Nope.

And probably not until tomorrow, when the OB plans to induce.

And, yes, Anne—"induction" does sound a bit like a senior-year ceremony that we had at our beloved alma mater. Unfortunately, mañana's induction may be more painful (albeit slightly), but at least I needn't wear a plastered-on smile or a cardboard key around my neck (or much of anything, for that matter), and I won't hear any tedious speeches (or much of anything, for that matter). And if I throw anything or yell during, fewer people will cast aspersions upon my moral character or sanity.

A disturbing thing about Rob's baby counters: some are now counting UP. Now what does THAT mean?

+ 1

And still no baby. Rob is increasingly impatient. I think he blames me.

And so we continue to wait.

....................................

The waiting game sucks. Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos.*

(*With humblest apologies to The Simpsons and, specifically, Homer.)

Zero Hour.

Thinking: Wouldn’t it be cool for Speck to be born on his anticipated arrival day? We’d better hurry—only a few hours left… (Though would I mind a short labor?)

Also: If my water broke AT THIS VERY MOMENT, we couldn’t possibly leave until I filled the dishwasher, vacuumed the rugs, sent some e-mails to coworkers about stuff that I planned to tackle on Monday or on half-day Tuesday (yes, unless otherwise diverted, I’m planning to work both days next week), washed our bedding, and did something—anything—to tidy that repulsive bathroom. Perhaps I should start now? Maybe after the leftover Thai that Big Daddy is reheating… At least Speck’s room is clean: floor swept and mopped, extraneous articles removed (and resting comfortably in hallway), tags cut off, and diapers and clothing washed, dried, and somewhat organized.

(And additionally: I know we’ve eaten a lot of crap in the last few weeks, but isn’t a pizza or some other celebratory meal in order for marking the occasion of a due date? Particularly if it’s delivered and we needn’t traverse the snowy, blowy terrain?)

We're ready. Bring it on.

Chatter

Things That I've Heard in the Last Two Weeks from Library Patrons That Would Make Immediate Labor Induction Very Attractive if It Meant That I Would Not Need to Hear or Answer Them Again in the Next Two Days:

• "Are you still pregnant?" (Uh, my OB said that Monday, actually.)
• Any variation of "How many babies are you having?" "Are you having twins?" "One or two?" "Oh, you're having twins!"
• "You're huge!"
• "You've dropped a lot in the last few days." (This, rather disturbingly, from a male, middle-aged patron, not the same one who gifted the elephant.)
• "Why are you still working?"
• "Are you coming back to work?"
• "When are you coming back to work?"
• "What babysitting arrangements have you made for when you come back to work?"
• "What hospital are you delivering at?"
• "Are you dilated at all?" (This, at least, was from a fellow pregnant gal.)
• "Is this your first?"
• "Boy or girl?"
• "Have you picked out a name?"
• Labor advice and stories, such as: "Drink tons of water." "Don't get an epidural!" "GET THE EPIDURAL!" "Try the breathing exercises--they really give you focus." "Breathing exercises don't do anything." "I was completely naked during delivery." Etc. Etc, etc. etc.
• "You're probably sick of answering all these questions!"

GAAAAAAHHHHHHH. In all fairness, people just seem to like the pregnant ladies. (Can you blame them? Especially if they don't live or work with us or otherwise see us for long periods of time? [My poor family and co-workers.])

And there is some stuff--true or otherwise--that I certainly don't mind hearing:

• "You look good!" (Probably because of the smile glued to my face.)
• "You're glowing!" (Probably because of the sweat beads oozing from my face.)
• "You'll have so much fun!"
• "Enjoy every minute!"
• "Good luck!"
• "Best wishes!"
• "Congratulations!"
• "I'm so excited for you!"
• "I hope I don't see you next time I'm in!"
• "I think Miss Jamie is really pregnant!" (This from the preschool-age sister of a child in my toddler program to her mother.) / "I think that girl is pregnant!" (This from another preschool-age kid to his mother.)
  

