Tomorrow is my Level 2 high-def ultrasound. I have the benefit of such ultrasound because I am a geriatric pregnant woman whose risk of all sorts of stuff is higher. Apparently, if you will be age 35 at the time of delivery, you are referred to as being of an "advanced maternal age," despite the fact that on the inside you do not feel like you are even mature enough to be having a baby in the first place. I do admit that this ultrasound is coming at a good time, because my mind is starting to spin a bit off kilter. Just as "they" tell you, your hormonal surge of the first trimester evens out and you begin to feel a heck of a lot better. More importantly, my 4pm obsession with getting a Taco Bell chalupa in my mouth asap has disappeared (and, yes, this urge - and subsequent action - occurred more than once).
So here's the dilemma: it's too early to feel any kicking or punching; my bump is not all that noticeable to anything other than the nekkid eye; and I feel tons better. All this has caused me to wonder if this little womb-critter has decided to wander off. What if it's not even in there anymore? I know it's crazy...I even re-read the last sentence to confirm that it sounds crazy. I am just hoping that the sheer fact of having this ultrasound scheduled has my brain on the cuckoo's nest. That is all.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Amber Alert (seriously): Dibbs
Y'all, Baby Shagari is missing. Okay, that was dramatic. He's with his mother, but we all know she's batshit crazy.
Since Thanksgiving she's been talking about all the people who are trying to kill her, and how she needs to go to a Safe House. (By the way, one of the killers is named Burnis. If I'm ever stalked and killed, I hope the killer is named Burnis. It makes the Dateline story way better.) Sorry, I digress. This week the Baby Daddy got all worked up about her massage therapist and busted up the spa. So...she called the Safe House people and got a placement somewhere. Praises be, she picked a weekend when the bigger boys were with their father, but she took the baby with her.
Ridiculously long story short...little Shagari is somewhere with his paranoid schizophrenic mother and we don't know where. She called her ex-mother-in-law yesterday (Why her? Because she's effing nuts.) and said they went to Walmart for a while. That to me is the mark of a woman who is in dire fear of her life.
I think they'll be home soon. No men at the Safe House.
Does anyone have ideas on how to resolve this little conundrum??
Since Thanksgiving she's been talking about all the people who are trying to kill her, and how she needs to go to a Safe House. (By the way, one of the killers is named Burnis. If I'm ever stalked and killed, I hope the killer is named Burnis. It makes the Dateline story way better.) Sorry, I digress. This week the Baby Daddy got all worked up about her massage therapist and busted up the spa. So...she called the Safe House people and got a placement somewhere. Praises be, she picked a weekend when the bigger boys were with their father, but she took the baby with her.
Ridiculously long story short...little Shagari is somewhere with his paranoid schizophrenic mother and we don't know where. She called her ex-mother-in-law yesterday (Why her? Because she's effing nuts.) and said they went to Walmart for a while. That to me is the mark of a woman who is in dire fear of her life.
I think they'll be home soon. No men at the Safe House.
Does anyone have ideas on how to resolve this little conundrum??
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Julep: Credit When Due
Since we're prone to kvetch about the poor decisions made at our dearly beloved Junyaleeg, I'm here to give props for the email I received a short while ago. Finally, the League is recognizing that 8 years active is far too long to expect people to be members before they go Sustainer.
Even though it's come too late to do me any good (8 years down and my status change is already approved for next year!), I heartily approve.
Even though it's come too late to do me any good (8 years down and my status change is already approved for next year!), I heartily approve.
Julep: Mr J Takes the Test
Another month has passed in the Casa Julep household without success at procreation. We know, thanks to my Good Catholic Girl adoption of natural family planning, that the simple things that can go wrong on the female side of the equation are going right. (Mr J has facetiously suggested that maybe I should go on the Pill for a month, since skipping a pill or going off birth control seems to be the most efficient way for anyone we know to get knocked up.) There could still be something arcane wrong with me, but it's not very likely.
But we don't know much of anything about Mr. J's side of the equation. So this morning at 10 am, Mr. J presented himself at the OurCity Andrology Laboratory downtown near the hospital. I told him to call me as soon as he left. But I was pretty darn surprised when the phone rang at 10:18. I said, "Are you still there?" and he said no, he was in the truck headed home. Really? at the gyn's office, you can sit for 18 minutes before they even call you to talk to the insurance clerk. These people must be models of efficiency ... not to mention the efficiency on Mr. J's part. I asked, "Did it go OK?" and he said, "Are you asking me if everything came out all right?" Ha ha, good one. "No worries," he said, "I spent years studying up for this test. I didn't even need a cheat sheet."
