Never Say "I Can't"

Because guess what?  If I can, you can.

The dilemma was this:  I wanted to add more greenery on the walls of the nursery work in progress.  Specifically, I wanted palm leaves, big ones, to go with the existing décor that my adorable decorating team had come up with last week.  The problem:  I can’t draw.  Or so I told myself.  In the past, even stick figures have presented an exotic challenge.  And all those pretty leaves I put on last week were stencils applied with a sponge.  How hard is that to do?  There were no stencils big enough for what I wanted.  

I sat down and humored myself by drawing a few on paper.  Then figured, hey, if I draw them on the wall with pencil and it sucks, I can always erase it.  So I drew it, outlined it with some paint, and decided it didn’t suck that bad.  I filled it in with paint, and holy shit, I am an artist, people!  I really love the result, and especially love that I showed my negative self how to get bent.  

Bonus:  I even drew and painted this with both hands, which was really weird since I write exclusively with my left hand, but do everything else with my right.  I don't know if that makes me ambidextrionical or what.

And here's Daddy, painting the ceiling blue so that I can add on little clouds and glow-in-the-dark stars.

This photo would have been really hot if he had been wearing his tool belt, but I still find it hot nonetheless.

Friend Quotes

Similar to Man Quotes, this feature will be funny shit that my friends say that I have to broadcast to the world:

"Well you're busy building a whole human being.  I'm just trying to make a lizard talk."

-- My friend Shannon, Visual Effects Editor, who works 80-hour weeks, while discussing why we are both so tired.

The Nursery -- Work In Progress

Amidst the hell that is reviewing and shopping for baby stuff, what is safe, what is not, what causes SIDS, what is not going to be toxic for the baby to inhale, etc., etc., ad nauseum, there has been a break to do something fun -- turn what used to be the guest room into a cute, happy, McLean-worthy nursery.

As I have stated before many times, I have the most awesome girlfriends in the world, and they also have the most awesome girlfriends in the world, and two of these beautiful and generous creatures volunteered to spend their precious Saturday helping me with the transformation.

Since it took us the first few hours simply to determine furniture arrangement, account for an absentee crib placement, and devise a paint scheme, the following pictures only represent the partially-completed project, but you will get the idea.  

Here are the before's that I took before my Angels of Decorating came over:

Here is the mural that will be hanging on one wall and represents the theme on which what the rest of the decor is loosely based:

After some toiling with stencils and paint and catching up on the latest celebrity gossip, here is what we came up with:

Bunnie and Erin, you guys so totally rule.  Thank you so much.  I love peeking my head into this room and just looking at it.  It will always remind me of both of you.

Still Undecided, But...

I am loving the CRAP out of this quote:

"It took a Clinton to clean up after the first Bush and I think it might take another one to clean up after the second Bush."

- Hillary Clinton at the Democratic presidential debate in Los Angeles on Thursday.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Love,
Mommy

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.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Holidays, Y'all!

A beautiful and merry and love-stuffed season is what I wish for you.



... And lots of kosher dills.

Man Quotes

To expand on the title of this post, this is a new feature I here at Valley Girl would like to call "Witty and Wise Statements That My Husband Makes That Made Me Guffaw Out Loud And Simply Must Be Recorded For Posterity."

The Man's latest nugget: "SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST DICKS."

-- (Said in response to my outburst "Why does he have to be such a dick?" referring to Greg Kinnear's character in the movie Little Miss Sunshine, when he is lecturing little Olive about how ice cream will make her fat, and making her think she is a loser. Some people ARE just dicks, people. It's good to know.)

"You Have A Teeny-Tiny Penis Inside You!"

That's what Derek's sister said when she found out we are having a boy, referring of course to the famous Sex and the City quote when Miranda is pregnant.

Yes it's true, folks. After much speculation on the part of those who would wager a guess (which was a very long list that included family, friends, and even the guy at the water store), when it seemed every last one of them (except for Karin and Heddie) had concluded emphatically that I was having a girl, I really had no feeling about it one way or the other. Until the night a few days before the ultrasound when I had a very vivid, detailed dream about breastfeeding our little boy. I clearly remember what his face looked like, that he was very busy, and that my dad was in the dream as well. I told Derek the next day about the dream and that now I wasn't so sure. Everybody else seemed so convinced I was having a girl -- could I really be having a Penis Person?

The day of the big ultrasound came and we were on pins and needles. The anticipation and not knowing was getting to be maddening. When the ultrasound guy pointed out on the screen where there was a definite penis, I was still dubious. "Are you SURE?" I asked. It is still beyond me how those guys can decipher anything on those images. "Oh yes," he assured me. "I have checked it from three angles now, and your boy is not shy. He is putting it out there."

So my boy is an exhibitionist. Like his mama. Let it all hang out, son. I will support you in this.

