Me, nervous? Nah...

Now that I'm eight days past my due date, I'm finally going to be induced tonight. Most likely I'll deliver sometime tomorrow (God, please, no 24-hour labor + emergency c-section). I was just asked by a neighbor if I'm nervous. I thought back to the last time I remember being really, truly, "I don't want to do this" nervous -- the first time I did a triathlon and the water in Lake Michigan had been deemed risky for swimming. After a series of bad rainstorms, the locks in the Chicago River had reversed its flow, sending waste into Lake Michigan. "Swim at your Own Risk!" signs were posted all over the race expo the day before, and a park district employee we ran into on the lakefront kindly told us he'd seen some "personal items" floating in Monroe Harbor, where we were scheduled to swim the next day.

I remember saying to Brian as we were trying to go to sleep that night, "I really don't want to do this. What if we get sick?" He was like, "Eh, we'll be fine." And dozed off. I did the race, didn't get sick, but will never forget how sick I felt that night just thinking about not only exposure to E-coli, but the idea of swimming, biking and running for 2 hours straight. (I went on to do two more triathlons since and will try for more in the future.)

I was way more nervous that night than I am today, even after hearing and reading countless labor stories over the last month. I say bring on the pain, give me an epidural and let's get this baby out into the world where he belongs. We are more than ready for him!

Let the wild rumpus start!

I've been catching a lot of advertising for the live-action version of one of my favorite children's books, "Where the Wild Things Are." If I weren't so big and uncomfortable, I would go see this movie in the theater. I've read a few favorable reviews, some of which indicate it's more of a movie for adults who loved the book (like me) than it is for kids. I was surprised to find out that my husband had never read the book, nor even heard of it.

I'm now on a mission to make sure "the boy" (as we, for some reason, will call him until we meet him) is exposed to all of what I consider the great kids' books of my childhood. So I went to the bookstore this morning with a gift card one of Brian's coworkers had given us as part of a baby gift and redeemed it for a copy of "WTWTA" and another favorite, "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein. I think it was a good use of the gift card, and I'm looking forward to adding to the collection.

Eventually, when he's reading on his own, I'll introduce him to a solid list like this one I found online, posted, coincidentally, by the op-ed columnist at The New York Times who was the guest on Oprah the day I was in her studio audience: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/05/opinion/05kristof.html

Side note: I just saw this ad for a homemade Halloween costume contest online and am very concerned for the safety of this baby -- is it me, or is she trapped in a box?

Observations on Things Unrelated to Pregnancy

I'm still waiting for any sign of labor, so in between reading non-baby books (just finished "Assassination Vacation" by Sarah Vowell, a great book for history buffs who also love David Sedaris style humor) and staying up on pop culture, I've still managed to have some opinions on the outside world:

Despite not having posted anything to my own Twitter page in weeks (months?), I still get e-mails notifying me that people I have never heard of are now following me. Who are these people? How did they find me? Most importantly, why do they care what I have to "tweet"? There was an article in the Tribune this morning about celebrities having Twitter "feuds" with one another because they post their thoughts before their publicists can filter them. This does not surprise me. Twitter, in my opinion, is all about self-importance, right up the alley of a Spencer Pratt or a Perez Hilton. (At least with a blog, I exercise my writing skills and don't use abbreviations like "r u" instead of "are you.") I started my Twitter page originally so I could stay up on social networking technology while I was trying to find a job. Soon I ran out of things to say so just started sharing interesting news items, but with who? I didn't know 99 percent of my followers, so how do I know what news they want to hear? About two months ago, I signed out and can't remember my password. So be it.

Heidi Klum and Seal had a daughter last Friday. They named her Lou. Not Louise. Not Lucille.

Lou.

I had some success this fall, professionally speaking. I've been doing some volunteer PR work (which I'm trying to train myself to refer to as "pro bono" for when I do start interviewing again) for a local nonprofit, Brickton Art Center. They have a house tour this weekend and next, and I managed to get them into the Tribune's Sunday [lifestyle] section, a brief article and a photo of one of the cooler houses on the tour. I've also got some local papers covering it. I'm told it's the best press they've ever had, especially the Tribune coverage. It's nice for me to have the clippings. Now I just have to figure out how I can start doing this for money and do the work from home a few months from now.

