Peekaboo Adam
Inspiration pic
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Fun Pix
Adam's and my friend Leroy sent these pix to me from last year. The first one is of Adam back in Iraq; the other is after Adam's re-enlistment ceremony at Pt. Hueneme, California. I think that I'll use that second pic as inspiration for getting my figure back after baby arrives!
Peekaboo Adam
Inspiration pic
Peekaboo Adam
Inspiration pic
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Final Countdown
Does anyone remember that dreadful song from the 1980s? It was from some one-hit wonder of a band, and it was about going to war or something. It probably could have been a real kick-ass song, but the lead singer's nasal wail just ruined it for me. My favorite 80's-era war song is "19". "...the average age of an American soldier serving in the Vietman War was nineteen." The monotone, documentary-esque narrator was super creepy, but also persuasive; I got sucked into that "song" everytime MTV or VH-1 played it on their "Totally 80s" show.
But I digress. All I really wanted to mention is that today starts the countdown to Adam's return. I pulled out the calendar and we've got 60 days left, starting tomorrow. I can handle 60 days. I've handled worse, right?
I have a girlfriend who once told me she wished that life was set to music, like on tv and in the movies. At the time, I thought she was hilarious; now, in my old(er) age, I think she's right-on. I'd totally have "Ain't no sunshine when (he's) gone" and "Unchained Melody" playing whenever I get sad for Adam. Or, tapping into the "Totally 80s" vault, maybe I'd go for the fan favorite "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong." Can't you see Adam hoisting me up into his arms, carrying me out of my factory job, while I take his military cover off his head and don it myself, while my factory worker girlfriends are cheering me on in the process? A girl can dream, can't she? Okay, anyone who can tell me what movie I'm referring to gets a virtual brownie today.
But I digress. All I really wanted to mention is that today starts the countdown to Adam's return. I pulled out the calendar and we've got 60 days left, starting tomorrow. I can handle 60 days. I've handled worse, right?
I have a girlfriend who once told me she wished that life was set to music, like on tv and in the movies. At the time, I thought she was hilarious; now, in my old(er) age, I think she's right-on. I'd totally have "Ain't no sunshine when (he's) gone" and "Unchained Melody" playing whenever I get sad for Adam. Or, tapping into the "Totally 80s" vault, maybe I'd go for the fan favorite "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong." Can't you see Adam hoisting me up into his arms, carrying me out of my factory job, while I take his military cover off his head and don it myself, while my factory worker girlfriends are cheering me on in the process? A girl can dream, can't she? Okay, anyone who can tell me what movie I'm referring to gets a virtual brownie today.
Whose Quilt Is It, Anyway?
My friend Emily surprised me this weekend with a secret project she'd been working (slaving?) on for Baby Mittman--a beautiful quilt with a puppy theme. I absolutely love it!
Evidently, so does her cat Cooper, because he didn't seem too keen on giving it up for Baby. Guess this one will come to blows--Kitty v. newborn!
Evidently, so does her cat Cooper, because he didn't seem too keen on giving it up for Baby. Guess this one will come to blows--Kitty v. newborn!
Monday, February 23, 2009
It's A Sh*tty Day For An Auction
Saturday I finally made the trek out to Ionia, Michigan (roughly an hour west of where I live) to my trusted and favorite veterinarian. This woman treated Shabbi through cancer scares, the onset of dementia, seizures, incontinence and was the person Adam and I called from California the day we had to say good-bye to our girl. We love our vet.
Greg House's self-inflicted injuries have gotten worse, and so has my house. The constant gnawing, licking, and scratching has caused the open wounds to grow in size and ooze blood and serous fluid. Not only does he manage to rip open any bandage I put over them, but the lack of air to the wound causes them to stink and border on infection. So, I've started leaving the wounds open, but have put an Elizabethan collar around House's neck to immobilize his head, making him unable to access the wounds. However, he's still able to smear the blood and gore from his wounds onto my couch, clothes, and walls...
So, Saturday. All of southern Michigan was expecting yet another winter storm, with snowfall amounts estimated at 3-6". For those of you non-Michiganders, the further west into the state you go, chances are the higher the snowfall totals will be. So, I was hoping to get an early start on my trip, get through the exam and head back to Lansing before the brunt of the storm hit.
All was going well--Kika and a kennel-bound Greg House were warm and snuggled in the passenger seat of the car, and the snowfall was heavy but not brutal--until about 45 minutes into the trip. I had just taken the exit ramp off I-96 toward Ionia when I noticed that my car was no longer accelerating. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but as I tried to accelerate to the stop sign at the end of the ramp, I realized my car was failing me. I coasted to the sign, managed to pull off to the side, and the car shuddered, then heaved a big, heavy sigh before dying. I tried to turn the engine, and while the motor cranked, it wouldn't catch. Great. Cars and semis were flying past me on the highway I had just entered and I was grateful I had managed to coast out of traffic before my car stalled. I attempted to turn the engine a few more times with no luck, then decided to stop trying to start it, in case I burned out the motor. So, I followed the normal course of action: I called Adam.
Luckily, he was awake already. After determining my location, the weather conditions and the car situation, he was about to tell me what to do, when a big tow truck pulled onto the shoulder ahead of me. I hurriedly hung up with Adam while the tow driver got out to ask me if I was okay. When I told him I had stalled, he asked if I wanted a tow somewhere. I didn't know of any local garages, and I really didn't want my car stuck 45 minutes away from home, either. I declined his help, remembering that Adam had renewed our AAA membership before leaving. Just as the tow truck pulled away, I noticed that the car was starting to feel cold. I searched for my AAA membership card and dialed the number. The ever-chipper customer service agent apologized for my misfortune and assured me that she'd help me. But then, she couldn't find Adam's name in the system. I knew he had paid for the membership before he left, so I wasn't sure what the problem was. When she took my name, she found our joint account. I breathed a sigh of relief. The car was getting colder, Kika and Greg House were getting a little restless, and Baby Mittman must have picked up on my stress, because s/he started wiggling and kicking me to the point of nausea. During my call with AAA, several cars stopped to make sure I was okay, and I thankfully assured them that I was. Sometimes being in a state like Michigan is really good, I have to admit.
I started to get weepy when I realized that there was no way I was going to get Greg House to the vet that morning. We had waited so long to get him there, and now this. And the AAA lady was just so nice, I could hardly hold back the floodgates. I thanked her for kindness, and then told her that I was pregnant and had animals in the car with me. I felt like one of those On-Star commercials, where you hear the weepy woman on the recording thanking the On-Star agent for getting her out of a jam. I was embarassed for breaking down, but the AAA agent was graciuos and worried and caring, all the things I needed her to be at that moment. She assured me that a tow truck would be on its way shortly, and she called me back just a few minutes later to let me know it was just a couple miles from arriving at my location.
