Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Man Quotes

"Reminds me of the best name for a rock band I ever heard: Carnage Asada."

-- Said in response to my comment about all the desperate meat that would soon be appearing at the local watering hole in Calabasas while we were on our way home from visiting Babies R' Us.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Top 6 Reasons I Can’t Sleep For Shit

6. Baby McLean routinely holds Uterus-Kicking Contests in the McLean Condo between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m. Have you ever tried to sleep while a tiny little person stomped your insides? Try it sometime.

5. I have never snored in my life, but am now so damn congested every time I lie down that when I do actually fall asleep, I routinely wake myself up with a loud snort that sounds something like a wild boar shouting “SSSGNAAACK!” directly into my ear.

4. With nasal congestion comes mouth-breathing, also a novelty to me. If I do not first wake myself with a wild boar snort, I will inevitably wake because my mouth is hanging open and an ambitious stream of drool is making a break for it, causing me to jump up in alarm and disgust, furiously wiping my face and then attempting to settle back to sleep atop the nice clammy wet spot on my pillow. Ewwwwwww!!!!

3. I have never been a nighttime eater, with the exception of those times in my past life when I would go out partying until the wee hours and then need the requisite 3:00 a.m. Reuben from Canter’s on Fairfax or Monster Tacos from Jack In The Crack. Not so anymore. Not only is there no partying going on, but I will even have a very satisfying dinner only to actually be awakened at 3:00 a.m. by the ravenous beast that is my stomach! WTF? I just fed you, bitch!

2. I have only two stinking positions I can sleep in: A) On my right side; or B) On my left side. Once I settle in all nice and cozy with my giant pregnancy pillow (aka Humpty) all wedged just so, within an hour or so, the arm and/or hip I am lying on will start to hurt, forcing me to flip like a giant incubating omelette, along with Humpty, to attempt to fall back asleep as fast as possible and cook the other side before that side gets sore and wakes me up. This goes on approximately 8 to 10 flips per night. It’s really neat.

1. Sometimes I just wake up and can’t believe how exciting it all is, this little guy living inside me, and the thoughts just start coming: Am I going to be a good mother? What is his personality going to be like? Will he look like a Mini-Derek and melt my heart every time I look at him? How could I ever discipline him if that is the case? When the hell is he going to come out? How bad is it really going to hurt when he does? Will I ever be able to sleep again once he is out? Or will it be like the times my Godbaby has spent the night, and I lay awake obsessing about the sound of her breathing and if it sounded normal and mentally reviewing every article I have ever read about SIDS and my God that wasn’t even my kid and I barely slept a wink!

I know I need to just relax and enjoy being pregnant now. But it’s so hard sometimes. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

The Wisdom of the Rooms

So apparently I didn’t get the memo, but there was an Ultimate Fighting Championship in the McLean Condo last night, so please forgive if my thoughts are a wee discombobulated this morning. And I’m still kind of reeling over the death of Heath Ledger, star of one of my all-time favorite movies, Brokeback Mountain. I just can’t believe it.

It occurred to me that it has been all baby-baby-baby-pregs-baby-sick-baby-pregs-baby-sick-kosher dills on this blog all the time, and I realized I have not updated you on my career and the massive shiftage thereof.

I had to quit doing massage, people. I had been thinking about quitting and doing something else for awhile since it was really bothering me that there was not a lot of brain activity on the job. Don’t get me wrong – I am not saying people who do it are dummies. They are doing a huge, selfless service to humankind, especially the ones who do it well, and a nice pregnancy massage recently saved my ass when I was really hurting from carrying around the McLean Condo and these giant bazooms.

But once you have been through massage school, the job itself is all intuitive -- feeling where someone hurts, a lot of quiet, then changing the sheets and doing it again. About the time I was having these feelings, I started to get a lot of, shall we say, hygienically-challenged individuals on my table. People who would come in for a massage, covered in sweat, straight from a full workout at the gym next door. People with active outbreaks of infectious skin diseases. People who had never heard of the concept of washing one’s feet after a day of flip-flop wearing. Now, aside from the fact that a pregnant person has an overdeveloped sense of smell, visions of staph infections and contracting God-knows-what from these people while in a state of compromised immunity started to tear at my psyche continually. It’s bad enough feeling like a sitting duck for every random cold and flu cootie out on the playground, but the stress of not knowing what I was exposing myself and my baby to became too much, and I had to quit.

So what’s a pregnant person to do with nearly four months of working ability left before squeezing out the wee bairn? I started looking at part time job listings and came across this man who wrote this book and needed some help with the marketing of this book and the editing of his next one. I started reading the book last night for research purposes, and OMG you guys, I was so blown away.

How is it that no one thought of this idea before? He has taken years of quotes and wisdom learned in 12-step meetings, and put them into a book. But the beauty of it is, you don’t need to be involved in a 12-step program to appreciate the profound nature of what is contained in the pages. Anyone struggling with ANY kind of addiction, or anyone who loves someone who is, needs this book. Anyone who has ever repeatedly banged their head against the wall and fallen into the same patterns in life over and over needs this book. Anyone who refuses to define God in limited, dogma-laden terms and seeks a relationship with God on their own spiritual path, needs this book. Anyone who needs to be reminded of universal truths told from a highly personal perspective needs this book.

Have you ever heard someone speak or read something in a book and felt like what you were hearing/reading was meant just for you? Like that person was speaking directly to you? That’s what every page of this book so far was like for me. I can’t wait to read the rest of it and explore the thought-provoking questions asked with each section. And no matter what happens with getting the job or not, I am grateful I came across the information in this book, and simply had to share it with you.

