Captain's blog, 5:27 a.m.

One of the great joys of late pregnancy is insomnia. Actually, I guess that could be a factor of the pregnancy, or of the fact that we went to bed at 10:00 last night, or of the general anxiety of the child-waiting mode.

Yesterday's baby-loosening strategies included a couple of swift laps around Dexter Training Ground (swift for a Macy's parade float), copious Indian food (which probably could have been spicier) and a long drive over Rhode Island's poorly paved highways and byways.

Conclusion: The Indian food gave me gas, and we really do need to do something about the sound our brakes are making. And oh, yeah, no baby.


Now that I know I have at least a small handful of readers, I feel obligated to post daily so no one thinks something is happening that isn't. If you are reading, drop a comment so we know you're out there! Whatcha dooin' for New Year's?

My name is. . .

Midwife visit was frustrating and annoying yesterday- not because of any bad news, just because of a kooky-nut incompetent nurse and a very rushed midwife, who was pinch hitting for all the other midwives who were out for the holidays.

How kooky-nut was the nurse? For evidence, take your pick:
* Throws open the bathroom door and says "Wait! Don't go yet!" as I'm sitting on the can, because she forgot to give me the little cup to pee in.
* Tells me she didn't want two boys, so she was happy when they ended up with two girls, even though her ex-husband, he wanted a boy both times. Then, he left her anyway, when the girls were six and nine, to go raise somebody else's kids. Can you believe it? And that woman, she has been with everybody, I mean everybody. Oh, he is a jerk. (Me: Well, I don't really care, boy or girl. . . I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say? Who was this nut?)
* Can't figure out how to use the baby-listening device. Gets ultrasound goo all over me. Makes me seriously wonder if she has ever done this before.

In the end, all is fine.

Had an ultrasound this morning to get my fluids checked. The dipstick says I don't even need them topped off. Next appointment, I'll actually pull into the garage, straddle a pit in the ground, and have a bunch of Voc-Tech grads poke at my undercarriage.

The ultrasound lady said she could see hair on the back of baby's head. cG first thought she said she saw hair on the baby's back, which I guess would mean she takes after my family.

Speaking of my undercarriage, we are starting to institute a baby-loosening curriculum. As a first step, we walked a couple of miles on Blackstone Blvd. this a.m. cG has decided to play chicken with the baby, strategically removing the front right wheel of the car to "check the rotors." She didn't flinch, so he's next going to up the ante by taking off both front wheels and replacing the brake pads, which he has never done before. This is not some kind of medical metaphor, he is actually disassembling the car. We're hoping she will decide to show up as soon as he can't figure out how to get the brakes back together, just to be contrarian.

We've started calling the baby "Peaches," because boy howdy, did she like peaches when they were in season this year. Seriously, she made me eat like 1000 of them. They were SO GOOD. So we're thinking about dangling a peach between my knees. Think that will lure her out? It sure couldn't make my walking any less graceful than it already is.

I think those of you with a passing knowledge of the Nina Simone repertoire will recognize why "Peaches" is not only cute, but damned inappropriate as our daughter's nickname. We're all about the impropriety around here.

*not this Peaches.

And coming in 1st in the Bantha-Weight division. . .

We went for a walk yesterday, just over to the park. Here's me as a slow-moving land mammal:

Fears of global warming aside, I'm glad it has been such a warm winter, because I have no idea what I would have done for a coat, if I needed one. I've been wearing the same green sweater, and now C's sweatshirt, for months. So this whole "climate change" thing has really been working out for me, fashion convenience-wise.

It's 1:25pm, and I just finished some lovely pancakes a la cG. I'm settling into a life of sloth waiting for this damned baby. The good news is that cG seems to have nearly perfected the art of the pancake in the past week or so, which is surely an important qualification for fatherhood.

Midwife appointment at 4:00 today.

Enough already!

Seriously.

Still nothing to report on this front. I've got a list of errands to run today, including stopping by at the office, paying some bills, and the grocery store. I somehow didn't think grocery shopping would be on my agenda this week, but nothing, I mean NOTHING seems to be happening as far as this baby is concerned. I have my regular weekly doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow at 4:00. I don't want to go, so I've given baby a new deadline of 3:30 tomorrow.