When the tow arrives, a youngish burly guy with a beard got out and started hooking my car up to the truck. He instructed me to put my car in neutral, and before I knew it, I was going up onto the back of the tow truck with my car. I wondered how I was going to get out of the car for the ride back to Lansing. After the car was locked in position, he opened the door and told me to hold his hand coming down. I told him Kika and House were in the car; he instructed me to leave them there, that they'd be okay. I was flustered; my car was already getting cold, how could I leave them in there by themselves for another 45 minutes? I had draped a blanket over them but still. But with the snow getting even heavier and the tow truck ready to go, I relented and got into the passenger seat of the truck. As we drove away toward the entrance ramp to I-96 to Lansing, the driver exclaimed, "It's a sh*tty day for an auction!"
I looked at him, trying to figure out what that had to do with me. He pointed to a fairgrounds area in the distance, going on to say that there was a bank foreclosure auction for farming equipment occurring that day. I nodded, then started to feel incredibly hot. He had the heat on full-blast, and with my winter coat on, I was starting to overheat and get sweaty. I started to think how fortunate it was that I'd left the kids in the car; better too cool than too hot. I kept looking at the driver to see if the heat was making him uncomfortable; after all, he was a pretty big guy. But he was in the midst of asking me about where I was from and which vet I used in Ionia. We chatted amiably for the duration of the ride, with the occasional interruption from the driver as he yelled at sports cars that were travelling too fast for the road conditions. "That's right, buddy! You wanna go in a ditch, 'cause you're just asking for it!" He then went on to recount various times he correctly predicted a careless driver ended up wrecked during icy conditions.
He towed me to the garage that's located at the end of our street. After getting Kika and Greg House out and walking home, I flopped on the couch and didn't get up for the rest of the day. I was depressed--Greg House had to wait yet another week to see the vet, I had no transportation, and it was snowing buckets out. I called Adam and he was equally unhappy being on base for the weekend. We commiserated over the phone and kept each other company, calling each other back and forth for most of the day. I ate a large bowl of cookies and cream ice cream.
It might have been a sh*tty day for an auction, but it was the perfect day to stuff my face with ice cream.
Greg House's self-inflicted injuries have gotten worse, and so has my house. The constant gnawing, licking, and scratching has caused the open wounds to grow in size and ooze blood and serous fluid. Not only does he manage to rip open any bandage I put over them, but the lack of air to the wound causes them to stink and border on infection. So, I've started leaving the wounds open, but have put an Elizabethan collar around House's neck to immobilize his head, making him unable to access the wounds. However, he's still able to smear the blood and gore from his wounds onto my couch, clothes, and walls...
So, Saturday. All of southern Michigan was expecting yet another winter storm, with snowfall amounts estimated at 3-6". For those of you non-Michiganders, the further west into the state you go, chances are the higher the snowfall totals will be. So, I was hoping to get an early start on my trip, get through the exam and head back to Lansing before the brunt of the storm hit.
All was going well--Kika and a kennel-bound Greg House were warm and snuggled in the passenger seat of the car, and the snowfall was heavy but not brutal--until about 45 minutes into the trip. I had just taken the exit ramp off I-96 toward Ionia when I noticed that my car was no longer accelerating. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but as I tried to accelerate to the stop sign at the end of the ramp, I realized my car was failing me. I coasted to the sign, managed to pull off to the side, and the car shuddered, then heaved a big, heavy sigh before dying. I tried to turn the engine, and while the motor cranked, it wouldn't catch. Great. Cars and semis were flying past me on the highway I had just entered and I was grateful I had managed to coast out of traffic before my car stalled. I attempted to turn the engine a few more times with no luck, then decided to stop trying to start it, in case I burned out the motor. So, I followed the normal course of action: I called Adam.
Luckily, he was awake already. After determining my location, the weather conditions and the car situation, he was about to tell me what to do, when a big tow truck pulled onto the shoulder ahead of me. I hurriedly hung up with Adam while the tow driver got out to ask me if I was okay. When I told him I had stalled, he asked if I wanted a tow somewhere. I didn't know of any local garages, and I really didn't want my car stuck 45 minutes away from home, either. I declined his help, remembering that Adam had renewed our AAA membership before leaving. Just as the tow truck pulled away, I noticed that the car was starting to feel cold. I searched for my AAA membership card and dialed the number. The ever-chipper customer service agent apologized for my misfortune and assured me that she'd help me. But then, she couldn't find Adam's name in the system. I knew he had paid for the membership before he left, so I wasn't sure what the problem was. When she took my name, she found our joint account. I breathed a sigh of relief. The car was getting colder, Kika and Greg House were getting a little restless, and Baby Mittman must have picked up on my stress, because s/he started wiggling and kicking me to the point of nausea. During my call with AAA, several cars stopped to make sure I was okay, and I thankfully assured them that I was. Sometimes being in a state like Michigan is really good, I have to admit.
I started to get weepy when I realized that there was no way I was going to get Greg House to the vet that morning. We had waited so long to get him there, and now this. And the AAA lady was just so nice, I could hardly hold back the floodgates. I thanked her for kindness, and then told her that I was pregnant and had animals in the car with me. I felt like one of those On-Star commercials, where you hear the weepy woman on the recording thanking the On-Star agent for getting her out of a jam. I was embarassed for breaking down, but the AAA agent was graciuos and worried and caring, all the things I needed her to be at that moment. She assured me that a tow truck would be on its way shortly, and she called me back just a few minutes later to let me know it was just a couple miles from arriving at my location.
When the tow arrives, a youngish burly guy with a beard got out and started hooking my car up to the truck. He instructed me to put my car in neutral, and before I knew it, I was going up onto the back of the tow truck with my car. I wondered how I was going to get out of the car for the ride back to Lansing. After the car was locked in position, he opened the door and told me to hold his hand coming down. I told him Kika and House were in the car; he instructed me to leave them there, that they'd be okay. I was flustered; my car was already getting cold, how could I leave them in there by themselves for another 45 minutes? I had draped a blanket over them but still. But with the snow getting even heavier and the tow truck ready to go, I relented and got into the passenger seat of the truck. As we drove away toward the entrance ramp to I-96 to Lansing, the driver exclaimed, "It's a sh*tty day for an auction!"
I looked at him, trying to figure out what that had to do with me. He pointed to a fairgrounds area in the distance, going on to say that there was a bank foreclosure auction for farming equipment occurring that day. I nodded, then started to feel incredibly hot. He had the heat on full-blast, and with my winter coat on, I was starting to overheat and get sweaty. I started to think how fortunate it was that I'd left the kids in the car; better too cool than too hot. I kept looking at the driver to see if the heat was making him uncomfortable; after all, he was a pretty big guy. But he was in the midst of asking me about where I was from and which vet I used in Ionia. We chatted amiably for the duration of the ride, with the occasional interruption from the driver as he yelled at sports cars that were travelling too fast for the road conditions. "That's right, buddy! You wanna go in a ditch, 'cause you're just asking for it!" He then went on to recount various times he correctly predicted a careless driver ended up wrecked during icy conditions.
He towed me to the garage that's located at the end of our street. After getting Kika and Greg House out and walking home, I flopped on the couch and didn't get up for the rest of the day. I was depressed--Greg House had to wait yet another week to see the vet, I had no transportation, and it was snowing buckets out. I called Adam and he was equally unhappy being on base for the weekend. We commiserated over the phone and kept each other company, calling each other back and forth for most of the day. I ate a large bowl of cookies and cream ice cream.