I’ll keep you posted.

Wisdom of the Rooms

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Letters To Baby: Four Freaking A.M. Edition

Dear Baby McLean,

I realize you are pissed that Mommy ate the spicy noodles for dinner, but did you really need to get me out of bed at 3:00 a.m. to watch Tom Selleck and his ginormous pornstache in Her Alibi? The ‘stache is quite frightful when peered at through delirious, nauseated, sleep-deprived eyes, but I had never before noticed how it also looks as though his eyebrows are taking over much of the real estate of his face. I guess they didn’t do much facial hair grooming in the 80s, but still. The man has some serious outcroppage going on. So I gave you some Barbara’s Oat Squares cereal, do you think you can chill and let Mama have some sleep now? It would be really super considering it was kind of a long and stressful day, and I’m pretty exhausted.

We got to see you on TV again today. The doctor was concerned that my belly (aka The McLean Condo) was too big for where I am in the pregnancy and ordered an ultrasound to check out what’s going on in there. He said it could be my uterine fibroids crowding you, could be a couple of scary things that are hard to tell without peering in on your little butt like some kind of techno-voyeurs and checking it out. I was worried all weekend that the doc would tell me I would need to be put on bed rest, a very real possibility. I realize the prospect of bed rest would be a dream-come-true for many people, but not your mama. Mama needs action, Mama needs to have experiences, especially now that the evil bronchitis is over. Mama needs to get the hell out of the house and do some stuff and things. When you fly the condo in May and start seeing how fun things are out here, you’ll understand.

So it turns out that you are simply a little on the big side, and that the amniotic fluid is a little more on the voluminous side, both of which are causing me to stick out a little more than usual. No bed rest. And a huge sigh of relief from your mommy and daddy. Pity the man who has to live with a confined woman. Your dad was probably sweatin’ more bullets than I was. And I’m really glad your doc is on top of things, but I could have gone the whole pregnancy without having to worry about weird things happening with you, like your not swallowing fluid properly, or my fibroids squashing you in the condo.

But the bright side is, we got to see you and your cute little face again. It is probably too premature to say, but I think you got my nose. Here you are, with your peaceful little face.

And here you are yawning.

There are no words in the English language to express your mommy’s relief that you are okay. I guess for now, “I love you” will have to suffice.

And since you know how to yawn now, you must know what it’s like to be sleepy. So, go to sleep, Baby. Please?


Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Letters To Baby: New Year Edition

Dear Baby McLean,

So this is what 6:30 in the morning looks like. Dark grey light. Peaceful. Beautiful colors forming in the sky as the sun comes up. And two annoying hounds who want Daddy to get the hell out of the shower and feed them their chicken.

You started kicking around 5:00 a.m. and didn’t let up, so I figured I may as well just get up and get some coffee brewing and check out what Halle Berry has to say about being pregs in this month’s issue of In Style. I can’t say I look a fraction as gorgeous and glowy as she does, but now that the fun holiday bronchitis is finally behind me, I think I’m starting to get that second trimester feel-goodness that everyone talks about. Can you believe we have been together five and a half months? I still can’t. If I really sit and think about it, I get way too tripped out on how so very close and intimate you are to me, yet still such a complete mystery. I had moments where I thought I was done obsessing over you, but turns out I hadn’t even begun to obsess.

My Pregnant Christmas was one of physical misery, which turned into total emotional distress. It’s true for me that pregnancy lowers one’s immunity, and boy did somebody pass on a whopper to me. I came down with the bronchitis on Christmas Eve Day while we were up north visiting your Great Grammy, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I later found out I am also anemic, worsening my resistance and body’s defenses to fight off the cooties. I may as well have been naked in a snowstorm.

The lack of sleep is one thing, but lack of sleep compounded by constant racking cough accompanied by severe snot faucet effect left me frantic that somehow you must have been suffering. This was supposed to be a super happy family joyous time. I’m so sorry if you felt my anxiety. They say the mother’s state of mind is felt by the baby, but on sleep deprivation and illness, sometimes my state of mind just gets unbelievably out of control.

I’m having to start monitoring what I watch on TV because of you. I love the show 48 Hours: Hard Evidence on Discovery Channel. But can no longer watch the crime episodes involving kidnapping or children being harmed by people we share this world with. These things, aside from your kicking, wake me in the middle of the night and scare the living shit out of me. You’re not even born yet – how could I ever conceive of going through something like that where you are concerned if I am going to flog myself over taking a Tylenol while you live and grow inside me? It’s frightening to me how my pregnant mind works. I don’t have as much control over my thoughts as I am used to. Obsession is a slippery downward slope. And I’m pretty top-heavy right now.

I am working hard, my little son, on getting these thought processes under control. I have always been one to believe strongly in the power of the mind and the direction you can take your life because of it. This is something I really want you to know and understand as you grow up. It is this knowing that makes me not believe in astrology – I simply know innately that I am going to be exactly how I decide to be every day, and I choose to follow that path instead of some code of planetary alignments that tells me how I am supposed to be. I am way too complex for that, and I’m sure you will be too. So why should my Pregnant Mind be any different? It’s still me in here. But now I have you in here too, and I guess that changes the dynamic of things a bit.

Keep kicking, Little Guy. If you start to pick up on my crazazy, go ahead and give me a punch in the uterus. Maybe it will knock me back to my senses and remind me that somehow, some way, everything is going to be okay.