And my co-workers? Are in another class altogether. Like family, they pretty much say anything they want, and I don't (can't?) really mind...

Countin' down to the biggest hit in the land...

Mere moments after dropping digital camera and giving Rob a minor heart spasm:

Obviously, camera is fine, but I haven't seen him so upset since he found out I was pregnant. (Ha.)

And the real reason I wanted the camera:

If you can believe it, one of our library patrons--male, middle-aged--made this elephant; he said he wanted to make sure I came back to the library. Isn't it cute? And baby-safe, too--cotton flannel with embroidered eyes. I wish I could sew...sigh.


And a slightly more flattering shot than the last of the enormous baby dwelling:

I just couldn't bear the thought of the slightly-bared-belly shot possibly being the last posted before this impending motherhood thing happens...

39 weeks. And 2 days.

And a maximum of 9 days or so to go. So says OB, as he wants to induce on March 12 if Speck hasn't appeared by then. Yikes. We'll do anything to get this kid out before then, including the potent Indian food we had for dinner. (We're such martyrs, I know. Bring on the Thai.)

In other news, I just accomplished something from my pre-Speck list of hopeful feats: Knitting! Yay! Sort of...I needed a bit over an hour to do this, complete with mistakes and having no idea how to finish it off:

I am rather irrationally proud of my half-coaster/half-Barbie-blanket, as my co-worker alternately termed it (being unsure of its most functional function); she was content with her "knitting needle cozy" of 20-odd cast-on stitches. (Listen to me: Am old pro at something crafty!) Boys and girls, support your local libraries: they offer fun and/or educational programs such as knitting classes, in addition to a wide variety of books and audiovisual materials, among other stuff.

In other news, all is just about ready for Speck's arrival, including the nursery, notwithstanding lack of curtains, leaning of stroller on crib, storage of bathtub in crib, and omnipresence of fat cat in glider:

More photos would be nice, and I'll try to get a few up soon.

In other other news, could this be the last photo of me pregnant with the Speck? Or at least one of the most unflattering? Perhaps.

Indeed, I am "all baby," as I've heard a bit too often in the past few weeks, most recently from the OB's assistant this morning, who "just can't get over it. You're all baby!"

Two weeks ago or so, as we were entering Babies 'R' Us for the 437th time this month, I told Rob that he could divorce me if ever I wandered around like one pregnant chick we saw: she had about five inches of bare belly peeking from between top and bottoms--and this on a 20ish-degree day while she wore a coat. And here I am, posting something similar on the Internet. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

36 weeks. And still kickin' (well, at least Speck is.).

Before I begin, I must state that I planned to update much more frequently, particularly after that last post, as Rob complained that the photos I used were awful. Anyhow.

It's only been, what, two months-ish? A few major holidays, including a new year that's now nearly 6 weeks old? A baby shower? A last ultrasound? An almost-finished nursery? A labor and delivery class? A tour of the birthing center?

Yes, all of these--but also supreme grumpiness, laziness, exhaustion, and a bout of sickness. (Wah.)

Nothing much else new to report (ha), but, as the only three people (my mom, my sister-in-law, Anne) who actually read this blog have asked when I plan to post, I'm doing it now.

In all fairness, I haven't been quite so keen on the profile pics of the belly that Rob was taking weekly for a while. However, here's me from last week, #35, with my patented blank look o' mild surprise in the almost-finished nursery, with Eeyore and Pound Puppy standing guard:

Lovely.

And here are a few that I quite like of the incubator and the responsible party:

And I promise to post--in a day or two!--photos of the baby's beautiful room, which Rob worked on single-handedly (well, he may have used both hands at times), and Speck's last ultrasound, if lethargic Rob ever gets 'round to scanning them...

27 weeks. Quite belatedly so.

