Reimagining the decor

Anne gave me this cute little pottery dish as a gift last year. Since then, it's possessed some nice real estate on our coffee table, though it's been a bit fourth-wheelish beside the beautiful Pewabic Pottery vase that Anne gave us for our wedding (though they match so well) and Rob's grandmother's carnival glass, which (to me, at least) all look so artsy and lovely together.

The pineapple Lifesaver, rather inexplicably, has been the little dish's sole inhabitant for some weeks past. (Well, not so inexplicably: I'm sick of Lifesavers, and I don't much like the pineapple ones. I must have dropped it in while cleaning out my purse or something--Talk about respect for artisanal crafts.)

Beginning this morning, the little dish has a nobler calling: holding the wedding ring that no longer fits well on my puffy and rashy ring finger, amongst the clutter of the ever-expanding jewelry collection usually strewn about my dresser.

The vase and carnival glass shall miss you, little dish, but they know it's for the best. The only thing I vaguely know about feng shui is the whole grouping principle: group in threes, group in odd numbers, avoid even-numbered groups, or something like that. Perhaps the house will keep itself clean now or something.

I already feel guilty for not wearing the ring, mostly because of Rob, though I've told him that I don't think the entire marriage is now null and void. (He may be trying to find a loophole. Nice shot.) Last week, I left if off for a few days, hoping the swelling and the rash would dissipate, which they did not. Unfortunately, two frequent library patrons noticed: "You look like you're gonna have a kid," in surprise. Affirmative. "WHERE'S YOUR WEDDING RING?" in mild horror. Oy.

21 weeks.

We were at a Borders last night, and I read in one of the zillion pregnancy books that the ideal weight gain at this point in the pregnancy is between 10 and 15 pounds. Between week 8, when I began keeping track, and this morning's daily weigh-in, I've gained 19.5 pounds, making it much closer to 20 pounds. Assuming I weighed less before pregnancy, that's more than 20 pounds, though I can't be certain, as I've never been too obsessive about weighing and already it's hard to remember not being pregnant. Such a drama queen I am, but no wonder my mom and my coworkers are teasing that either twins or one ginormous baby have/has taken up residence in the ol' uterus.

And because we forgot to take any last week, here are some pics of the baby belly (with background mess and without; the chubby face and frizzy hair are here to stay!):

(Rob likes the first pic best; he says it's "more indicative of what's going on," i.e., rapidly expanding gut; I prefer the others, as they hide my true mad skillz at housekeeping, and the backside isn't visible in the last.)

Rob, at the suggestion of our sister-in-law, had planned to take weekly photos of the expansion, but that lasted all of one week and the one and only pic was five weeks ago.

We're not planning to do anything constructive today, though the house is a disaster and we have so many little projects to undertake, but Rob has a new video game and a just-begun book and I have two almost-finished books to tackle. I wasn't even planning to leave the house on this gloomy, chilly, rainy day, but I need to visit the health food store for some necessities (lotion, body wash, and dishwashing liquid). It may be my imagination, but I could swear that I've run dry on all three much faster than usual: my well-developed cynicism suggests it's because I've got a lot more body to wash and lotion and many more dishes (because of the rarely-ceasing appetite) to wash than usual; my less-educated guess suggests that I'm just cleaner and taking better care of the incubator (Rob's term--thank you, my love!). HA on the latter.

Speaking of the health food store, the proprietor of that fine establishment was the first man to ask "When?" (while tapping his belly, of course--and then he told me that "you still look good" before verbally stumbling to cover the gaffe.). I've noticed that about the male side lately: very few will acknowledge even fairly obvious pregnancies. Working in a library, I interact with scores of people every day, some that I see weekly or more often, some I've never seen before, most in-between, and even while still in my regular pants and shirts, women that I knew and women that I didn't would gasp excitedly, "Are you EXPECTING?" and "When's the BABY due?"

(I'm embarrassed to admit that a few months before I was in the motherly way, a very sweet grandmotherly type checking out books with her grandtot asked when my due date was, and then turned a lovely shade of fuschia and backpedaled (she blamed it on my shirt hanging in front of my belt or something) when I very crisply responded that "I.am.not.pregnant." Poor little old lady is not a regular, but if she happens to see me while I'm in fricking active labor, she'll probably inquire after my indigestion or something.)