It might have been a sh*tty day for an auction, but it was the perfect day to stuff my face with ice cream.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Kickin' It Up A Notch
Literally and figuratively. Literally, in that this baby is kicking me so consistently and frequently that I imagine my uterus must have bruise marks on the inside. Don't get me wrong--I'm grateful for the constant reminder that the baby is alive and well inside me; in fact, I think that I even said that not feeling the baby move was the hardest part of the first trimester for me. I need proof, evidence, verification about things in order to feel certain about them. Well, I guess I got more than I bargained for in this little one, who is providing me with that proof, evidence, verification every single day (hell, every single minute it seems sometimes!) that s/he is still there with me, along for the ride.
Figuratively, in that things are definitely progressing along even faster than I had suspected at this point. I had my monthly visit to the birth center yesterday, and boy have things changed in the last month! Baby was kicking me on the drive to the center, and the entire time I was sitting in the waiting area. As soon as I moved into the examination room with the midwives, however, s/he stopped moving about. I find the ambience of the center incredibly soothing and nurturing, and the midwives are so caring and warm; I tend to think that Baby feels this, too, and settles down for awhile.
So, now, the updates:
My belly measured in at 25 1/2 centimeters, right on schedule for being 26 weeks along (roughly one cm per week!). I can't believe my belly has grown 3 1/2 cm since the last visit. I know that I've definitely enjoyed the maternity pants way more than I thought that I would, since they are the only pants that fit, but I guess I didn't quite realize the amount of outward growth that my belly has been doing.
Baby Mitt is positioned (for now) in the right manner--head down in the pelvic region. Audra, the Jorja Fox look-alike, guided my fingers just above my pelvic bone to feel the round crown of the baby's head. That was exciting and creepy all at the same time. I was afraid to do too much pushing for fear I'd smush the little tyke, but it's crazy to think that you can have interaction with the kid while it's still in utero. I love it!
After smearing the transluscent jelly on my lower abdomen, Audra used the doppler and found that the baby's heartbeat is starting to slow down a bit (this is normal), from 160 beats per minute the last few visits to 150 bpm this time. S/he was still throwing lots of kicks and punches in just to let us know that while the heart rate might be slowing down, Baby Mitt isn't!
I asked the ladies whether the baby's very high activity level in utero would be a good indication that s/he will be diagnosed with ADHD later in life. They firmly said no, that while there's a good chance the kid will be active, that's not the same thing as ADHD. She said Adam and I will just have to learn to run the kids around the house a few times before dinner every night. If we're still in Michigan, I'll have the kid shovel snow. That'll take it outta him/her.
Audra took out the Wonder Pillow, a long pillow twice the size of a body pillow, and showed me different ways to wrap it around my body so I have a more comfortable (pain-free) night of sleep. It was nice. But I still have the body pillow that Ads got me for Xmas/Channukah this year and that has served me very well, too.
So, I guess the biggest surprise was at the end of the visit, when I followed Audra to the front desk to schedule my next appointment. Now that I'm at 26 weeks, I start going in every 2 weeks instead of every month. I guess I didn't realize that I was far enough along to need that yet! It was exciting and a little sobering, too, because I'm starting to realize that this is really going to happen...and soon! Please just wait till Adam gets home, little baby. I do not want to have to go through labor and delivery without him there. I know he'd be pretty devastated if he missed it.
So, I guess that's it for now. Baby is kicking, the pregnancy is kicking along and so am I. I got home from the appointment last night to find that Greg House had puked all over my futon. I was stressed a bit, but really in too good a mood from the appointment to really let it bother me. Guess I'm getting ready for spit-up and dirty diapers.
Figuratively, in that things are definitely progressing along even faster than I had suspected at this point. I had my monthly visit to the birth center yesterday, and boy have things changed in the last month! Baby was kicking me on the drive to the center, and the entire time I was sitting in the waiting area. As soon as I moved into the examination room with the midwives, however, s/he stopped moving about. I find the ambience of the center incredibly soothing and nurturing, and the midwives are so caring and warm; I tend to think that Baby feels this, too, and settles down for awhile.
So, now, the updates:
My belly measured in at 25 1/2 centimeters, right on schedule for being 26 weeks along (roughly one cm per week!). I can't believe my belly has grown 3 1/2 cm since the last visit. I know that I've definitely enjoyed the maternity pants way more than I thought that I would, since they are the only pants that fit, but I guess I didn't quite realize the amount of outward growth that my belly has been doing.
Baby Mitt is positioned (for now) in the right manner--head down in the pelvic region. Audra, the Jorja Fox look-alike, guided my fingers just above my pelvic bone to feel the round crown of the baby's head. That was exciting and creepy all at the same time. I was afraid to do too much pushing for fear I'd smush the little tyke, but it's crazy to think that you can have interaction with the kid while it's still in utero. I love it!
After smearing the transluscent jelly on my lower abdomen, Audra used the doppler and found that the baby's heartbeat is starting to slow down a bit (this is normal), from 160 beats per minute the last few visits to 150 bpm this time. S/he was still throwing lots of kicks and punches in just to let us know that while the heart rate might be slowing down, Baby Mitt isn't!
I asked the ladies whether the baby's very high activity level in utero would be a good indication that s/he will be diagnosed with ADHD later in life. They firmly said no, that while there's a good chance the kid will be active, that's not the same thing as ADHD. She said Adam and I will just have to learn to run the kids around the house a few times before dinner every night. If we're still in Michigan, I'll have the kid shovel snow. That'll take it outta him/her.
Audra took out the Wonder Pillow, a long pillow twice the size of a body pillow, and showed me different ways to wrap it around my body so I have a more comfortable (pain-free) night of sleep. It was nice. But I still have the body pillow that Ads got me for Xmas/Channukah this year and that has served me very well, too.
So, I guess the biggest surprise was at the end of the visit, when I followed Audra to the front desk to schedule my next appointment. Now that I'm at 26 weeks, I start going in every 2 weeks instead of every month. I guess I didn't realize that I was far enough along to need that yet! It was exciting and a little sobering, too, because I'm starting to realize that this is really going to happen...and soon! Please just wait till Adam gets home, little baby. I do not want to have to go through labor and delivery without him there. I know he'd be pretty devastated if he missed it.
So, I guess that's it for now. Baby is kicking, the pregnancy is kicking along and so am I. I got home from the appointment last night to find that Greg House had puked all over my futon. I was stressed a bit, but really in too good a mood from the appointment to really let it bother me. Guess I'm getting ready for spit-up and dirty diapers.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
Well, maybe an early consolation prize to my lost case is the fact that I had one of those dreams last night. I didn't quite fall out of my bed over it, but I definitely woke up happy and relaxed. I'll keep the details to myself, but let's just say celebrities (plural) were involved. *smirk*
Mmmmmmmm...gratitude.
Mmmmmmmm...gratitude.
Justice Served?