Letters To Baby

Dear Baby,

Wow, hard to imagine you and I have been together for 18 weeks now. You are getting big! I have really popped out in the last couple of weeks or so and there is no denying it now – there is definitely an obvious bun in the oven. I get sweet and sympathetic looks from strangers out in public now, as well as outright questions about when I am due and whether I am having a boy or a girl. You are quite the attention-getter! A lot of what I have been told about pregnancy has actually happened, while a lot of it, alas, has not. Here are my observations about incubating your little butt thus far:

1) I have not, as many formerly pregnant women have complained about, had a complete stranger come up and touch my belly. Only friends and family have attempted to touch such an intimate area, and have all asked permission before doing so, which I always oblige. I LOVE the feeling of the belly rub from loved ones, especially when your father does it. The way he does it is almost as though he is already caressing you or soothing you to sleep. And I have a feeling you can sense this, and this makes me happy. Should a complete stranger actually come up to me and touch me there, I think I would seriously bitch-slap the person. Who does this? No one has attempted it thus far. Perhaps I have a “Don’t eff with my bump” look on my face when out in the public sector. But we still have five months to go. Any range of inappropriate behavior by strangers is likely, I suppose.

2) I have not, as I have been extensively warned, had any radical mood swings or periods of intense hatred of your father. Sure, there have been days when I have been irritable enough (usually from lack of sleep) that even Gandhi himself spoon-feeding me caramel sauce with a chocolate spoon whilst watching Sex and the City episodes in a zero-gravity chair would do something to piss me off. And yet, I still can’t find a reason to be annoyed with your father. It’s like he took a “Help For the Husband of a Pregnant Person” sensitivity course behind my back and has nimbly side-stepped every pregnancy landmine there is. Some days a girl just feels like complete and utter shite, and no amount of lip gloss and Ben & Jerry’s will assuage the situation. Your father, in his infinite wisdom, will look upon my sorry, tired heap on the couch and say “My little Pregnant Princess, would you like me to make you some mac and cheese?” This is the utterance of a smart man. But for me, nothing during pregnancy has compared even remotely to the average symptoms of PMS. Of which I am blessedly free for ten months!

3) I wish I could tell you that I have had some exotic and interesting food cravings or aversions while you have been in utero other than my daily consumption of Trader Joe’s kosher dill pickles. I eat and enjoy pretty much all the same stuff I did before you came along. Of course there was a brief Lucky Charms phase a few weeks ago, the knowledge of which caused your Aunties Jen and Jillie to erupt into fits of laughter. Lucky Charms? WTF? But I don’t think that was so much a craving as it was a desire for comfort when I had that bad cold. Sugar cereal was forbidden when I was growing up, and since I can’t drown my poor sore throat in a hot toddy or even take a hot bath, the next best thing for me was being “bad” and having my favorite sugar cereal. Three times a day.

4) It is true that you receive a lot of unsolicited advice while pregnant, 90% of which is total bullcrap. I have had to repeatedly whip out the glazed-over nod and smile routine I perfected in the office when this or that gossip-monger would corner me in the hall with some such trivial nonsense of which I couldn’t have cared less. I had never imagined it would come in handy at this time in my life, but it sure does. Perhaps one day in the schoolyard, you too will perfect this look with a classmate who only wants to talk about how eating crayons changes the color of his poop while you are trying to get caught up on your MENSA newsletter.

5) I really do have “that pregnancy glow” that everyone talks about. But I think it’s really just a combination of two things: A) A detoxed system from not drinking or being around lawyers, and B) The fact that I mix my daily moisturizer with Sally Hansen Skin Brightener, which has a tiny hint of shimmer and is seriously the pregnant person’s BFF.

6) Dogs really can tell when you are pregnant. Even before our first ultrasound when we heard the heartbeat, The Big Brown Dog was suddenly extremely interested in you, sniffing my belly like he was trying to hoover up my belly button ring and whining at it anxiously. I realized he could hear not only my heartbeat, but yours, which is nearly twice as fast as mine. He probably thinks I am harboring a speed freak. Whenever he does this belly-sniff and whine routine now, I ask him in a hushful tone, “Rufus, do you hear the baby?” to which he pricks up his ears and cocks his head from side to side, brow extremely furrowed and extra-wrinkly in a look of heavy concern. Of course he also makes this face when I ask, “Would you like a tasty delicious biscuit?” So I’m not sure if this reaction is a good thing. But he sure is excited to meet you. Of course The Pug, being completely deaf now, and too diva-like in nature to give much of a crap about anything except where her next chicken leg is coming from, knows nothing of your existence and probably wouldn’t care if she did.

