Pregnancy Stage 8: Balloon Animal Girl

You know about pregnant feet? No? Let me show you.

No, nevermind, I can't. It's just too ugly. Normal, but ugly.

Suffice to say that three days ago I woke up with feet that looked and felt like pink fleshy balloons. The next day, I had balloon ankles to match. The only shoes I can get on are stretchy sandal wedges that barely stretch far enough to accomodate my clown feet.

I got a pedicure yesterday because all I can wear is sandals, but didn't want the pedicurist looking at my feet, so it was no fun. Sigh.

I'm getting bored and tired. I'm bored with being tired. I'm getting tired of complaining about all my minor ailments (chronic vicious heartburn, puff-daddy feet, disabling backpain....). I'm tired of walking like an Oompa Loompa...and kind of looking like one. I'm bored with picking out baby accoutrements and worrying if I am getting the right things, worrying about where it's all going to fit, and worrying about all the money we're spending to create the happiest (read: quietest) baby on the planet. Tired of waiting for and depending on Kevin to do things when I want to just do them myself to get it over with. I can't stain the furniture. I can't even walk to the grocery store. Yawn. Sigh.

Did I mention a sexless existence? Kevin is in Vegas, where prostitution is legal (I don't know why that suddenly fascinates me except that maybe if I were him, I'd be partaking right about now....) and I'm sitting alonein my style-free new rocker-recliner watching my stomach jump around.

Yet, the tummy jumping is something I know I'll miss when it's gone, replaced by the wrinkly, red, peeling, leaking, unconsolable creature with the giant cheeeks. So even though I'm on week 33 and can't imagine having to wait 7 or 8 more weeks (instead of my abbreviated 4 weeks), I am at least used to the little jumpy bean inside me and all the discomforts she brings. Not so sure I'm looking forward to the real life upheaval...and not totally looking forward to it, of course makes me feel guilty. A feeling that I am...altogether now.. .bored and tired of.

By request, here is a picture of the very nice cradle that someone from work lent us:

And here is a picture of the recliner...for which I'm buying an ebony or wine-colored slipcover as soon as the color swatches arrive (nothing in Babyville is easy if you want it to be affordable and in any color but pastel.)
In better news, Paris Hilton has to go to jail for 45 days, and because I'm feeling particularly vindicative this week toward tall, thin, blond, rich women who like to act stupid for attention, this cheered me up. Thanks Paris!

A baby-free post about cell phones

I got this from our Cell Phone guru at CNET via Snopes, I believe. It's really kind of fascinating, I think. I haven't tried any yet, but I'm gonna. Let me know if you have/do and if it works.

FIRST: Emergency
The Emergency Number worldwide for Mobile is 112. If you find yourself out of the coverage area of your mobile network and there is an emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly, this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is locked. Try it out.

SECOND: Have you locked your keys in the car?
Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good reason to own a cell phone: If you lock your keys in the car and the spare keys are at home , call someone at home on their cell phone from your cell phone. Hold your cell phone about a foot from your car door and have the person at your home press the unlock button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end. Your car will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive your keys to you. Distance is no object.

You could be hundreds of miles away, and if you can reach someone who has the other "remote" for your car, you can unlock the doors (or the trunk). Editor's Note: It works fine! We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a cell phone!

THIRD: Hidden Battery Power
Imagine your cell battery is very low. To activate, press the keys *3370#. Your cell phone will restart with this reserve and the instrument will show a 50% increase in battery. This reserve will get charged when you charge your cell phone next time.

FOURTH: How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?
To check your Mobile phone's serial number, key in the following digits on your phone: *#06#. A 15-digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique to your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe.

When your phone get stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if the thief changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless. You probably won't get your phone back, but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it either. If everybody does this, there would be no point in people stealing mobile phones.

And Finally....

FIFTH: Free Directory Service for Cells
Cell phone companies are charging us $1.00 to $1.75 or more for 411 information calls when they don't have to. Most of us do not carry a telephone directory in our vehicle, which makes this situation even more of a problem. When you need to use the 411 information option, simply dial: (800)FREE411, or (800) 373-3411 without incurring any charge at all. Program this into your cell phone now.