I lost my case. I'm actually really disappointed, even though it was just a measly $25 ticket. It's the principle of the matter, not the money (much like the whole Goodwill affair). I honestly still think I'm right, and it bothers me that that was not validated by the court system.
The other part that stinks was that I actually showed up prepared for my case. There were two girls ahead of me who had both incurred parking citations for parking in areas that were designated for special times or reserved for certain people. Both of their excuses were "So, uh, well, so I didn't knooooooooow...."
Heck, even I know ignorance of the law is not a valid reason for not obeying. The judge summarily dismissed them by saying, "I find you responsible for the violation. You can pay downstairs."
The guy before me had a better case. He had a leased space at the university, and incurred a ticket one day when he was forced to park a rental car in his space because his personal car was in the shop. Unlike the other two girls, he didn't dispute the ticket at all; instead, he just offered evidence--car repair receipts and rental car agreements--that showed his story to be true. The judge acknowledged the ticket to be valid based upon the evidence at the time it was issued, but found in favor of the defendant, based upon the new evidence he provided.
I was excited. I had come to court with my own evidence--a series of photographs about the parking space in question, as well as a written statement about the whole affair. At least I had a leg to stand on. The judge called me to the defendant's chair and I was sworn in along with the plaintiff. That's another thing that irked me--the plaintiff was some pimply-faced undergrad who works for parking services. He was dressed in baggy jeans and a hoody, and was slouched down in his chair as if he'd rather be anywhere but there. I tried my best to present a different demeanor to the judge. I was dressed respectably in black slacks and a button down blouse and sat tall, and answered the judge in "yes, your Honor, and no, Sirs."
In any case, the judge had all of the black and white photos that I'd sent with my appeal, so we were able to talk about the case based on the photographic evidence I'd supplied. However, things started to go downhill for me when the judge stated that a nearby no parking sign (which clearly is referring to another area) is likely referring to the parking space in question, even if I had interpreted it differently. (That really boiled my blood!) When I tried to finish my argument, I ended up speaking over the judge, which of course, never goes over very well. I had to apologize for that and wait for the judge to finish his statement. Afterwards, I asked if I could speak; I then articulated that the no parking sign in question was found throughout the rest of the parking lot and only refers to areas where traffic passes through. It never refers to a parking space. Well, the judge didn't agree, and thought that the parking space was not really a parking space, despite the fact that I had demonstrated that a) people park there all the time, thinking it is a parking space, b) there is no signage directly in front of the space indicating it is illegal to park there, or c) even parking services does not always issue violations to people who park there, suggesting that different officers interpret that space different ways.
I thanked the judge on my way out anyway, and went downstairs to pay my $25. So I'm no Perry Mason, but I had my day in court after all.
The other part that stinks was that I actually showed up prepared for my case. There were two girls ahead of me who had both incurred parking citations for parking in areas that were designated for special times or reserved for certain people. Both of their excuses were "So, uh, well, so I didn't knooooooooow...."
Heck, even I know ignorance of the law is not a valid reason for not obeying. The judge summarily dismissed them by saying, "I find you responsible for the violation. You can pay downstairs."
The guy before me had a better case. He had a leased space at the university, and incurred a ticket one day when he was forced to park a rental car in his space because his personal car was in the shop. Unlike the other two girls, he didn't dispute the ticket at all; instead, he just offered evidence--car repair receipts and rental car agreements--that showed his story to be true. The judge acknowledged the ticket to be valid based upon the evidence at the time it was issued, but found in favor of the defendant, based upon the new evidence he provided.
I was excited. I had come to court with my own evidence--a series of photographs about the parking space in question, as well as a written statement about the whole affair. At least I had a leg to stand on. The judge called me to the defendant's chair and I was sworn in along with the plaintiff. That's another thing that irked me--the plaintiff was some pimply-faced undergrad who works for parking services. He was dressed in baggy jeans and a hoody, and was slouched down in his chair as if he'd rather be anywhere but there. I tried my best to present a different demeanor to the judge. I was dressed respectably in black slacks and a button down blouse and sat tall, and answered the judge in "yes, your Honor, and no, Sirs."
In any case, the judge had all of the black and white photos that I'd sent with my appeal, so we were able to talk about the case based on the photographic evidence I'd supplied. However, things started to go downhill for me when the judge stated that a nearby no parking sign (which clearly is referring to another area) is likely referring to the parking space in question, even if I had interpreted it differently. (That really boiled my blood!) When I tried to finish my argument, I ended up speaking over the judge, which of course, never goes over very well. I had to apologize for that and wait for the judge to finish his statement. Afterwards, I asked if I could speak; I then articulated that the no parking sign in question was found throughout the rest of the parking lot and only refers to areas where traffic passes through. It never refers to a parking space. Well, the judge didn't agree, and thought that the parking space was not really a parking space, despite the fact that I had demonstrated that a) people park there all the time, thinking it is a parking space, b) there is no signage directly in front of the space indicating it is illegal to park there, or c) even parking services does not always issue violations to people who park there, suggesting that different officers interpret that space different ways.
I thanked the judge on my way out anyway, and went downstairs to pay my $25. So I'm no Perry Mason, but I had my day in court after all.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Yo(ga), Baby!
Okay, so last night wasn't exactly a five-star evening, but there was one bright spot--my prenatal yoga class. I started researching local yoga centers and fitness clubs a few weeks ago in my quest to do something physical with my out-of-shape body during the cold winter months. I was really itching to do a water aerobics class, but both sections offered at the YMCA are wait-listed right now, plus I'm not a member. So I thought I would do something totally different and try prenatal yoga. My back pains have been so excruiating at times that I've been craving a stretching technique that would help relieve the tension and soreness.
A coworker's wife put me in touch with a friend of hers who had taken a prenatal yoga class a couple years ago and loved it. She sent me the contact details for the instructor, who invited me to join the last few classes of the session. The first class really didn't impress me at all--I didn't feel at all stretched out and I started to wonder if yoga was all hype and no delivery. That night, I woke up at 3am with a sciatic nerve pain radiating from my left butt cheek down to the back of my knee. That was a bad pain, and one that kept me awake for quite some time as I tried to stretch the leg out. I was in even more doubt about this whole yoga thing after that; not to mention the fact that my back never stopped hurting.
Last night completely changed my mindset. The second class for me was incredible. Though I was doubtful, I tried to enter the positions with a free and clear mind and just have fun with it all. One squatting position she had us doing totally stretched not only my back but also the muscles in my va-jay-jay area. I just about fell over from the sensation and asked if I was supposed to be feeling that. The woman next to me said she was feeling the same thing, and the instructor laughed and said, sure, it was normal. By the middle of the class, Baby Mittman was kicking and frolicking around, having as much fun as I was!
The last half hour of class seems to always be devoted to shavasana, a relaxing pose (ie--lying down on your side, or leaning back cross-legged on pillows) that helps rejuvenate your body and mind. I love it! The instructor always encourages us to "exhale, placing one hand over your heart, and the other over your baby." Cheesy as it might sound, I'm totally digging it. Baby Mittman settled down and just did some easy wiggling movements as I rubbed my belly to my internal thoughts. By the time the instructor rang the bell to break us from our reverie, did some final stretches and declared Namaste, I was near sleep. I was almost afraid to get behind the wheel I was so relaxed and drowsy. Next week is the final class of the session, but I'll definitely be signing up for the next 8-week session when it starts in a few weeks. I can hardly wait.
