Step three. By now, I know my hydro bill is shivering with excitement. I am not, yet, because Keifer is not on the screen yet. But soon, I tell myself...soon.
Then I sit, with a total of three remotes in my lap. I try not to look like this is ridiculous, instead adopting a cool, demure attitude as I expertly aim the amp remote towards the beast and punch the button marked DVD. Because that is what I am going to do, I am going to watch a DVD. The little green light moves next to the DVD setting in the list on the front of the beast. ( Yyesss!) Then I grab hold of the VCR remote to change the setting to L1, because right now it is set to the TV and the one channel we get. Wait - did I confuse you with the VCR thing? Ha. Thought so. Because that, my friends, is exactly when I got confused. So I took the third remote - the one for the DVD - and pressed PLAY. And nothing happened. Blue screen of death on my TV. So I thought, OH! I forgot to switch the VCR to VCR. Because obviously now it's set to TV. And I want to watch a DVD. Which is connected to the VCR. Because everything else is.
Then everything was a blur. I was still sitting in my rocking chair, but the three remotes were on the floor around the TV, even though I was sitting 4 meters away. And now I have just finished trying to put matching batteries back into each one of the remotes after having retreived them from under the TV stand. And I've left a message at my technofreak's office. He knows the exact sequence of buttons to push on all three remotes in order to watch ONE FUCKING 45-MINUTE SHOW.
When we got the amp my technofreak told me he would write down the procedure to make things easier for me to switch things around and I told him to fuck off, I wasn't a retard.
Seriously. And the truth is - we actually have four remotes. The fourth one is for the projector. We barely use it. But I still think we've got four remotes too many. Why can't we just control things with our X-Box controllers! Oh wait - we can. Aw fuck it.
In other news - D got news today that he is accepted as a pilot. I am extremely happy for him - it has been his dream since he was still wearing diapers, I think. I wonder how many remotes you need in a plane.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Local Woman's Incredible Restraint Guarantees Her Choice Spot in Heaven
Late yesterday afternoon, Ms. X agreed to grant this reporter an exclusive interview, after dodging said reporter's attempts to contact her directly for hours. Ms. X has issued an official statement as follows:
“I have overcome my impatience and been good with the annoying know-it-all, even after unpleasant comments moments after entering the workplace. I am proud of this and will continue displaying restraint and calm in the face of such annoyances. Who da boss, beeyatch.” When asked what she had succeeded in exerting such control, Ms. X laughed and mumbled something about mind powers.
Officials in Heaven have now confirmed the rumours stating that Ms. X had retained a choice 15,000-square foot mansion in Heaven, equipped with a jungle room, high tea salon, home theatre room and an elephant sanctuary. “Her request for an end to world hunger, immediate vaporization of all arms and ammunition and global harmony was rejected at first”, says Peter, gatekeeper of the swanky resort-like property “but we decided she had displayed really kickass behaviour in the last couple of hours and thought, what the heck, she deserves it.” Neighbors Douglas Adams and Sid Vicious were overjoyed at the prospect of having such an admirable person on their block: “I am embroidering towels for her and her family” smiles Adams, “I think we’ll have great fun around here.” Vicious and wife Nancy had already built a jungle gym for Ms. X’s little one in their backyard and were busy destroying it with hammers, but took the time to issue this comment: “Shrimp will be quite welcome around here. We’ll teach him to say things like bollocks.”
A shipment of monkeys, cats and Legos are expected this afternoon at the property. Ms. X has also requested that live performances by Jimi Hendrix, Dr. Dre, Madonna, the Ramones, Wu-Tang Clan and Arctic Monkeys be scheduled every Friday night at the weekly Dart Night Motherfuckers event, to be held in the enormous tent outside Heaven’s gates.
Being good does pay off.
“I have overcome my impatience and been good with the annoying know-it-all, even after unpleasant comments moments after entering the workplace. I am proud of this and will continue displaying restraint and calm in the face of such annoyances. Who da boss, beeyatch.” When asked what she had succeeded in exerting such control, Ms. X laughed and mumbled something about mind powers.
Officials in Heaven have now confirmed the rumours stating that Ms. X had retained a choice 15,000-square foot mansion in Heaven, equipped with a jungle room, high tea salon, home theatre room and an elephant sanctuary. “Her request for an end to world hunger, immediate vaporization of all arms and ammunition and global harmony was rejected at first”, says Peter, gatekeeper of the swanky resort-like property “but we decided she had displayed really kickass behaviour in the last couple of hours and thought, what the heck, she deserves it.” Neighbors Douglas Adams and Sid Vicious were overjoyed at the prospect of having such an admirable person on their block: “I am embroidering towels for her and her family” smiles Adams, “I think we’ll have great fun around here.” Vicious and wife Nancy had already built a jungle gym for Ms. X’s little one in their backyard and were busy destroying it with hammers, but took the time to issue this comment: “Shrimp will be quite welcome around here. We’ll teach him to say things like bollocks.”