7) Probably one of the most profound things someone told me is that, as a pregnant person, you are never alone for the duration of your pregnancy. I think now that I am starting to temper the constant paranoia of scrutinizing every single little thing I am eating/drinking/smelling/wearing/exercising/touching with a little more calm rationale, that realization that I am never alone while I am carrying you has finally set in. I am being prepared mentally to be hyper-vigilant in caring for every aspect of your little butt, and even when you are living outside of my body, I will never really be alone. I’m sure I will always be thinking about you, worrying about you, admiring you, loving you. You may be a big mystery for now, but I feel connected to you already, like we are speaking some secret language to each other that doesn’t need words or even sight. My Little One. Take all the time you need in there. But Rufus isn’t the only one who is anxious to meet you.

Love,
Mommy

Just Chillaxin' In My Uterus

The latest photo op of the wee one, all chill with its feet up on my uterus.

Brain Teaser

Can you spot the pug head in this photo?

The Bummer About Being Pregnant

So yeah, I’ve been tired and yeah, I have to go pee all the damn time and yeah, I am a pickle-eating freak (thanks to thee, O Pregnancy Gods, for the advent of the kosher dill), and yeah, none of my jeans fit anymore, but you know what? I am really happy about having a baby and thus don’t like to complain too much about these little annoyances. But do you know what the worst part about being pregnant is?

No swinging on the pole, y’all. I miss Shaft. Terribly. Shaft has been carefully unscrewed from the ceiling hook on which he usually resides and is currently collecting dust in the garage. It’s so sad.

I spent so many fun-filled nights with Shaft and some loud angry stripper music as my only entertainment, and it was good. Shaft could keep me entertained for HOURS with nary a break. I would navigate that pole with seven-inch clear heels on like it ain’t no thang, all the while getting a good workout (and some bruises here and there but that’s why God invented knee pads) and feeling like I had my own private adult-version of monkey bars in my house. I owe a lot to Shaft. Shaft made me feel like a million bucks. Shaft sneakily developed my core strength under the guise of fun, something VERY difficult to pull off. Shaft was the life of my bachelorette party and unselfishly shared his gifts with many of my friends that night and on subsequent nights. And Shaft probably helped conceive my child. Talk about a fertility specialist!

And now Shaft leans against a wall of the garage, surrounded by hordes of macho tools and discarded lumber who are likely threatened by Shaft’s impressive size and luster, and more than a little jealous that, unlike themselves, Shaft had, until now, enjoyed a comfortable place in our living room for many months. Let’s have a listen:

Hammer: Oh, well will you look at the ladies’ man all sad and pathetic now that he’s not living the cushy life. Hey fellas, what say we give Mr. Shiny there a garage welcome, eh?

Cordless Drill: Being that shiny obviously means he’s overcompensating for something. What could that thing possibly be good for? Can he hang a picture? Can he assemble something from Ikea?

Screwdrivers: Hey Pretty Boy, you miss having your mommy rub you down with alcohol every day? Wah wah! Sissy!

(Shaft leans and takes it all in, then quietly turns to one of the nearby lavender dryer sheets.)

Shaft: Psst, hey, Beautiful. Your luscious scent is absolutely intoxicating, you little dryer minx, you. Why don’t you come over here and slide ever so slowly down my shiny self and wrap yourself around my girth. You will feel so sexy and alive, I promise you.

Lavender Dryer Sheet: Tee-hee! I don’t know. I might hurt myself.

Shaft: My Pretty. I will catch you if you fall. I just want to be close to you, my little divine herbaceous satchel of love. Please come to me.

Hammer: Hey uh lady, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It ain’t safe. You don’t know where he’s been.

Screwdrivers: Yeah, he’s a poser, don’t listen to him. You’re more safe with us Tools.

Lavender Dryer Sheet (to the Tools): What the hell do you guys know? You’re a bunch of f@cking tools!

Lavender Dryer Sheet pops out of her box and onto Shaft, sliding and twirling down his welcoming shaft. (Okay, yeah, that sounds really dirty, but come on, it just flowed so well.) She lets out a huge happy sigh at the end of her twirl, gives the finger to the Tools, and curls up to sleep at Shaft’s feet.

The Tools, shamed into silence, sulk back off to the toolbox to plot Shaft’s demise. Obviously this threat to their masculinity will never do.

Shaft leans with a little grin on his face, a nice lavender dryer sheet now keeping his feet warm.

Quote of the Day

I don't do these very often, but I thought this one was just so profound and a really important truth to remember, always.

“The roses bloom so beautifully because they are not trying to become lotuses. Andthe lotuses bloom so beautifully because they have not heard the legends about other flowers. Everything in nature goes so beautifully in accord, because nobody is trying to compete with anybody, nobody is trying to become anybody else. Everything is the way it is. Just see the point! Just be yourself and remember you cannot be anything else, whatsoever you do. All effort is futile. You have to be just yourself……”

--Osho, Indian Mystic

Salvador Dalí

In the interest of getting my butt out of the house and doing as many interesting things as possible before I am confined to the small world of diapers and nursing, I took it upon myself on a recent Sunday to go with Trish and Miata to the Salvador Dalí exhibit at LACMA.