Namaste.
A coworker's wife put me in touch with a friend of hers who had taken a prenatal yoga class a couple years ago and loved it. She sent me the contact details for the instructor, who invited me to join the last few classes of the session. The first class really didn't impress me at all--I didn't feel at all stretched out and I started to wonder if yoga was all hype and no delivery. That night, I woke up at 3am with a sciatic nerve pain radiating from my left butt cheek down to the back of my knee. That was a bad pain, and one that kept me awake for quite some time as I tried to stretch the leg out. I was in even more doubt about this whole yoga thing after that; not to mention the fact that my back never stopped hurting.
Last night completely changed my mindset. The second class for me was incredible. Though I was doubtful, I tried to enter the positions with a free and clear mind and just have fun with it all. One squatting position she had us doing totally stretched not only my back but also the muscles in my va-jay-jay area. I just about fell over from the sensation and asked if I was supposed to be feeling that. The woman next to me said she was feeling the same thing, and the instructor laughed and said, sure, it was normal. By the middle of the class, Baby Mittman was kicking and frolicking around, having as much fun as I was!
The last half hour of class seems to always be devoted to shavasana, a relaxing pose (ie--lying down on your side, or leaning back cross-legged on pillows) that helps rejuvenate your body and mind. I love it! The instructor always encourages us to "exhale, placing one hand over your heart, and the other over your baby." Cheesy as it might sound, I'm totally digging it. Baby Mittman settled down and just did some easy wiggling movements as I rubbed my belly to my internal thoughts. By the time the instructor rang the bell to break us from our reverie, did some final stretches and declared Namaste, I was near sleep. I was almost afraid to get behind the wheel I was so relaxed and drowsy. Next week is the final class of the session, but I'll definitely be signing up for the next 8-week session when it starts in a few weeks. I can hardly wait.
Namaste.
Returning Warrior
Last night I had another bad dream: Adam and I were walking around Ft. Benning together, when he bumped into a commanding officer he'd known back in Iraq. When they greeted each other and started rehashing names, places and events, Adam brought up a good buddy of his who he thought the CO might remember. She blinked and responded, "Edentom got snapped."
I knew right away what she meant from the expression on her face, but Adam didn't quite get it. He thought she meant his friend had been pulled to another unit or had had a mental breakdown. When she realized his confusion, the CO said again, "Edentom got snapped, Mittman. He's gone."
Adam stepped back as if he'd been punched. "Steve Edentom??" he asked, his voice choked by his closing throat, and his eyes welling with tears. I'd never seen him react this way before; I felt helpless to do anything.
The CO nodded. "Yeah, his head was still attached, but where his face should have been--it was all gone. Blew his face right off of him." It was as if she didn't know when to stop talking.
Adam was shaking and his eyes were red, and he kept saying, "I can't believe it..." over and over again. It was awful.
At some point after that, around 4am, I woke up to the sounds of Greg House puking all over my living room couch. I jumped out of bed to take the Elizabethan collar from around his neck as he wretched on one of the blankets we keep for the animals. Poor boy, first his skin itches him, now his tummy's upset. I was glad to get away from that awful, awful dream, so I just sat with House in my arms, listening to him purr as I nuzzled my cheek into his fur. All I could think was how much I hoped Adam didn't really have an old buddy named Steve Edentom.
An hour later, my phone alarm went off signaling me to give Adam his wake-up call. I was groggy, as it had taken me a long time to go back to sleep with thoughts of that dream lingering. When a very sleepy Adam picked up (he had had a difficult time sleeping, too--those damned rattling windows!), I told him about Greg House's vomiting episode, then tentatively asked him if the last name "Edentom" meant anything to him.
"Edentom?" he asked.
"Yeah, Steve Edentom," I replied, hoping against hope he'd say no.
"No, why?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "It just would have been something bad," I responded. "I would have had to give you some pretty bad news."
I was thankful and sad all at the same time. Maybe Adam had no friend named Steve Edentom. Maybe Steve Edentom didn't even exist. But really, he did. He existed in the thousands of troops that have died in this war, and they were all someone's friend, family, colleague. I returned to sleep with a heavy heart.
This morning, I woke to NPR's "Morning Edition", where they were doing a story on the Navy's "Returning Warrior Workshop". This was the weekend long event that Adam and I attended in Chicago last year, that's geared toward helping service members and their families cope with war, separation, and return to normal life. I remember how jaded and unconvinced I was going into that weekend, not wanting to let my guard down to share my thoughts and feelings. By the end, though, I had, if not fully, gradually immersed myself in the themes of the meeting:
It's okay to be angry at your spouse for having left you behind to deal with life by yourself
It's normal to feel like your spouse is getting the global experience, the travelling adventure and the glory and honor from a grateful nation, while you're at home holding it all together
Feeling happy that your spouse is home, yet feeling like your new-found independence is being squelched is okay
These things take time to overcome and heal
It was nice to hear NPR do a profile on the workshop and to hear that the Navy has now increased the number of workshops that are put on every year to about 25. Obviously, there are still many of us out there who need a little help.
I knew right away what she meant from the expression on her face, but Adam didn't quite get it. He thought she meant his friend had been pulled to another unit or had had a mental breakdown. When she realized his confusion, the CO said again, "Edentom got snapped, Mittman. He's gone."
Adam stepped back as if he'd been punched. "Steve Edentom??" he asked, his voice choked by his closing throat, and his eyes welling with tears. I'd never seen him react this way before; I felt helpless to do anything.
The CO nodded. "Yeah, his head was still attached, but where his face should have been--it was all gone. Blew his face right off of him." It was as if she didn't know when to stop talking.
Adam was shaking and his eyes were red, and he kept saying, "I can't believe it..." over and over again. It was awful.
At some point after that, around 4am, I woke up to the sounds of Greg House puking all over my living room couch. I jumped out of bed to take the Elizabethan collar from around his neck as he wretched on one of the blankets we keep for the animals. Poor boy, first his skin itches him, now his tummy's upset. I was glad to get away from that awful, awful dream, so I just sat with House in my arms, listening to him purr as I nuzzled my cheek into his fur. All I could think was how much I hoped Adam didn't really have an old buddy named Steve Edentom.
An hour later, my phone alarm went off signaling me to give Adam his wake-up call. I was groggy, as it had taken me a long time to go back to sleep with thoughts of that dream lingering. When a very sleepy Adam picked up (he had had a difficult time sleeping, too--those damned rattling windows!), I told him about Greg House's vomiting episode, then tentatively asked him if the last name "Edentom" meant anything to him.
"Edentom?" he asked.
"Yeah, Steve Edentom," I replied, hoping against hope he'd say no.
"No, why?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "It just would have been something bad," I responded. "I would have had to give you some pretty bad news."