Speaking of being at home, a few weeks ago we got a new mail carrier. She seems like a nice person, but I kind of liked that I knew our last mail carrier, Anita, by name, and as far as mail carriers go, she was good at her job. She put our mail inside the storm door on rainy and snowy days when it wouldn't fit in the mailbox. I felt very "small town" knowing my mail carrier. The other day, I spotted Anita a few blocks from our house and actually gasped, seeing that she was still working in the vicinity. Brian was with me, and he asked, "What?" All I could do was point and say, "That's Anita!" You would have thought I'd caught her at a romantic dinner with one of our married friends, the way I reacted. Just in case you'd thought I no longer had too much time on my hands...now I think I have more time than ever.

Observations on the Last Days of Pregnancy

1. I'm not sure if this counts as "nesting," but I can't stop cooking. I have about $300 or more worth of dinners in our freezer, which normally doesn't contain much more than a frozen pizza and some Dairy Queen ice cream. And maybe a chicken breast or two. Now it's full of containers of various entrees made at one of those "Dinner by Design" places, as well as my own chili, lentil soup (which is way better than it sounds), chocolate chip cookie dough, and soon, lasagna. I have little interest in cleaning, though I did that on Friday as well as I could given my carpal tunnel hands and sausage-like fingers. It's really the cooking that I can't stop doing, it's as if I won't be allowed in the kitchen once we're home with the baby.
2. People keep telling me to stay off my feet this week, and take naps. If I sit or lie down, the circulation in my hands acts up and my hands fall asleep. I also get this 'scrunched up' feeling like the baby doesn't have enough room (evident when his butt gets shoved into my rib cage). If I stand and walk around, my bladder seems to get pinched by the weight of his head and my feet may swell up. If I nap during the day, I have even more difficulty sleeping at night. I cannot win.
3. I've decided I need to read one more novel before I am soon so incoherent from a lack of sleep that I can't even read the newspaper. So far I'm pretty into the new Dave Eggers book (which is more or less a nonfiction account, so not a true novel but reads like one) but that damn baby on the cover of the "Week by Week: Your Baby's First Year" book is staring at me with his wide eyes and round face, reminding me I've only read about week one.
4. I do not understand how people can name their children when they are no more than a few cells in utero. We will likely not decide on a name for this baby until we actually meet him face to face. Somehow I have a feeling a name will pop into our heads that just seems right. (And it won't be Obi Wan, Pee Wee, Kobe or any of the others suggested by our nephews.)

Why do I...?

Watch "Entourage?"
I decided last night that every woman on this show is either crazy or slutty. Or both. And that Jeremy Piven yelling insults at people is just tired. And yet I keep watching. I guess I want to make sure Lloyd makes it as an agent.

Visit people.com?
I really don't give a shit which Kardashian got married/got pregnant/broke up with her pro athlete boyfriend. I also don't want to know what the cast of "Full House" is up to these days. Yet it's bookmarked on my browser and I check it nearly every day because I can skim the headlines and stay up on useless celebrity news.

See Jennifer Aniston movies?
I know, I've complained about her before, and I might not pay to see her movies in the theater, but I have undoubtedly seen everything this bland actress has ever made, with the exception of "The Leprechaun." If it's on cable, I will stop and watch it. And I will say out loud to anyone within earshot, "God, she is ALWAYS the same person - it's Rachel Green all over again!" And then I watch the rest of the movie. I think it's her hair that makes me unable to turn away.

Garbage on Top of Garbage

This morning I decided to run some errands relatively early (okay, 8 a.m. is not early for most working people). When I got back in my car after one stop, I turned the key, and it wouldn't start. It made a bad clicking noise and wouldn't turn over. I suspected it was the battery, which had died about a month ago while I waited in the carryout parking spot at a local restaurant. Anyhoo, I was about four blocks from our usual mechanic, fortunately, so I headed over to the station, hoping the coffee I'd recently drank didn't make for a completely miserable walk.

I got there without peeing my pants and the mechanic showed up just a few minutes later. I told him where my car was and he said, "Okay, I'll give you a ride over there, I'll jump it if I can and we can bring it back here to take a look." We've used this mechanic for miscellaneous repairs for at least six years - since we moved to Park Ridge. He's always given a fair price, is really fast and always pleasant. So I feel a little bad sharing this story. A little.

