Awww...

I stopped over to my neighbor's house today to meet her new dog. Her last dog, who was honestly the nicest dog I'd ever known, was hit by a car just at the beginning of last week. She said the only way she could get over him was to get a new puppy. I brought her some tiny dog treats as a welcome gift and got to hold her (the puppy, not my neighbor) for a bit.

In the afternoon, I stopped by a friend's house to drop return some pants she'd loaned me early in my pregnancy. She has a six-week-old baby who happened to be awake and alert when I stopped by. This baby is so mellow, every time I see him (about once a week or so) he is just making gurgling noises and maybe, at worst, letting out a little gas. Not a big cryer, this kid. I asked how she was sleeping, and she said it was a little better, but that he wanted to be held all the time. I asked if I could hold him if she wanted some hands-free time. She passed him over and I said, "Wow, I got to hold a puppy and a baby in the same day. Not bad."

When did I lose my social skills?

I have always considered myself a sort of female Chandler Bing. I have a knack for making jokes at inappropriate times, or when I'm uncomfortable, like at a wake or funeral, or to people who have no sense of humor. Except I go for the joke so quickly after meeting them that I don't realize what a slim chance I have of making them even smirk, let alone laugh out loud.

On top of this, lately I'm noticing I'm not only making jokes at inappropriate times, but I just say the wrong thing. It could be because I'm unemployed and home all day, not interacting with anyone except maybe our 75-year-old retired neighbor. (I even gave up morning news shows after all the Susan Boyle and Michael Jackson coverage irritated the crap out of me.) It could be because this pregnancy, I'm told, is causing me to lose brain cells. It could be that I'm just getting older and my conversation filter peaked in my late 20s, when I considered myself pretty savvy at conversation and small talk.

The other night, I joined Brian for his grade school reunion (yes, they have these in Chicago, where most grade schools are K-8 and then they "graduate" and go on to any number of public or private high schools). We walk into the party room and are first greeted by two women, one of whom is visibly pregnant. As it turns out, she's due in September. I carefully considered what to ask her that wouldn't be the same old questions I get all the time but decided just to ask how she was feeling. She told us she has gestational diabetes. I know a few people who have had this, and I could have said something like, "It's crazy how common that is." or something else that would make her feel normal. No, not me, instead I practically yell, "Aw, I was so afraid of getting that because of all the food restrictions, that would stink!" Okay, did I have to remind her of how hard it probably is? She replied by kindly explaining that it isn't that bad, and that she has to keep telling herself it's not because of anything she did wrong, etc. Fortunately Brian piped in with some question about managing it, and how it's not full-on diabetes, and it goes away, blah blah. He then segued into an update on their classmate who has diabetes but manages it quite well with a pump, and how amazing the pump technology is compared to giving himself insulin shots every day.

It was very much like a wake we went to this spring, when I started to randomly reminisce to my friend's brother - their dad had passed away - about all the fun we would have when he'd visit us at college. Brian stepped in that time with a somber "I'm very sorry for your loss" that quieted me down. I had evidently forgotten we were in a funeral home. With this pregnant girl, all I could think was how annoyed I would have been if I were her.

I hope this new found social awkwardness, like the nightly leg cramps and the extra 30 pounds, goes away once the baby is here. Otherwise I'll have to leave our son's "art of conversation" lessons to Brian (and maybe I should sit in on some of those). If they don't, I might never work again because I can't make it through a networking event or, God forbid, an interview, without cracking a poorly timed joke.

What are ya drinking?

After nearly a year of unemployment, you would think that nothing I see on the online job boards or the weekly e-mail updates they generate would surprise me. The weekly e-mails are a list of job openings based on my specifications and keywords, so they're usually more or less jobs I might want. Today I opened one from a site that typically has some pretty solid postings specific to my field (some of which I've actually acted on) only to find this listing second from the top:

Bartenders wanted!

My field, I should point out, is not mixing cocktails; though I guess I can see where "public relations" in its purest form would play a part in the day to day of a barkeep. Besides, aren't journalists notorious for their drinking habits? Maybe it would be a good way to network.

Gee, I thought I was doing well...

I'm doing some volunteer PR work for a local arts organization. At today's committee meeting, one of my fellow volunteers whom I hadn't seen in two weeks came in, looked at me and said, "Well, you're looking chunky!"