I was thankful and sad all at the same time. Maybe Adam had no friend named Steve Edentom. Maybe Steve Edentom didn't even exist. But really, he did. He existed in the thousands of troops that have died in this war, and they were all someone's friend, family, colleague. I returned to sleep with a heavy heart.
This morning, I woke to NPR's "Morning Edition", where they were doing a story on the Navy's "Returning Warrior Workshop". This was the weekend long event that Adam and I attended in Chicago last year, that's geared toward helping service members and their families cope with war, separation, and return to normal life. I remember how jaded and unconvinced I was going into that weekend, not wanting to let my guard down to share my thoughts and feelings. By the end, though, I had, if not fully, gradually immersed myself in the themes of the meeting:
It's okay to be angry at your spouse for having left you behind to deal with life by yourself
It's normal to feel like your spouse is getting the global experience, the travelling adventure and the glory and honor from a grateful nation, while you're at home holding it all together
Feeling happy that your spouse is home, yet feeling like your new-found independence is being squelched is okay
These things take time to overcome and heal
It was nice to hear NPR do a profile on the workshop and to hear that the Navy has now increased the number of workshops that are put on every year to about 25. Obviously, there are still many of us out there who need a little help.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Sisterhood of the Travelling Man
Well, sort of. Never would I have believed it, but Saturday night (mind you, that was Valentine's Day), I actually spent with four lovely girlfriends eating dinner, gorging on loads of nice desserts, and laughing over stories of creative ways pregnant women have gotten out of speeding tickets (a la "Officer, I'm eight months pregnant, I need to pee, and I'm speeding to the next reststop!"). It didn't hit me until I got home that night how amazing it was that five happily married women were willing to sacrifice a romantic night with their loving husbands to spend a night with the girls. Well, two of us didn't have much choice, as our husbands were out of town anyway. However, the other three women were all willing to let their men have a "Boys' Night" in order to have a "Girls' Night" with each other. I thought that was a pretty amazing thing, and a real testament to the womanly bonds we ladies hold strong.
I had a good weekend, in that I got most of my house chores completed (several loads of laundry, cleaned the bedroom and kitchen, vacuumed, cleaned the living room, took care of the recycling, provided first aid to the still self-mutilating cat). I failed to clean the bathroom, put away the Xmas decorations (although I did finally take them down, as I hated coming across as one of those old ladies who just can't let go of the holidays) or reorganize our linen/medicine shelves. Later this week, I suppose, if I have the energy.
Adam was down in Panama City, FL, with a bunch of his classmates from Ft. Benning. They were mostly younger guys, and so he sent me a text message on the drive down saying, "I'm in a car with five guys and their conversations are off the wall!!!" Sounds like he had a really nice relaxing weekend, but any concerns I had about him striking up a romance with a buxom beach babe were put to rest by the cool, rainy weather they got down there. Instead of sunburns on the beach, Adam spent his days roaming around the shopping areas, talking to me under awnings while the rain came down around him. I loved the phone time I had with him, although I'm sure he had something slightly different in mind when he signed up for a weekend trip in Florida. Oh well.
I had a sad realization this morning. I realized that all day yesterday I was anxious and unsettled, and it was because I actually couldn't wait for the work week to begin! Who ever says that??? I think I get a little depressed on the weekends, not having Adam around to make me breakfast in bed, or do chores or run errands with. I guess that depression caused me to want the weekend to go by, so that I wouldn't be sitting (or actually running around) feeling sorry for myself. I found that even when I was at my busiest this weekend, I felt sad and a bit (okay, a lot) resentful that Adam wasn't around to help me with things, especially considering my current condition. Moving the bed frame away from the wall so I can change the linens just isn't as easy as it normally is. Neither is bending over to pick up the self-mutilating Greg House or Kika. To boot, I woke up around 3:30 this morning with a gushing nosebleed. Sigh...Only 2 months and 1 week more of this, right?
I had a good weekend, in that I got most of my house chores completed (several loads of laundry, cleaned the bedroom and kitchen, vacuumed, cleaned the living room, took care of the recycling, provided first aid to the still self-mutilating cat). I failed to clean the bathroom, put away the Xmas decorations (although I did finally take them down, as I hated coming across as one of those old ladies who just can't let go of the holidays) or reorganize our linen/medicine shelves. Later this week, I suppose, if I have the energy.
Adam was down in Panama City, FL, with a bunch of his classmates from Ft. Benning. They were mostly younger guys, and so he sent me a text message on the drive down saying, "I'm in a car with five guys and their conversations are off the wall!!!" Sounds like he had a really nice relaxing weekend, but any concerns I had about him striking up a romance with a buxom beach babe were put to rest by the cool, rainy weather they got down there. Instead of sunburns on the beach, Adam spent his days roaming around the shopping areas, talking to me under awnings while the rain came down around him. I loved the phone time I had with him, although I'm sure he had something slightly different in mind when he signed up for a weekend trip in Florida. Oh well.
I had a sad realization this morning. I realized that all day yesterday I was anxious and unsettled, and it was because I actually couldn't wait for the work week to begin! Who ever says that??? I think I get a little depressed on the weekends, not having Adam around to make me breakfast in bed, or do chores or run errands with. I guess that depression caused me to want the weekend to go by, so that I wouldn't be sitting (or actually running around) feeling sorry for myself. I found that even when I was at my busiest this weekend, I felt sad and a bit (okay, a lot) resentful that Adam wasn't around to help me with things, especially considering my current condition. Moving the bed frame away from the wall so I can change the linens just isn't as easy as it normally is. Neither is bending over to pick up the self-mutilating Greg House or Kika. To boot, I woke up around 3:30 this morning with a gushing nosebleed. Sigh...Only 2 months and 1 week more of this, right?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Alms For The Sore
Adam left the JAG school in Charlottesville, VA, the same day I flew back to Michigan. He drove down to Ft. Benning, GA, for the Basic Officer Leadership Course (BOLC), which is sort of like the Officer's version of boot camp. He's been down there in the warm Georgia sun for a week now, and is very very sore.
He was a little sad to find his accomodations very spartan after the comfort of the Marriott Residence Inn. Although the room is clean, it is very institutional--steel frame bed, locker, and a bathroom with no toilet paper. His first night was spent shivering, as his bed came with minimal bedding so he was cold the entire time he slept. His window rattles and the room shakes, for unknown reasons. Oh, and some guy down the hall spent a good hour during the night screaming. Bad dream? Night terror? Homesick? Pain? Adam didn't know, and was too tired and cold to go investigate. I asked him if that institutional feeling he got from the room (and the screaming guy down the hall) might suggest he actually is in some type of...institution.
He's now been down there for a week and while his living situation has improved--he bought blankets and toilet paper--his work day is brutal. Five mile runs just about every morning followed by all-day marches, carrying heavy packs containing thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Last night he called me at 7pm, so sleepy his voice was barely audible, to say that he was too tired to talk. He had to be awake by 3:45am this morning to be on a bus that would take him off-base for more marching and hiking. I've been setting my alarm in the mornings to give him a wake-up call; it's fast becoming the only time of day we have for conversation as he is so tired by the evening.
He is in a lot of pain and tells me I'm married to an old man. I tell him I'm just waiting for him to keel over so I can inherit his fortune.