A shipment of monkeys, cats and Legos are expected this afternoon at the property. Ms. X has also requested that live performances by Jimi Hendrix, Dr. Dre, Madonna, the Ramones, Wu-Tang Clan and Arctic Monkeys be scheduled every Friday night at the weekly Dart Night Motherfuckers event, to be held in the enormous tent outside Heaven’s gates.
Being good does pay off.
Pluck my Twanger!
Note: This post was meant to go live yesterday morning, but because of technical problems with Blogger, it's 24 hours late.
Hello, Boys and Girls.
I laughed my ass off this morning when I was reading CraftyGrrrl's blog. She makes me laugh very often. Some days, British accent + Children's show + sexual innuendos is what I find funny. In this case some people might not...oh fuck it. I am not going to justify finding something funny. (I am not sure how to go about this, so I'm just going to copy the link to this funny thing. Thank you, CraftyGrrrl!) Enjoy.
In other business, I am going to eat crepes for lunch today. I will be happy. I will mentally run to P for protection when someone starts telling me what it's like to have kids. And then I will mentally scream in her face that I find her very annoying with this and I would like her a whole lot more if she wasn't such a fucking smartass about everything, and I will have kept my dignity the whole time and I will walk away a better person. And I will not be arrested for disturbing the peace.
Shrimp is ten weeks old today.
Dear Shrimp,
You poor thing, you have a psycho mom who does things to people in her mind and that makes her feel better. Just a friendly warning - she will probably do this again when you become a teenager. You know, when you insist on wearing clothes that make you look naked/make your real face disappear underneath five coats of concealer and other cosmetic things/refuse to listen to Wu-Tang/do fuck all with your life at 25/total her brand new turquoise Segway.
Your mom will deal with it.
Love,
Your mom xoxo
Hello, Boys and Girls.
I laughed my ass off this morning when I was reading CraftyGrrrl's blog. She makes me laugh very often. Some days, British accent + Children's show + sexual innuendos is what I find funny. In this case some people might not...oh fuck it. I am not going to justify finding something funny. (I am not sure how to go about this, so I'm just going to copy the link to this funny thing. Thank you, CraftyGrrrl!) Enjoy.
In other business, I am going to eat crepes for lunch today. I will be happy. I will mentally run to P for protection when someone starts telling me what it's like to have kids. And then I will mentally scream in her face that I find her very annoying with this and I would like her a whole lot more if she wasn't such a fucking smartass about everything, and I will have kept my dignity the whole time and I will walk away a better person. And I will not be arrested for disturbing the peace.
Shrimp is ten weeks old today.
Dear Shrimp,
You poor thing, you have a psycho mom who does things to people in her mind and that makes her feel better. Just a friendly warning - she will probably do this again when you become a teenager. You know, when you insist on wearing clothes that make you look naked/make your real face disappear underneath five coats of concealer and other cosmetic things/refuse to listen to Wu-Tang/do fuck all with your life at 25/total her brand new turquoise Segway.
Your mom will deal with it.
Love,
Your mom xoxo
Monday, June 05, 2006
Monday Bliss
Oh, Throng of Readers, I am so happy. I really don't mean to rub it in your faces. Here goes.
Unlike Garfield on Mondays, I feel all yummy and toasty inside, and am actually pondering what to start with. (Note to my throngs of readers - Garfield, you will remember, hides in his little box-bed on Mondays and refuses to get up. He stays under his little blankie as long as he can, reaching out from under the blankie once in a while to whack the fuck out of the alarm clock. He feels like an ass all day and does not smile.) So far, I've had breakfast, listened to the news on the radio, pet my cat, checked out my favorite blogs and now I am typing away gleefully while listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I am thinking of going for a shower sometime today (no one will know if I smell), going for a walk all the way to Cartier to get some fresh fruit and veggies, cleaning my aquarium and reading some more of Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell.
I spent half an hour cuddling in bed with my man before he had to get up to go to work. I called the bus station to find out how much a bus ticket to Ottawa costs (holy shit, Batman - it's cheaper to take the train!). I had a fond thought for P who has to fend off and survive all the female hormones kicking around the office. I had a fond thought for K who is going through difficult and funny times all at once.
Also I am so happy because it smells like fresh cut grass. The smell has invaded my appartment because all the windows are open. And I am going to make muffins. And soup. Ok, I am done.