I stammered something about horizontal stripes not being the best idea for me (I was wearing a maternity T-shirt I'd found on clearance) and the meeting got started.

Side note: This is the same woman who, the first time I met her, shared with me how, when she was pregnant (in the 70s), she swam a MILE A DAY, six days a week, through her whole pregnancy, and the baby practically "slid right out." (Thanks for the visual, person I've just met.) She made a point to add that when she wasn't pregnant, she ran six miles a day, seven days a week. Whatever, lady. I swim two times a week, a half mile each time, and walk the other days, and I think that's a good effort.

It didn't really annoy me until the end of the meeting, when I was walking out to my car and getting hungry. I get really crabby when I'm hungry. I was reminded of some family pictures my mom had taken the last time we were all home, earlier this summer. The photographer just e-mailed us all with the proofs. Five months is probably not the best time in one's pregnancy to have a photo taken - I don't look pregnant in the pictures, I just look bloated. My face is puffy even when I'm at my thinnest, so adding on an extra 10-15 pounds didn't help. (The good news is, there's a really cute photo of my parents among the proofs that I am ordering.)

Frustrated with her stupid comment and the visual of those family pictures in my head, I went to the mall to take advantage of a sale at Banana Republic to get some "casual Friday" shirts for Brian (who shops for himself only in election years). I usually avoid conversation with retail salespeople, but I had a question about a shirt and the sales guy offered to take the stuff I'd found and put it behind the register. Then he asked if I was going to look for anything for myself. I held back the shirts to show him my belly (and, apparently, the rest of my chunky self) and said I thought I'd outgrown their stuff for the time being. He said, "Aw, how far along are you?" I said six months and he said, "Well, you hide it very well!" I'm not even sure if that's good or bad - like, am I so puffy all over that my belly is barely noticeable, or do I not look puffy until you notice my belly? I'm going with the latter. And that lady and her six-days-a-week exercise routine can suck it.

5 Things I Miss

Don't get me wrong, I love being pregnant -- or, rather, the fact that I am pregnant. But I'm finding myself missing a few things, some I hadn't anticipated:

1) Running. Once in awhile on the weekend mornings, I'll join Brian down by the lakefront. While he runs, I walk. I used to run, and hope to be able to do a 10k or perhaps even a half marathon next summer. Something about a long run completed by 9:30 a.m. is really satisfying.

2) Golfing. This was one of those activities I'd sometimes avoid because I was inevitably the only female in every foresome (our female friends and family didn't have the free time I had because they all had kids). And because there's usually a cold beer at the end (sometimes during, depending on when and with whom I golf). Now that I can't do it, I miss it.

3) Water slides. My family met up at a state park in June, the high point of which was a pretty nice water park. I found myself just a little bummed that I couldn't go down the water slides to cool off. The adults who were using them looked like they were having a good time. Of course, I haven't been down one since I was 12, but I remember I enjoyed it.

4) Stella Artois. This is my hot weather drink of choice. Light, refreshing, Belgian. What more could you ask for? So special it has its own glass.

5) Bending over.

Human Chimney

Saturday night, we were driving home from a friend's party when I decided, at 9:30 p.m., that I wanted a chopped salad from one of our neighborhood restaurants. Brian called in the order for me (I was driving) and we swung by to pick it up. I waited in front of the restaurant, parked in the designated carry out spot, while he ran in to get it. The parking spot happened to be right in front of the unofficial smokers' hangout, so I had the pleasure of watching all the tobacco enthusiasts puff away for about 15 minutes.

One middle-aged blonde amazed me with her sense of rhythm and determination to get every last ounce of nicotine out of her Marlboro Light. With her right arm folded across her ribcage and the other holding the cigarette, she functioned much like, what, an oil rig? Her right arm pumped with an almost hypnotic motion. She would inhale, exhale while swinging the left arm and hand down, ash, then swing it back up again for another drag. I watched her for at least twenty seconds, and it lulled me into a comfortable stare. I wondered if someone she was dining or drinking with inside the restaurant didn't know she smoked, because she was sort of leaning up against a wall away from the windows. Either that, or her dinner companions were really impatient and she, despite that, wanted to enjoy every last bit of her smoke. In short, she smoked the crap out of that cigarette.

I hope she found it fulfilling. I found it fascinating and disturbing at the same time.