He was a little sad to find his accomodations very spartan after the comfort of the Marriott Residence Inn. Although the room is clean, it is very institutional--steel frame bed, locker, and a bathroom with no toilet paper. His first night was spent shivering, as his bed came with minimal bedding so he was cold the entire time he slept. His window rattles and the room shakes, for unknown reasons. Oh, and some guy down the hall spent a good hour during the night screaming. Bad dream? Night terror? Homesick? Pain? Adam didn't know, and was too tired and cold to go investigate. I asked him if that institutional feeling he got from the room (and the screaming guy down the hall) might suggest he actually is in some type of...institution.
He's now been down there for a week and while his living situation has improved--he bought blankets and toilet paper--his work day is brutal. Five mile runs just about every morning followed by all-day marches, carrying heavy packs containing thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Last night he called me at 7pm, so sleepy his voice was barely audible, to say that he was too tired to talk. He had to be awake by 3:45am this morning to be on a bus that would take him off-base for more marching and hiking. I've been setting my alarm in the mornings to give him a wake-up call; it's fast becoming the only time of day we have for conversation as he is so tired by the evening.
He is in a lot of pain and tells me I'm married to an old man. I tell him I'm just waiting for him to keel over so I can inherit his fortune.
Tales from the Dark Side
I'm still having loads of weird and/or bad dreams. I didn't have the heart to tell my girlfriend this, but I dreamt that her family was a clan of flesh-eaters, sucking out people's eyeballs and gouging out their skin. As unsettling as that one was, when I woke up half-way through the night, I found myself so morbidly fascinated that I actually hurried back to sleep so I could finish the dream.
The other night I dreamt that I had contracted some type of subdermal worm that had entered my bloodstream, bored a hold into my uterus and started eating my baby's eyeballs out. That one was not a dream I wanted to spend any additional time thinking about, but it took a long time for the image to go away. Even the undergraduate entomology students who are taking a Nematology (roundworms) class looked at me strangely just now when I recounted that story to them. They assured me the chances of that happening are slim to none, and then concluded by telling me I am a freak.
Where are the crazy erotic dreams my girlfriend told me she had while pregnant? I'd take those over my dreams any day!
The other night I dreamt that I had contracted some type of subdermal worm that had entered my bloodstream, bored a hold into my uterus and started eating my baby's eyeballs out. That one was not a dream I wanted to spend any additional time thinking about, but it took a long time for the image to go away. Even the undergraduate entomology students who are taking a Nematology (roundworms) class looked at me strangely just now when I recounted that story to them. They assured me the chances of that happening are slim to none, and then concluded by telling me I am a freak.
Where are the crazy erotic dreams my girlfriend told me she had while pregnant? I'd take those over my dreams any day!
Adam's Rib
I'm finally getting my day in court. A few months ago, I received a parking ticket in the parking lot of my job for allegedly "parking in a no-parking zone". I was flabbergasted. Not only had I parked in that spot (which is at the very end of a parking row) many times before, but so do my coworkers and other colleagues, and none of them has ever gotten a ticket. Plus, there is no signage there indicating that the space is prohibited from parking. So, rather than pay the $25 ticket, I fought back. I took pictures of another compact car parked in the same spot, 
filed a letter of appeal, and waited. Just the other day, I got a court order to appear for my court date next Wednesday. I was psyched that they didn't automatically dismiss me and make me pay the $25. However, I'm a little nervous about being in court and having to state my case. I wish my lawyer were in town to argue for me. I'll let you know how it all goes.
filed a letter of appeal, and waited. Just the other day, I got a court order to appear for my court date next Wednesday. I was psyched that they didn't automatically dismiss me and make me pay the $25. However, I'm a little nervous about being in court and having to state my case. I wish my lawyer were in town to argue for me. I'll let you know how it all goes.
A Host of New Posts
Keep your hats on, folks! There are a flurry of new posts ahead...short vignettes that have been on my mind of late.
Read on!
Read on!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Baby, One More Time
So, I've come to realize that my blog posts have become much more pregnancy/baby-centered than I ever intended them to be, which I apologize for. I really didn't think I'd become one of those women, who only ever talked about being pregnant, planning for the impending baby, etc. Evidently, I have. Sorry about that.
Anyway, in the spirit of turning over a new leaf, I will refrain from writing baby-related posts until my next check-up, which is still a week away. So you'll get a nice breather. Well, after today you will. I have just one more pregnancy-related entry to post, and then I'm done for awhile. Really.
First things first. I was kind of prepared for the everyone-has-an-opinion phenomenon taking hold with the baby name, which is why Ads and I have decided to keep it secret till baby arrives. I even knew that we'd get everyone's ideas on our decision to vaccinate, not vaccinate, or wait to vaccinate; breastfeeding and how long; potty training, and so forth. However, I really wasn't prepared for the opinions to come this early on, with regard to the pregnancy itself! The last couple weeks have been interesting, as I've reached and now bypassed my 6th month of pregnancy. For me, that's been a pretty big deal milestone (I don't know why, but it just seemed significant) and I thought it would be met with congratulations and high spirits. Instead, I get strange looks and comments like, "You don't look pregnant" and "I can barely tell anything is in there." If these comments were in the vein of "Honey, you look great! Congrats for keeping the weight off!" I'd be overjoyed. Instead, the snarky-edged comments are implying, "Are you sure your baby is growing enough in there?" and "Maybe you're not as far along as you think!" On the other hand, because Baby Mitt has been kicking up a storm since 18 weeks, I've heard a lot of "Are you sure you're not further along than you think? Babies just don't kick that early on!" So either I'm not pregnant enough or else I'm too pregnant to actually be at 6+ months. I told Adam that I'm at that place where I have to just stop paying attention to all of the lay opinions, and trust my midwives. They say I'm fine, and so I can only trust that I am, indeed, fine.
In other news, I have been surprised that, at least as far as my immune system is concerned, I have become the Invincible Woman. I've been around sick children, sick coworkers, sick Adam, and sick food handlers, and I just can't seem to get what they've got. It's like I'm Bruce Willis in "Unbreakable." I just can't get sick. Mind you, I'm not complaining, I'm just in awe of myself. I friggin' rock! Actually, this whole pregnancy thing friggin' rocks if it keeps me healthy. Although, in some ways, it would be nice to be sick enough to justify taking a day off from work.
My belly itches, big time. And you know how when one part of your body really itches, you start to feel like it's spreading to other parts, so you start itching all over? That's me right now. The more I try not to scratch, the more delirious with scratching desire I get, wanting--needing--to scratch. Baby smirks and laughs as it tumbles and kicks inside.
Tonight I start a prenatal yoga class. I have intense back pains on top of the itching, so I found a class that might help. I'm looking forward to it, although it being on Monday nights means that I will miss "House". Damn! There is another class on Wednesday nights that I could take instead, but this week I have to take the Monday class because of a work obligation Wednesday night. If this class is going to come between me and Hugh Laurie, it better darn well be worth it.