ANYHOW, I'm totally off track now. Yes, I had a track: men that I see daily will glance at the tummy and not say anything, though admittedly they also will glance at the chest, normally fairly small but lately keeping pace with the belly. Maybe they forget about bigger bellies when they see bigger boobs. So, in addition to the dozens of women, I've had four males comment on the baby bump:

1. the aforementioned health food store owner;
   
2. an entrepreneur-type guy who was promoting his product at the library circulation desk--when I responded that I didn't have kids who might benefit from his wacky child safety product, he asked, "Are you cookin'?";


3. a nice middle-aged library frequent flier--he asked, a bit more compassionately than usual, how I was, and then when the baby was due, and informed me, as have countless women, that March is a good time to have a baby, as it's not so hot and uncomfortable to be pregnant;


4. a rather obnoxious preteen/young teen kid, whom I'd just somewhat curtly reprimanded twice for running and once for using his cell phone in the library--he stopped me as I headed into the storytime room for Toddler Time (more on that later): "Are you going to have a baby?" "How many months pregnant are you?" "In four months, you're going to have a baby!"
   

This post is so much longer than I intended. And I'm closing now, as I need something to eat, and Rob is moaning about his own empty belly...

(Oh, and I didn't really clean the mess in the first photo--I just pushed it out of the way. Out of sight of the camera, out of mind, right?)

Upside? Downside? No, the wayside...

...where it has fallen. And it only took two whole days! Rob created an account for this blog (though apparently he plans to travel incognito as "Eibbor"), but he refuses to post. Forget the pregnant one: he is the laziest creature in this household.


Okay, make that third-laziest. Though shouldn't someone have made that bed, despite her delicate condition? FINE: fourth-laziest. Indeed, we are poor role models for children, even those of the fuzzy variety. I bet Speck will just lie around doing absolutely nothing constructive for months after his arrival. Maybe years.

In other news, I'm quite proud of myself for several technological advances that I've made this week:

1. creating the whole blog thing (arduous, I know, what with the whole guide-you-through-the-necessary-steps nature of Blogger);
2. using the memory thing from the digital camera thing to upload pics to computer thing (much more truly arduous, what with Rob mocking my ineptitude);
3. posting an item for sale on eBay (ditto the comments in the blog parentheses).

On a side note, can anyone under the age of late-twenty-something (or older?) truly understand a "ditto"? Each time I hear it, I think of those warm, damp purply-blue-inked copies fresh from the mimeograph machine in fourth grade. Oh, and the odeur! Sometimes I miss elementary school. Ah, the wisdom of my advancing years.

Otherwise, beyond the work for which I actually get compensated, minor pregnancy stuff continues. Nighttime wakenings. Bizarre dreams. Leg cramps. Uncontrollable hunger, mostly for sweets and fruits and grains but not for veggies. Lots of potty breaks. Steady weight gain. Puffy ankles. Wedding band causing rash and weird mark. Joy. I fear the day, twentyish weeks or so hence, when I read this and roll my eyes at my own whining.

The Husband: The Sequel

To all of our legions of readers, breathlessly awaiting each new profound post, fear no more: Rob will now be posting. Double the pleasure, double the fun!

The Husband

In case you were wondering about the other one-third of the baby love triangle, here he is (with me, of course; where else would he be?):

The Speckulator: The description, etc.

"Random musings" is so cliched and pretentious, is it not? Perhaps I will change.

In random news, things I want to learn before Speck appears:

• Knitting.
• Sewing.
• Decent housekeeping.
• Organization.
• Money management.
• Avoidance of wasting time.
• The secret of life.

Also randomly: What shall I put on my pregnant lips for a little color, now that lead has been found in (admittedly, only one shade of) virtually every brand of lipstick I own, from Clinique to Revlon to L'Oreal to (gasp!) Burt's Bees? These are the trials that keep me tossing and turning each night, certainly not the leg cramps, wacky dreams, midnight cravings, need to visit the potty, etc., etc.

...and at the risk of already becoming one of those persons who speak only of their children...

One of Speck's first official pics, barring the oh-so-intriguing "yolk sac" image at 7 weeks gestation.

Will post later, as 10 minutes into massive blog undertaking has yielded a technical difficulty with blog software, which certainly bodes well.

Oh, here it is...I could helpfully delete the above few lines, but I'm new to this blog thing and find the ability to publish just anything on the Internet fascinating.

P.S. Speck is a boy, though not obvious in this image...or in any yet, for that matter, except to those trained in such analysis.

And so it begins...

...at 20 weeks exactly, if only for for a few brief more minutes (Eastern Standard Time), and according to my OB's educated guesstimate. 'Tis my grand hope that the next 20 weeks--and more--of Speck's--and my belly's--growth will be faithfully-ish recorded here. We'll see.