Now for the complaining part. (I can hear everyone sighing in relief - 'Finally, she'll stop waxing happy on the joys of free time') My Dr. never even tried to hear Shrimp's heartbeat. Nine weeks is a little early, I know. But she had said she was going to try last time I saw her! She said 'At nine weeks, we'll be able to hear the baby's heartbeat'...I got H out of work on a deadline to hear it. And first thing she said was 'We're not even going the try hearing the heartbeat, we'd be wasting our time.' Then she gives me the phone number for the hospital to get an ultrasound, it actually takes me half an hour to talk to someone, and they don't do pregnancy ultrasounds anymore! They haven't done them in years. This leads me to question my doctor. I like her, I really do. But she's not consistent. So I called her office and left a message saying she had given me the wrong information, thet they don't do pregnancy sonograms anymore. She should know this - she tells me she follows 4 pregnancies a year. Anyhoo. No point in being pissed off, I just find this unprofessional. Rant over.
So I'll be making phone calls to other hospitals today. I also have to get an appointment with my ob-gyn. Yay. I guess I'd better get used to it! I am in my third month now, it is pretty cool. I am thinking of keeping a pregnancy journal. It would be cool to look over in a couple of years.
Unlike Garfield on Mondays, I feel all yummy and toasty inside, and am actually pondering what to start with. (Note to my throngs of readers - Garfield, you will remember, hides in his little box-bed on Mondays and refuses to get up. He stays under his little blankie as long as he can, reaching out from under the blankie once in a while to whack the fuck out of the alarm clock. He feels like an ass all day and does not smile.) So far, I've had breakfast, listened to the news on the radio, pet my cat, checked out my favorite blogs and now I am typing away gleefully while listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I am thinking of going for a shower sometime today (no one will know if I smell), going for a walk all the way to Cartier to get some fresh fruit and veggies, cleaning my aquarium and reading some more of Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell.
I spent half an hour cuddling in bed with my man before he had to get up to go to work. I called the bus station to find out how much a bus ticket to Ottawa costs (holy shit, Batman - it's cheaper to take the train!). I had a fond thought for P who has to fend off and survive all the female hormones kicking around the office. I had a fond thought for K who is going through difficult and funny times all at once.
Also I am so happy because it smells like fresh cut grass. The smell has invaded my appartment because all the windows are open. And I am going to make muffins. And soup. Ok, I am done.
Now for the complaining part. (I can hear everyone sighing in relief - 'Finally, she'll stop waxing happy on the joys of free time') My Dr. never even tried to hear Shrimp's heartbeat. Nine weeks is a little early, I know. But she had said she was going to try last time I saw her! She said 'At nine weeks, we'll be able to hear the baby's heartbeat'...I got H out of work on a deadline to hear it. And first thing she said was 'We're not even going the try hearing the heartbeat, we'd be wasting our time.' Then she gives me the phone number for the hospital to get an ultrasound, it actually takes me half an hour to talk to someone, and they don't do pregnancy ultrasounds anymore! They haven't done them in years. This leads me to question my doctor. I like her, I really do. But she's not consistent. So I called her office and left a message saying she had given me the wrong information, thet they don't do pregnancy sonograms anymore. She should know this - she tells me she follows 4 pregnancies a year. Anyhoo. No point in being pissed off, I just find this unprofessional. Rant over.
So I'll be making phone calls to other hospitals today. I also have to get an appointment with my ob-gyn. Yay. I guess I'd better get used to it! I am in my third month now, it is pretty cool. I am thinking of keeping a pregnancy journal. It would be cool to look over in a couple of years.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Words
Medulla Oblongata.
Gnu.
Hippopotamus.
Spoon.
...And I just found out Abracadabra actually comes from the Aramaic avra kehdabra, which means I will create as I speak.
So cool.
Gnu.
Hippopotamus.
Spoon.
...And I just found out Abracadabra actually comes from the Aramaic avra kehdabra, which means I will create as I speak.
So cool.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Freedom Dideleedum
Holy crap. Here starts my summer! Woooo!
I have been at home for a total of one and a half hours now and I have not started freaking out yet. That's good. It really gets to me how almost everyone has said, in a very concerned tone: "Wow. ( - or - Oh My God!) What are you going to do all summer?" And I give them a blank stare like I don't understand what they are talking about. Because I genuinely do not know what they are talking about. What do you mean, what am I going to do? You're fucking kidding, right? I actually told someone (with a really serious look): "I really don't know. I guess I'll try to keep busy..."