C and I decided to keep the blog for all audiences for now, so sorry if you feel like you are missing out on some of my juicier viewpoints. We're going to primarily use it as a place to post baby pictures (when there are any to post) and take it from there. For now, only one of you out there even knows this exists- I suppose we should spread the word.

My husband has taken to wearing this wool vest my parents got him for Chanukah, every day. He is my very cute mulatto Paul Bunyan. (Wait, is that All Audiences? I just don't know any more.)

Who goes there?

I'm trying to decide who to let in on this blog, as the content will surely be determined by who I think is reading. I tend to be somewhat- shall we say- incorrect in the company of certain audiences, and somewhat more restrained in the company of others.

Case in point: I surely did not say "Portuguese" in my most recent restaurant discussion with C. I surely used a mild ethnic epithet, one my Southern New Englander friends would be comfortable enough with to just find silly, which might give others pause, and which somehow got cleaned up for publication. Another case: C and I think it's just funny as hell to think of Baby Zee as our "little Quadroon." Some folks, they just don't find this so funny. Some folks, they just don't get what we find funny about it, and some folks, they find it funny for all the wrong reasons.

Also, there is some news about the activity in my hoo-hoo that I would share with certain reading friends, but perhaps not with, say, any number of our lovely elderly relatives.

This an issue I will have to meditate on. I'll let you know the verdict.

Hum dee dum. . .

Still sitting on my butt, and getting seriously bored at this point. I've had some passing crampy things, but that's been going on for the past 2 days or so, so not really worth paying my attention to, in my book.

We're going to a second-run theater in E. Providence tonight to wile away the time some. I proposed going for Portuguese dinner while we were over there, which was greeted with resounding indifference by C. So I threw out, "There's a good Korean place. . ." and got no response whatsoever. Because you know who is mostly nonplussed by most Asian food? My husband. And you know who could eat Asian food in all its permutations almost every day of the year? Me. Maybe this whole "marriage" thing was ill-considered.

Throughout this pregnancy, I have been especially into all things spicy and salty. And what's spicier and saltier than Korean? Not much (well, there is Portuguese). My mother says I'll know I'm about to have the baby when I just don't feel like eating. Burrito yesterday, latkes last night (then left over and re-heated for breakfast today. The main reason we decided to have children is so someone's around to eat all my over-cooking. See "Latkes for 2" above), and now I'm jonesing Portuguese or Korean. Hmm. It might be some time before this chil' shows up, after all.

In other news, Eric and Moira at the corner store came up with their perfect name for Bebe Zee: De'Cor Ambiance Erica. Hm. In light of this excellent suggestion, C and I will have to seriously discuss reassessing the name we thought we had settled on.

By the way- Potato/Zucchini latkes? Awesome.

Tick, tock

So we never gave too much creedence to this whole "due date" idea in the first place. C and I distinctly remember being told two different dates by different practictioners of the medical arts - the 20th by the midwife, according to her groovy little calendar wheel, and the 24th by the ultrasound guy ("the last mid-40's guy with a beard I ever want to hear discussing my daughter's labia," as C says). Even with those two forecasts, I knew better than to expect anything to happen when THEY said.

Even so, it's the 22nd, and I'm damned impatient at this point. I really kinda thought today would be the day. I've been off work since Tuesday, and kept telling C that I just needed two days to not think about work and not feel like I had anything else to do, and then I would be ready to have the baby. 'Cuz that's the kind of control freak I secretly am. I think I have magical mind control over my cervix or some shit.

Ok, Baby, it's been 2 days. I know I was rather stern with you on Tuesday, when I told you you were going to have to wait until I got a little rest and C went to Boston to train for his new gig. I cleaned up your room then sat around in my pyjamas all day yesterday while he was gone. I don't really have anything left to do, and at this point, you're just frittering away my maternity leave. So step to, kid. Oh, yeah, we haven't installed the car seat yet. Is that what you are waiting for? Cuz we'll do it first thing tomorrow, I promise. It's dark out now, and that would be a total pain, especially given your father's and my proven pattern of fumbling with and bickering about anything that requires assembly.

We worry that Baby Zee is going to be some kind of neat freak, and will be horribly dissapointed as soon as she sticks her head out of there and sees the condition we keep our apartment in. Is she too horrified by the stacks of books and mail on every surface to come out?