While there are those who may assert that viewage of such freaky-deakiness while preggers may warp my developing child’s little sensibilities, I decided to take a walk on the wild side and go ahead and take in the freakiness in person. I was not disappointed.

Aside from a voluminous collection of paintings, there were also film clips playing of the artist’s various collaborations with filmmakers of his day -- in particular, an animated film that the artist worked on with Walt Disney. I got teared up watching the thing, it was just so very magnificent and so sad that it was never before released to the public. It was like watching a Dalí painting come to life for fifteen minutes. Afterward, we sat outside and talked about what we had seen. I don’t know about you guys, but after I see something like that, I tend to look at the world a little differently, at people a little differently. Those beautiful paintings existed in that man’s mind before they became reality, that regular guy with the crazy handlebar moustache and crazy eyes. And look what he contributed to the world.

Well, I recommend you see the exhibit fast before it is gone. It will only be there until January 6. So get your freaky on.

Los Angeles County Museum of Art
5905 Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90036
(323) 857-6000
www.lacma.org

Bumpwatch '07

Thought you might like to see the most recent photo of the little munchkin squatting in my bell-ay.



Isn’t it cute? I think it looks like a little teddy bear. When this picture was taken, the little bugger flung its arms up in the air as if to say “Yo ma, how about more pickles up in this here wombizzle?” Oh yeah, can’t get enough of those kosher dills. The lame cliché turns out to be true in my case.

The ultrasound guy told me that the most dramatic period of growth has happened in the last few weeks. Which would explain why I have felt like such complete and utter shite. But I’m starting to feel better now – a little more energetic, a little more productive. Little Pat has been sucking the life right out of me. I’m looking forward to entering the second trimester, aka The Golden Trimester I’ve heard so much about. Then we can find out the sex and I can start referring to it in more human terms. Only a few more weeks!

Da Bump

In a Valley Girl first, I would like to share a post with you that was written several weeks ago, but for reasons that will become clear, could not share with you until today.

Here is the post from my Past Self:

God, it is so hard for me not to tell you guys this. But you know how it is – you’re supposed to wait until you’re absolutely sure everything is fine until you spread the word. And since my Future Self has decided the time is right to let the cat out of the bag, here is the big news:

I am pregs.
Knocked up.
Totally sperminated.
Smuggling fetus.
In the family way.
Got a bun in the oven.
Expecting.
With child.
Maternally accelerating.
Living la vida preggo.
The object of Bumpwatch ’07.
Packing grandchildren.

Isn’t it great? The man and I think so. Excitement is all around us and it’s so hard to think about anything else. Here are my symptoms thus far:

1. Hungry. No, make that starving. All. The. Time.

2. Tired. No, make that exhausted. All. The. Time.

3. Have to pee. All. The. Well, you get the idea.

It’s been hard not to post much lately, but the fact is, there is just not much to tell. When you are tired all the time, you pretty much have no life or goofy stories to share, so I have been uncharacteristically mum. But all that is about to change.

Okay, back to my present-day self now:

By way of details, I am now eight weeks along or two-thirds of the way through the first trimester. We have had the first ultrasound and seen the little bugger and heard the heartbeat. Wow. Up until that point, I was just “pregnant”. Sitting there hearing the heartbeat, it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks that there is a little person in there, doing its best to kick ass. It was pretty major. There was some leaking of the tear ducts.

We don’t get to know the sex until sometime in the second trimester I think, so in the meantime, we are referring to it as “Pat” a la vintage SNL, since we don’t know what the hell it is.

Today was a good day. I was still tired, sure, but not “feeling like I’m going to die” tired, and that is a definite step up. I do routinely thank the Pregnancy Gods that I have been blessedly free of morning sickness since I cannot imagine being barfy on top of the exhaustion. God, that would suck.

And being the only sober one at a festive occasion? Not so bad after all. I attended a family wedding with the hub over the weekend (with a four-hour open bar!) and felt blessedly free to be a goofy spaz on the dance floor because I didn’t have that paranoid “Oh my god, I’m Drunky Drunkerson, I’m going to do something inappropriate and be mortified with myself tomorrow” feeling the whole time. It was actually quite liberating. And there was the added “heh-heh” bonus of knowing that I would wake up the next morning feeling totally fine, whilst everyone else would be cursing the day alcohol was invented. So we got a late-night pizza that me and my spawn very much enjoyed, and I gave Pat a little rub on the belly and thanked it for keeping Mommy in line tonight.

And the next morning I woke up feeling like a million bucks. I think this pregnancy thing is going to be pretty awesome. I’ll keep you posted.