(Lola is squealing about TMI right now, and Mr J would probably be none too happy that I am writing this up, but that's why it's the Stealth Blog, right?)
We should know by tomorrow afternoon how his swimmers measure up. He might be fine ... my friend Peggy and her husband had all the tests after a year of no baby, and got told, "You're both fine, just keep trying!" (Their son is now 2, so that is promising, although they've been trying for a second for a while now.)
I feel terribly disloyal to even begin to think that it would be better if something IS wrong, but at least then we would be able to start trying to fix it. Apparently there are plenty of things they can do to improve male fertility - diet and lifestyle changes (Mr J could quit smoking and cut back on the alcohol considerably and see big improvements) as well as medication.
But if there isn't anything wrong with either one of us, we're still stuck on this endless loop of no-baby-making, and I'm not sure I can keep it up. I really don't know how many more times I can spend the last week of the month hyper-obsessing over the slightest physical symptom that might indicate a bun in the oven (Look, I have a huge zit on my chin! Hormones cause break-outs, right? Maybe I'm pregnant!) without losing my ever-loving mind.
I need a game-changer. Frankly, I'm not sure what to hope for.
But we don't know much of anything about Mr. J's side of the equation. So this morning at 10 am, Mr. J presented himself at the OurCity Andrology Laboratory downtown near the hospital. I told him to call me as soon as he left. But I was pretty darn surprised when the phone rang at 10:18. I said, "Are you still there?" and he said no, he was in the truck headed home. Really? at the gyn's office, you can sit for 18 minutes before they even call you to talk to the insurance clerk. These people must be models of efficiency ... not to mention the efficiency on Mr. J's part. I asked, "Did it go OK?" and he said, "Are you asking me if everything came out all right?" Ha ha, good one. "No worries," he said, "I spent years studying up for this test. I didn't even need a cheat sheet."
(Lola is squealing about TMI right now, and Mr J would probably be none too happy that I am writing this up, but that's why it's the Stealth Blog, right?)
We should know by tomorrow afternoon how his swimmers measure up. He might be fine ... my friend Peggy and her husband had all the tests after a year of no baby, and got told, "You're both fine, just keep trying!" (Their son is now 2, so that is promising, although they've been trying for a second for a while now.)
I feel terribly disloyal to even begin to think that it would be better if something IS wrong, but at least then we would be able to start trying to fix it. Apparently there are plenty of things they can do to improve male fertility - diet and lifestyle changes (Mr J could quit smoking and cut back on the alcohol considerably and see big improvements) as well as medication.
But if there isn't anything wrong with either one of us, we're still stuck on this endless loop of no-baby-making, and I'm not sure I can keep it up. I really don't know how many more times I can spend the last week of the month hyper-obsessing over the slightest physical symptom that might indicate a bun in the oven (Look, I have a huge zit on my chin! Hormones cause break-outs, right? Maybe I'm pregnant!) without losing my ever-loving mind.
I need a game-changer. Frankly, I'm not sure what to hope for.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Twinkle: Are They Serious?
I know we always come on here to complain about how tacky the Junyaleague has gotten, so I thought I'd chime in. I just got an e-mail confirming my volunteer shift at the Junyaleague's gala fundraiser this weekend, and it said to dress "in a black dress or black pants and a white shirt." Well it's good that we have the option of wearing a black dress, because there's zero chance I'm showing up at a party dressed as the help. (I really think they should encourage their member/volunteers to wear black dresses instead of white shirts/black pants, because it looks better, anyway). My problem is that next to the bullet point, it said "no black jeans."
Who even has black jeans? And, even if someone does have them, who's going to wear them to a dressy party? Has this really become a problem for the League--members volunteering at their gala showing up in black jeans? If so, the League's problems are more far-reaching than I expected.
I guarantee you that in "other organizations" (which shall, in accordance with custom, remain officially unnamed), they would not feel the need to make the distinction about black jeans, because no member in her right mind would wear them. I suppose I should be happy; at least they still have some standards. Next thing you know some bleeding heart on the board will say that outlawing jeans of any color is discriminatory to the casually-dressed among us, calling for much board debate and a change to the bylaws to be voted on by the entire membership. Only then will we complete our long transformation from "white glove organization" to "multi-colored jeans organization."
Who even has black jeans? And, even if someone does have them, who's going to wear them to a dressy party? Has this really become a problem for the League--members volunteering at their gala showing up in black jeans? If so, the League's problems are more far-reaching than I expected.
I guarantee you that in "other organizations" (which shall, in accordance with custom, remain officially unnamed), they would not feel the need to make the distinction about black jeans, because no member in her right mind would wear them. I suppose I should be happy; at least they still have some standards. Next thing you know some bleeding heart on the board will say that outlawing jeans of any color is discriminatory to the casually-dressed among us, calling for much board debate and a change to the bylaws to be voted on by the entire membership. Only then will we complete our long transformation from "white glove organization" to "multi-colored jeans organization."