The accompanying image, by the way, is just an excuse to put a picture of Aaron Eckhart on my blog.

Today I went up to Milwaukee to rifle through my sister's attic and collect some baby hand-me-downs, both gear and clothes. Holy crap did she have stuff to hand down. I left with a trunkful of stuff - shopping bags full of sleepers and boy clothes (thanks, nephew Jack), a Moses basket, seats both bouncy and booster. It was so much more than I expected and will go a long way towards our efforts not to consume too much in the way of baby crap.

After the pilfering, I joined their family at their pool for Jack's fifth birthday party with his preschool friends. I didn't realize until Sheila put me in charge of the gift opening portion that I had never been to a birthday party for a 5 year old before. Sheila left to drop my niece off at her Brownie camp, so I stayed on to help my brother-in-law with the gift opening and cupcake distribution. We announced that it was time for Jack to open presents, and set out a chair next to the gift table for the birthday boy to sit and open his presents. I had assumed (naively) that the guests would sit in their seats and maybe watch for their gift to be open but otherwise would not be interested. I was so wrong.



The kids, one by one, went up to the table and picked up the gift they'd brought. For a second, I thought maybe they'd misunderstood and were going to open up their own gift. Jack started opening one, and every single kid gathered around him - well, "gathered around" is an understatement. They were like the paparazzi swarming Jennifer Aniston, all jockeying for position so Jack would open their present next. With his friends pressed up against him, he would open one, my brother-in-law would grasp for the card before it was lost in the crowd. Sometimes even the gift would get grabbed out of Jack's hands as he looked to see what it was. One kid asked if he could open and play with the giant squirt gun he gave Jack. These kids were like an angry mob, only they weren't angry, they just LOVE presents.





My brother-in-law and I attempted a few times to ask them to "Give Jack some space" or suggest that they all sit down on the towels we'd laid out. They'd step back for a second, then step forward again. Halfway through the chaotic scene, I looked behind me and noticed the table of moms who had stayed for the party, sipping their drinks and most likely laughing at the two of us attempting to maintain order. No interest, however, in helping us with crowd control.

Not Too Shabby After All

I've always considered myself one of those people who is sort of just mediocre, average, okay at a lot of things. I was always a B student. I was never a natural athlete; I run, but I'm not fast. I can take a decent vacation picture, but I'm not good enough to be artistic about photography. When I had a job, I was good at it, but knew there were people my age who'd made it a lot farther in their careers than I had. For awhile there, when it was taking so long to get pregnant, I went through phases when all I could think about was what I was bad at, or how there were so many people around me who were better at the things I wanted to be good at - getting pregnant was just one of them.



Lately, though, I've come to appreciate (more than even I thought I would) the fact that I haven't - knock on wood - had any issues with this gestating thing. I had a little sickness and fatigue in the beginning, but most people do. I haven't gained too much or too little weight; magically, I've gained exactly the recommended amount without obsessing about calories. And I've kept up a respectable but not freakish exercise routine. Every doctor's appointment so far has been uneventful. In short, I seem to be pretty damn good at being pregnant.


Yoga was yet another "sport" I have never been great at. In every class I've taken, the instructor wandered the room while gently calling out instruction, stopping occasionally to correct a student's positioning. That student is always me. I eventually bought a DVD and did my incorrect poses in the privacy of my own home. A friend recommended a prenatal yoga class to me, and I am so glad she did. I went to my first class today and loved it. The instructor was not your typical earth mother type, she was kind of funny and had some good, practical information about leg cramps and other random pregnancy side effects. And when she stopped to correct someone's pose, it wasn't mine!

Toward the end of class, I was feeling really good, and she had us do this hip stretch pose that I used to do after a long run (which I learned from my yoga DVD), so it was second nature to me. The instructor noted that some people might have trouble with this pose because it is a little difficult. When I looked over at the girl next to me, who looked really athletic and with whom I was swapping exercise stories at the start of class, looked at my legs all twisted up and said, "How do you do that? It's so hard!"

I tried to supress my smile as I sputtered something about other poses I struggle with. During the relaxation session that followed, I admitted to myself that while I might not yet have found what I'm great at, I am better than average at a few things, even if one of them is just a single yoga pose. I should remind myself of that a little more often than I do. Everyone should.