I know I say it every week, but, once again, I wasn't thrilled with the snaps from this week. Particularly as I worked a full, busy day on Saturday and thought I looked darn good throughout, only to come home and have the self-esteem somewhat deflated.

Perhaps the least heinous, despite the red eye and rather blank expression:

Though I have a weak spot for this one, as it shows me living on the edge (i.e., perching precariously on a piece of two-feet-high furniture while wearing heeled boots, in front of a large glass window, and pregnant):

(And in defense of the belly button, it isn't popping out [yet]--that's just the sweater bunching up, I swear.)

This is about as fearless as I get lately (or ever). And now I can't even stand on furnishings in front of big windows (and neither can the poor baby kitties), as we put up the Christmas tree this weekend; though it's not quite finished in this one, the digital camera's had a mostly-dead battery since Saturday, and no one has bothered to charge it. So this is all we've got so far:

Literati

Here are the many and varied books on birth and pregnancy that I currently own or have checked out from my local library (the bottom one is a PostSecret compilation that I need to return, so that doesn't count):

Sometimes, it feels a bit like an obsession...I've checked out loads of books; some I've read every word, but most I've only skimmed, if that. Some are fascinating and/or informative; some apparently are written for dodos. And Rob has put a moratorium on any other preg/baby books entering the abode until I've cleaned out the site of the future nursery, in hopes that I'll finish it up, as all of his other threatening and cajoling have failed.

In other news, Panzie continues her noble and exhaustive efforts to assist in cleaning. Alas, she too easily becomes distracted by the old magazines and newspapers that her mother has unearthed, hitherto saved for some obscure, forgotten reason, and now bound for the recycling bin.

Nothing funnier than a cat in a bag...

26 weeks.

It's me! And I didn't cry over these photos, though when I demanded he snap them, Robbie asked if I would (as I felt like doing last week).

And now for more of the belly (and just a smidge of the household mess)...

...and then more of the face (though the belly is quite noticeable still, what with the globs of Tofurky gravy and all)...

And, just to prove I'm not a complete sloth, here I am slaving over a hot stove (uh, reheating prepared food).

Though Rob claims I'm lazy, who had time to snap pics? That's what I thought.

In others' words...

It's official: Pregnancy is now my most fascinating and distinguishing attribute, as confirmed by (only some of the) various pregnancy-related comments from library patrons in the last two days :

"You didn't have your baby yet?" - mother of two, with mild astonishment. When I replied that I was only 6 months pregnant, she responded, with moderate astonishment, "Oh, really?"

"Hi, preggo." - twenty-something guy, who very soon after apologized and said he was just "playing."

"When's your due date? [....] I only gained five pounds!" - pregnant woman who said her due date was the following day, but appeared to be at the same stage of pregnancy as I, and then completely depressed me when I commented about how small she looked.

"Are you having a baby? My mom already had me!" - kindergarten student, while touching the top of his head with a pointer finger. He was on a school trip with his class, and I'd just read the little ones some picture books. And, yes, he was very cute.

"Are you having a girl?" - fifth-grade student, also on a school trip with her class, rather excitedly. She seemed rather disappointed when I told her it was a boy. And, yes, she was also cute.

"When's your baby due?" "How far along are you?" "Do you know what you're having yet?" "Congratulations!" - innumerable patrons, young and old, male and female, every race and nationality, every disposition, from a tart elderly woman to a young guy who spends most of his time trying to look at porn on the public PCs when he doesn't think we'll notice. One of my favorites so far: a man last week excitedly showed me photos of his four-month-old daughter, claimed that postpartum is tougher on husbands than pregnancy (surprise, surprise, and boo-hoo) and correctly guessed that, at six months' gestation, we were still wondering what the heck to do with the baby's room.

Only 99ish (or 98ish, depending on which baby counter you prefer) days to go...

Now THIS is progress...