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Julep: That's N-O.
Let me start off this post by saying, to my knowledge, Mr. J and I are not yet with child ... but as y'all know we'd like to be. I've talked to my mom (who's discussed it with my stepdad) and I gather Mr. J has told his parents that we are trying to have a baby. This is all well and good ... while I do not want to have a lot of conversation with either my parents or Mr. J's parents about our sex life, quietly advising that we're trying avoids them asking us when we're going to have a baby. (It's a touchy subject some days.) The delay has not stopped both of our sets of parents from taking a deep interest in the prospective grandchild.
It has long been my philosophy that my putative husband could name any sons we have himself, because I've had my hypothetical daughters' names picked out for eons and I am not open to suggestion. Y'all remember the drama that ensued last spring when Mr-J's trashy cousin flagrantly appropriated the name he had envisioned all his life he would use for his son. Well, I won't say he's gotten over it, but he has moved on. And the name he likes right now is my mother's maiden name. (This isn't quite as random as it seems ... Mr. J has gotten really close to my mom's brother and of course it's his last name too). It's a perfectly nice name ... let's pretend it's Murphy ... though I delicately suggested to Mr. J that despite its Irish heritage, today it is most commonly used by African-American comedians and NFL players. He pointed out that his own full first name also often belongs to big black guys. Touche.
And then on Saturday, Mr-Mama decided to chip in on the topic of baby names. She carefully brought it up when Mr. J was out of the room. She wanted to tell me that she thinks Murphy is a great name - for a girl. Um, really? I'm OK with reclaiming Murphy for a son, but I draw the line at naming a daughter after the star of "White Chicks."
Furthermore, while I don't object to anyone else who wants to give her daughter a last name for a first name, I personally like old-fashioned girls' names, the ones that could have been your grandma's name ... and in fact, one is my grandma's name. And one is my great-grandma's name. And the third peaked in baby-name popularity well before World War II even though two of my very best friends have shared it.
I explained to Mr-Mama that Murphy, while an uncommon first name, is generally used as a male name. And I explained to Mr-Mama that I don't insist on Mr. J using my family's name for a son, it's completely his choice if he wants to do that. But I have already picked out three lovely, traditional, feminine names that come with family pedigree and emotional attachments - and I really doubt we'll be having more than three daughters, given how long it is taking us to spawn the first one. (I left that last clause out.)
She then repeated to me not once, not twice, but three times that she thinks Murphy would be a perfect name for a girl. That's great, lady. Want a cookie? What part of "no" didn't come through? Finally I just said, "Mr-Mama, forget it. I don't care if he decides not to use it for a boy, but we're not using it for a girl."
Tact is worthless with her. Being polite just encourages her to keep going.
(By the way, I told Mr. J about this conversation later and he rolled his eyes and said, "I told her you wouldn't want to use Murphy for a girl. It's a boy's name!")
It has long been my philosophy that my putative husband could name any sons we have himself, because I've had my hypothetical daughters' names picked out for eons and I am not open to suggestion. Y'all remember the drama that ensued last spring when Mr-J's trashy cousin flagrantly appropriated the name he had envisioned all his life he would use for his son. Well, I won't say he's gotten over it, but he has moved on. And the name he likes right now is my mother's maiden name. (This isn't quite as random as it seems ... Mr. J has gotten really close to my mom's brother and of course it's his last name too). It's a perfectly nice name ... let's pretend it's Murphy ... though I delicately suggested to Mr. J that despite its Irish heritage, today it is most commonly used by African-American comedians and NFL players. He pointed out that his own full first name also often belongs to big black guys. Touche.
And then on Saturday, Mr-Mama decided to chip in on the topic of baby names. She carefully brought it up when Mr. J was out of the room. She wanted to tell me that she thinks Murphy is a great name - for a girl. Um, really? I'm OK with reclaiming Murphy for a son, but I draw the line at naming a daughter after the star of "White Chicks."
Furthermore, while I don't object to anyone else who wants to give her daughter a last name for a first name, I personally like old-fashioned girls' names, the ones that could have been your grandma's name ... and in fact, one is my grandma's name. And one is my great-grandma's name. And the third peaked in baby-name popularity well before World War II even though two of my very best friends have shared it.
I explained to Mr-Mama that Murphy, while an uncommon first name, is generally used as a male name. And I explained to Mr-Mama that I don't insist on Mr. J using my family's name for a son, it's completely his choice if he wants to do that. But I have already picked out three lovely, traditional, feminine names that come with family pedigree and emotional attachments - and I really doubt we'll be having more than three daughters, given how long it is taking us to spawn the first one. (I left that last clause out.)