We walk toward his Saturn station wagon and he says, "Hold on a sec, let me just make sure there's nothing on the seat." I open the passenger door and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD THE GARBAGE. I couldn't see the floor mat or the seat. Cigarette packs, soda cans, at least two maps, an atlas, random fast food wrappers and receipts. That was just the floor. The seat had the car lighter, more receipts and random garbage, and at least $300 in loose change. He starts scraping off the seat and says (in a tone that I like to think was jovial), "I just want to make sure there's no razor blades on here." I responded with a nervous laugh and get in. This is what it looked like after he'd "cleaned off" the seat:



So we drive the few blocks to my car and he asks something about my living nearby and can I get home okay and I said, "Yeah, I can just walk home, I'm right off Canfield." It's really about a mile walk but, if given a stop at a bathroom halfway home, I could have handled it. He kindly says, "No, no, that's too far, we can give you a ride home." I say something about needing the exercise and then we start talking about whatever might be wrong with my car. We get there and he gets it started right away and I follow him back to the station, having a newfound appreciation for car washes, vacuum cleaners and the fact that my steering wheel doesn't have a 1/2-inch layer of film on it.

Back at the station, he says, "So, just go in and fill out a ticket, and you can take my car 'cause, well, you're gonna need a car." Had I been a little quicker on my feet, I'd have just called a cab or made up something about borrowing a neighbor's car if I needed to, or having nowhere to go, anything. Instead I said, "Are you sure? I can just walk." I relent, get in the car and delicately turn the key and debate with myself whether it's safe to steer with just my fingertips. I managed to get the seatbelt on without any damage to my clothes, and fortunately it was only a two minute ride home. As soon as I got in the house I washed my hands, changed out of my clothes, showered and promptly found my camera so I could record the spectacle that was the inside of this man's car.

Ten Worst Movies I Actually Paid to See in the Theater

I'm flipping through channels on our "basic cable" TV upstairs and came across VH1's airing of "The Bodyguard." I'm embarrassed to calculate in what year this movie came out, because I'm pretty sure I saw it in the theater. Somehow saying I rented it sounds much less lame. Actually the fact that I've not turned the channel yet is mortifying.


It's lameness got me thinking about other movies I've paid to see. Most were the result of a friend's or boyfriend's interest: "Okay, we'll see Waterworld if you really want to. I thought Dances with Wolves was pretty good..." (For the record, Kevin Costner should have quit at Bull Durham.) So here goes, in no particular order (and yet I felt the need to "countdown"):


10. Coffee and Cigarettes. I read a review of this movie, a series of vignettes directed by Jim Jarmusch, whom I'd never heard of, and you'd have thought it would have changed my life. Unfortunately I just didn't understand or appreciate the dialogue. Two of the three people I went with fell asleep halfway through.

9. She-Devil. In my defense, I walked out of this so-called comedy about 35 minutes into it.

8. Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. A friend's mom offered to drive us, and in 4th grade, we'd do anything for a ride to the mall. Remarkably, one did not have to see the original Breakin' to follow the plot of its sequel.

7. New Jack City. No idea why I was remotely interested in seeing this. I do know it was the first time I experienced how some black audiences enjoy yelling at the movie screen as if Wesley Snipes can hear them.

6. Sex and the City: The Movie. Way too much shrieking and, really, way too much celebration of high-end fashion - the bridal gown montage was beyond irritating. I could write a whole entry about why this movie wasn't necessary. And now there's a sequel in the works! Eeeeeek!

5. Waterworld. At least it prevented me from seeing The Postman.

4. Adventures in Babysitting. Alright, I probably thought it was an okay movie when I was in 7th grade, but I recently came across it on cable and it is not okay. Not at all. The opening credits made me sad for Elisabeth Shue.

3. Con-Air. I don't remember who talked me into seeing this, but I know I've never regained whatever shred of respect I had for Nicholas Cage.

2. Hudson Hawk. I've literally blocked this entire movie from memory.

1. Fresh Horses. Again, don't remember the plot of this one, but I do remember leaving the theater thinking, "Just because a movie stars Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy, doesn't mean it's a John Hughes project." Lesson learned; always consider who wrote and directed it; actors are just there for the paycheck.