Speck's mother has been very busy. Not busy in her former office, but busy none the less. Apparently two weeks have passed since Bubble started this project. Speck is an inch longer. Bubble is a pound or so heavier (perhaps more but i digress in fear of being censored in my first official blog posting). Funny, if you compare this picture with the past posts you might see a difference. How the pile on the floor grew, I am not sure. Oh well. Hopefully this will clear itself up soon or Speck will be sleeping amidst the shambles that was once the cubbyhole of Speck's mommy.

25 weeks. And two days.

I never thought that I'd be one of those women who are hyper-concerned with their weight and appearance. I admit, I can be a bit vain and persnickety at times, but I didn't think that I'd obsess over a few pounds or a bad photo or two. Or even 30 pounds (yes, really--or just about) or 8 bad photos (which we took yesterday evening, and I refuse to post.). Well, I apparently have become one of "them." I made Rob take a few pics this morning after I was made-up, blown-dried, and dressed for work (though with jeans instead of work-appropriate bottoms). This one came out very marginally better than yesterday's:

After nearly every photo Rob's taken in the last three weeks, I ask him, "Do I really look like that?" He is simultaneously compassionate, reminding me that I'm pregnant, and callous, telling me that, yes, indeed, I do look like that. So much for blaming the beloved digital camera. But I just can't put the evil thing down...attempts last night and this morning with strategic angling to minimize facial chubbiness:

By the way, my OB told me this morning that my weight was "perfect," which made me feel better, though when I asked him if I'd gained too much weight, he was furiously scribbling on my chart and never bothered to look up. It still made me feel better, even if he likely says that to all the ladies who've gained anywhere from twelve to ninety-seven pounds at this point in pregnancy. And it took the sting out of the joke from a (male, of course) coworker who said I could stand in for Santa Claus soon. Nothing but coal for you, my dear!

Must be heading off to bed. I couldn't fall asleep last night for ages, and then I woke up at 3:14 a.m. and couldn't fall asleep again for what seemed like a few hours; I was so tired that I was having very weird hallucinatory worries that I wouldn't fall asleep again before the 8 a.m. alarm, among other strange thoughts, but not tired enough to drop off to sleep again quickly. Gah--pregnancy and its assorted sleep-depriving ills. Off to bed, to avoid the dreaded haggard look that I model so well in this morning's pics...just as soon as I finish my fistful of chocolate cookies...

One step forward, two steps back

We finally moved the desk from my office into Rob's office! But now the futon from Rob's office is in my office/future nursery. Hmmm. The old switcheroo isn't helping much, as evidenced here:



And very little else has changed. So much for loooong holiday breaks...which still seemed oh-so-short, what with the shopping (grocery, not Black Friday) and the cooking and the family-togetherness and the eating of leftovers and the sitting-around-doing-nothingness of it all. But there's always Christmas break!

Those freakin' countdowns

Earlier this week, I added a countdown to Speck's EDA at the bottom of this blog. I even spent some time fooling with the HTML code, simple as it was, to modify it to my specifications. Some (Rob) may call my countdown crude and simplistic; I prefer to think of it as tasteful and elegant, Arial font though it may be.

Alas, Rob, not content with mere criticism this time, swooped in--while at work--and junked up my serene little piece of the Internet with his "countdown cray-zee-ness!" He wanted to delete them after showing me how the cool kids add countdowns, but I wouldn't let him, preferring to retain evidence of his madness. I even permitted him administrator privileges to add the least obnoxious to the sidebar. But look! (he said,) This one shows you the baby's development! So, it stays. (I don't quite understand the one-day discrepancy between his and my countdowns, but I'll leave that to the mathematical/obstetrical geniuses who must read this blog daily. I'm sure Speck won't arrive on the precise day anyhow.)

Belly photos not available, as we were not showered and dressed 'til just about sundown. Such bright, young go-getters...

Countdown Cray-zee!

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so little time...

So many countdowns...

So many countdowns...

Myspace Countdown Clock