She then repeated to me not once, not twice, but three times that she thinks Murphy would be a perfect name for a girl. That's great, lady. Want a cookie? What part of "no" didn't come through? Finally I just said, "Mr-Mama, forget it. I don't care if he decides not to use it for a boy, but we're not using it for a girl."
Tact is worthless with her. Being polite just encourages her to keep going.
(By the way, I told Mr. J about this conversation later and he rolled his eyes and said, "I told her you wouldn't want to use Murphy for a girl. It's a boy's name!")
Monday, February 15, 2010
Twinkle: Pack-n-Play
Do y'all remember when I was expecting Twinklette, and everyone told me I had to get a Pack-n-Play, and MIL was the pushiest one of all? She insisted that I wasn't going to want to go upstairs to change diapers and I needed a lycra and plastic monstrosity right there in my living room, and I'd need one whenever I traveled, too. She and FIL went shopping with us and insisted that we needed one, and I had to throw a pregnant b*tch fit in the middle of Babies 'R Us to get her off my case.
The thing I've found is that hotels provide cribs or Pack-N-Plays, so all I really need to do is bring sheets (plus who wants to go through TSA with their own collapsible crib?). That makes traveling a non-issue...and as for walking up the steps to change a diaper, I've never minded. I prefer to have the sanctity of my nice, clean living room intact and free of baby clutter, and walking up the stairs is a small price to pay. I did invest in a pretty little Moses basket for Twinklette to take downstairs naps in when she was an infant. Who would ever imagine that buying a Moses basket would be an act of sedition? But it is, to so many mommy clones and bossy grandmothers.
I've never missed having a Pack-n-Play, and I actually revel in the way not owning one makes me feel like a rebel. I know that they're convenient; I know that some of my favorite people in the world have them...and that's OK for them, but for me the Pack-n-Play became too tied up with the controversy surrounding it and with my pushy MIL's opinions of how I should run my home. It became a personal symbol of oppression. Incidentally, SIL has a Pack-N-Play in her living room, which makes no sense because she lives in a ranch. Her kid's nursery is quite literally a few steps away from the living room, but there the Pack-n-Play sits, front and center. You know MIL is pleased.
So now my SIL's SIL, Beth of the Verboten Birthday Cake, is coming to town--this girl is nice enough, but she's a pushy Jewish grandmother-in-training. I mean, her son is not even one year old, but I would say that in about 30 years or so, his future wife will have one hell of a stealth blog where she does nothing but b*tch about Beth. Anyway, Beth just Facebooked me because she wants to borrow my Pack-n-Play (I guess the one at the hotel isn't good enough for her little Noah) and I got a little ego boost telling her--the mother of maternal obligation--that I don't have one. I happily sent her to my MIL...Pack-n-Plays are the least of what those two have in common.
The thing I've found is that hotels provide cribs or Pack-N-Plays, so all I really need to do is bring sheets (plus who wants to go through TSA with their own collapsible crib?). That makes traveling a non-issue...and as for walking up the steps to change a diaper, I've never minded. I prefer to have the sanctity of my nice, clean living room intact and free of baby clutter, and walking up the stairs is a small price to pay. I did invest in a pretty little Moses basket for Twinklette to take downstairs naps in when she was an infant. Who would ever imagine that buying a Moses basket would be an act of sedition? But it is, to so many mommy clones and bossy grandmothers.
I've never missed having a Pack-n-Play, and I actually revel in the way not owning one makes me feel like a rebel. I know that they're convenient; I know that some of my favorite people in the world have them...and that's OK for them, but for me the Pack-n-Play became too tied up with the controversy surrounding it and with my pushy MIL's opinions of how I should run my home. It became a personal symbol of oppression. Incidentally, SIL has a Pack-N-Play in her living room, which makes no sense because she lives in a ranch. Her kid's nursery is quite literally a few steps away from the living room, but there the Pack-n-Play sits, front and center. You know MIL is pleased.
So now my SIL's SIL, Beth of the Verboten Birthday Cake, is coming to town--this girl is nice enough, but she's a pushy Jewish grandmother-in-training. I mean, her son is not even one year old, but I would say that in about 30 years or so, his future wife will have one hell of a stealth blog where she does nothing but b*tch about Beth. Anyway, Beth just Facebooked me because she wants to borrow my Pack-n-Play (I guess the one at the hotel isn't good enough for her little Noah) and I got a little ego boost telling her--the mother of maternal obligation--that I don't have one. I happily sent her to my MIL...Pack-n-Plays are the least of what those two have in common.
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