I have tons of things planned for the summer. I plan of cleaning out all the closets in this appartment. I am sure I will find long lost relatives in there. They have literally never been cleaned. So much shit will go to the curb, charity or recycling.
30 of the Gazillion Things I Will Do This Summer :
1. Try out new recipes. As soon as I can deal with touching food. :o)
2. Go to SnBs. A couple of friends and I just planned the whole thing. We're happy.
3. Paint. Squibbits, triptych for J's room and D's samurai helmet.
4. Read. I've got lots of catching up to do.
5. Go for super long walks.
6. Go to lunch with D.
7. Go to Ottawa to see Mom.
8. Go to a cottage with Mom, her friend and my sister. There will actually be five of us, both me and my sister being preggy!
9. Discover new music.
10. Actually wash, dry and fold clothes the same day. (I swear.)
11. Finally clean up the office that has become the depository of all things pack rats like to pack. (Think about it for a sec. That's too much stuff, yo.)
12. Blog better. Blog more.
13. Sleep when I'm tired.
14. Pet my cat Boo. He will be pleased.
15. Shop for a house.
16. Go grocery shopping and get it delivered.
17. Write.
18. Do nothing.
19. Watch X-Files all over again when it rains. Love having all 9 seasons! Love DVD technology!
20. Water my flowers on the balcony.
21. Try to grow a herb garden again.
22. Lie in the grass, surrounded by coolers full of popsicles, grapefruit juice and chocolate ice cream sandwiches. And lettuce and carrots for good measure. And celery. And grapes.
23. Write letters to friends. Not e-mails.
24. Keep a journal.
25. Spend some time with J.
26. Do pilates. My mother-in-law got me a book on pilates for pregnant women.
27. Clean out all the closets and make sure there is nothing left on the floors. Quite a challenge.
28. Paint my nails. Fingers and toes.
29. Slather lotion all over my body often. Smell and feel good as a result.
30. Play music and sing along while making things.
So for all you worriers out there, hear this: I am not worried about getting bored this summer. What worries me is people who worry because I am not worried. Fuck y'all. I want a happy worry-free pregnancy.
I have been at home for a total of one and a half hours now and I have not started freaking out yet. That's good. It really gets to me how almost everyone has said, in a very concerned tone: "Wow. ( - or - Oh My God!) What are you going to do all summer?" And I give them a blank stare like I don't understand what they are talking about. Because I genuinely do not know what they are talking about. What do you mean, what am I going to do? You're fucking kidding, right? I actually told someone (with a really serious look): "I really don't know. I guess I'll try to keep busy..."
I have tons of things planned for the summer. I plan of cleaning out all the closets in this appartment. I am sure I will find long lost relatives in there. They have literally never been cleaned. So much shit will go to the curb, charity or recycling.
30 of the Gazillion Things I Will Do This Summer :
1. Try out new recipes. As soon as I can deal with touching food. :o)
2. Go to SnBs. A couple of friends and I just planned the whole thing. We're happy.
3. Paint. Squibbits, triptych for J's room and D's samurai helmet.
4. Read. I've got lots of catching up to do.
5. Go for super long walks.
6. Go to lunch with D.
7. Go to Ottawa to see Mom.
8. Go to a cottage with Mom, her friend and my sister. There will actually be five of us, both me and my sister being preggy!
9. Discover new music.
10. Actually wash, dry and fold clothes the same day. (I swear.)
11. Finally clean up the office that has become the depository of all things pack rats like to pack. (Think about it for a sec. That's too much stuff, yo.)
12. Blog better. Blog more.
13. Sleep when I'm tired.
14. Pet my cat Boo. He will be pleased.
15. Shop for a house.
16. Go grocery shopping and get it delivered.
17. Write.
18. Do nothing.
19. Watch X-Files all over again when it rains. Love having all 9 seasons! Love DVD technology!
20. Water my flowers on the balcony.
21. Try to grow a herb garden again.
22. Lie in the grass, surrounded by coolers full of popsicles, grapefruit juice and chocolate ice cream sandwiches. And lettuce and carrots for good measure. And celery. And grapes.
23. Write letters to friends. Not e-mails.
24. Keep a journal.
25. Spend some time with J.
26. Do pilates. My mother-in-law got me a book on pilates for pregnant women.
27. Clean out all the closets and make sure there is nothing left on the floors. Quite a challenge.
28. Paint my nails. Fingers and toes.
29. Slather lotion all over my body often. Smell and feel good as a result.
30. Play music and sing along while making things.
So for all you worriers out there, hear this: I am not worried about getting bored this summer. What worries me is people who worry because I am not worried. Fuck y'all. I want a happy worry-free pregnancy.
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