Nine pounds? Oh, I don't think so.

At my last doctor visit, the nurse said I'd gained 0 pounds. That's a zero. Zip, zilch. Weight gain=None.

Fast forward 2 weeks to this morning, and the nurse says: "Nine pounds."

Excuse me? How does a 5'2" person gain 9 pounds in two weeks? I doubt I could lose 9 pounds in two months.

Guess that explains why my wedding ring suddenly stopped fitting yesterday. Sigh. The baby herself won't weigh anywhere near 9 pounds. Bagels and brownies are tools of the Man.

Damn. That puts me at 37 pounds gained already. Doctor says it's "probably a lot of water."
I don't drink that much water. Camels don't drink that much water.

In other nonfat news: Last week we had Baby School (newborn care), which among other things included baby CPR (upsetting), diapering (moderately easy on a creepy inanimate doll that didn't actually do anything gross in int), breastfeeding (warning: excessive pain ahead), and swaddling (I don't do crafts).

Day Two of class culminated in two "graduates" bringing in their 2.5-week old Baby Lilly. Also known as "The Creature" (their nickname not ours. but fitting).

They looked fairly sane and not overly haggard...until the woman started recounting her experiences of the past 2.5 weeks.

She sounded....depressed, overwhelmed, mildly annoyed with her husband (who could not share in her physical ordeal) and just generally not very happy but trying to hide it. "Get help" was really her repeated piece of advice. Even though her husband did all the burping, diapering, and cleaning, Mom still felt they they were SOL without a helper.

Meanwhile, "Baby Lily" had this blank stare and sort of a Gollum-esque body.

Needless to say, my spirits spiraled. I was horrified that no one was going to be around to help me for weeks. Kevin's attitude changed dramaticall, too. He was ready to sell all his guitars and sadly acquiesce to a life that he'd never wanted. (He never said that second part, and he kept saying his funk was temporary, but it was there and it was my fault :( ).

Then I got MORE depressed, naturally, and it all went to Hell from there in the McCarthy household. I called my mom and begged for her to fly out the second we escape the hospital, even though until two weeks ago I was looking forward to starting this on our own together. Now, I felt we were being sent into battle and was really ready to go AWOL unless my mommy came.

Thank you Baby School. As my boss noted, they should make you take this class BEFORE you decide to have a baby. Sponsored by Trojan Brand.

Fear not, reader, we don't remain in Hell for more than 4 or 5 days.

This weekend we visited some friends in San Jose who have a 2.5-week old, Olivia. Olivia sleeps 8 hours through the night already. Olivia makes eye contact. Olivia sat on the table in her little bouncy things and hung out with the four of us while we had lunch.

Olivia's mommy and daddy looked and sounded just like their regular old happy normal selves. They didn't sound depressed, they didn't talk in in baby talk, they didn't dote over her but were clearly in love with her, and their house looked normal. They were still our friends.

Yay!

Admittedly, Olivia's daddy was doing all the diapering and burping, etc., but didn't seem to quite appreciate the depth of the physical toll that childbirth and early breast feeding takes on Olivia's mommy. I've decided to accept that most men's power of empathy is just lacking , no matter how helpful they are at that time. It's probably the ones who are trying to "positive" which is something we like. And maybe if they were too empathetic, they would do that weird "sympathetic pregnancy" thing and we would have to leave them. Hard to say.

In the end, Kevin and I left our friends' house rejuvenated and not looking at each other through that sad film of unfamiliarity we had...that gaze of "how the hell did i get here and who the hell are you?" that had filled every room the last few days.

I decided to adopt some of our friend's doctor's more convenient recommendations...so we went for sushi for dinner last night. Hurray!

I also learned that I don't have avoid alcohol entirely while breastfeeding. There is no "hurray" word in English that's strong enough to describe how good that glass of wine is going to taste after this little bit'o Lyric has exited the building of Mommy. I am allowed to have one now, but I think my brain won't allow me to enjoy it. In a six weeks though, I'm buying a damn good bottle of wine and sitting over candlelight with my husband and our new puppy. I mean baby.

Nine pounds!?