Anyway, in the spirit of turning over a new leaf, I will refrain from writing baby-related posts until my next check-up, which is still a week away. So you'll get a nice breather. Well, after today you will. I have just one more pregnancy-related entry to post, and then I'm done for awhile. Really.
First things first. I was kind of prepared for the everyone-has-an-opinion phenomenon taking hold with the baby name, which is why Ads and I have decided to keep it secret till baby arrives. I even knew that we'd get everyone's ideas on our decision to vaccinate, not vaccinate, or wait to vaccinate; breastfeeding and how long; potty training, and so forth. However, I really wasn't prepared for the opinions to come this early on, with regard to the pregnancy itself! The last couple weeks have been interesting, as I've reached and now bypassed my 6th month of pregnancy. For me, that's been a pretty big deal milestone (I don't know why, but it just seemed significant) and I thought it would be met with congratulations and high spirits. Instead, I get strange looks and comments like, "You don't look pregnant" and "I can barely tell anything is in there." If these comments were in the vein of "Honey, you look great! Congrats for keeping the weight off!" I'd be overjoyed. Instead, the snarky-edged comments are implying, "Are you sure your baby is growing enough in there?" and "Maybe you're not as far along as you think!" On the other hand, because Baby Mitt has been kicking up a storm since 18 weeks, I've heard a lot of "Are you sure you're not further along than you think? Babies just don't kick that early on!" So either I'm not pregnant enough or else I'm too pregnant to actually be at 6+ months. I told Adam that I'm at that place where I have to just stop paying attention to all of the lay opinions, and trust my midwives. They say I'm fine, and so I can only trust that I am, indeed, fine.
In other news, I have been surprised that, at least as far as my immune system is concerned, I have become the Invincible Woman. I've been around sick children, sick coworkers, sick Adam, and sick food handlers, and I just can't seem to get what they've got. It's like I'm Bruce Willis in "Unbreakable." I just can't get sick. Mind you, I'm not complaining, I'm just in awe of myself. I friggin' rock! Actually, this whole pregnancy thing friggin' rocks if it keeps me healthy. Although, in some ways, it would be nice to be sick enough to justify taking a day off from work.
My belly itches, big time. And you know how when one part of your body really itches, you start to feel like it's spreading to other parts, so you start itching all over? That's me right now. The more I try not to scratch, the more delirious with scratching desire I get, wanting--needing--to scratch. Baby smirks and laughs as it tumbles and kicks inside.
Tonight I start a prenatal yoga class. I have intense back pains on top of the itching, so I found a class that might help. I'm looking forward to it, although it being on Monday nights means that I will miss "House". Damn! There is another class on Wednesday nights that I could take instead, but this week I have to take the Monday class because of a work obligation Wednesday night. If this class is going to come between me and Hugh Laurie, it better darn well be worth it.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Doctors, Lawyers and Indian Chiefs
On Adam's and my first date, he nearly got walked out on because he made the mistake of telling me I could never be in the military. Of course, the strong, feminist woman in me immediately flared up, ready for a fight (or shall we say, a verbal exchange of ideas?) right in the middle of the Mexican restaurant. After seeing the crazy look of one hundred years of Women's Suffrage in my eyes, Adam sheepishly explained that he was trying to compliment me--he could never see me in the military because he'd never seen a woman as attractive as me amongst the ranks. I was immediately smitten and flattered, and all the hardcore Gloria Steinem tendencies melted away. So that was 1999.
He is SUCH a liar.
One of the first things I noticed upon my arrival in Virginia last week was how many gorgeous female classmates Adam has. No, I don't mean attractive-considering-they're-in-the-military gorgeous, I mean, drop-dead, popular-girl-in-high-school gorgeous. These are the women he's been hanging out with for the last three months?? While my jealousy streak has definitely subsided over the last ten years, being pregnant has set my hormones (not to mention my boobs, my butt, my belly and anything else that has the capacity to expand and swell) off the charts. I became really self-conscious about whether the woman Adam was introducing as his wife could ever measure up to these stunning ladies. I stood there looking at their perfect skin while thinking about the recent onset of pimples that have plagued my cleavage (whoever heard of pimply boobs?). One woman tossed her perfectly beautiful silky brunette mane while I irritably thought of my in-between-stage hair that's too short to be long, and too long to be short.
By the end of day three, I had my breakdown...or was it a meltdown? This included me falling into a heap on Adam's lap as I bawled about my ever-expanding body, how unsexy I felt, and how I hoped he would stick around if I got a stretch mark. He tried to mask his smirk, but I could tell he thought I was pretty ridiculous. He kept saying, "Uh..honey, you're pregnant. I think there's something in the rule books about you gaining weight when you have a turkey growing in your body!" I have fought with my weight for years, and had a borderline (probably stepped over that line a few too many times) eating disorder when I was a teen/young adult. Body image is a major issue for me, but I thought I had tackled it a long time ago. However, the image of my body in the mirror, changing before I was ready for it to, has made me realize otherwise. After kissing my forehead (my favorite thing) and holding me as long as I needed him to, and then a little longer than that, Adam promised he'd love me, belly fat, stretch marks and all. "After all," he reminded me with a wink, "I'm not going to be this studly forever either. Pretty soon the rest of my hair will be gone and my butt will be sagging to my knees." Grin.
The trip out to see Adam was great in all, though. He felt Wee Willie kick and move and tumble which was amazing for me, as I had been waiting for weeks to be able to share that with him. We took a 2-hour hike along the Rivanna Trail on the University of Virginia campus, and saw a flock of bluebirds fanning themselves, several chickadees doing acrobatics in the trees, heard a cacophony of crows overhead, and we flushed a huge hawk from the forest understory. Kika, Adam and I were completely wiped by the end, but we settled in with a steamy cup of hot chai and snuggled under blankets in the warmth of the hotel room.
Superbowl Sunday didn't mean a whole lot to me, since I didn't have a team to cheer for, and the USA Channel was showing a 17-hour marathon of "House". So, after snagging some pizza and goodies from the hotel dining room, we settled in bed for 6 straight hours of Dr. House and staff. It was awesome! Even Adam, who usually gets tired of things like that, didn't complain once. All he asked was that we could flip back to the game to check on the score. Luckily, he didn't miss the game-winning pass that clinched it for the Steelers. It was like last year's Superbowl all over again.
Wednesday, Adam graduated from the Army JAG school. My mother and sister drove down 2 hours for the occasion and it was a lot of fun. Mum and Shannon made fun of my belly (they insisted I was sticking it out, trying to make it seem bigger than it is...little do they know!) and we caught lunch at a local buffet afterward. It meant so much to me that my family loves Adam enough to make the trip down to see him graduate. I know it meant a lot to him, too. After the graduation, Mum, Shannon and I spent about two hours looking at various people's Facebook pages; they particularly liked the "insert-your-face-into-another-person's-body" thing that my sister-in-law and Adam's friend Michael had done. It's weird and disturbing but tons of fun, too.
That night Adam took me to a UVA v. Boston College basketball game. UVA just couldn't top BC, and we were happy to leave the sour spectators by the end. Wee Willie was having a go at it, though, punching and kicking in time to the UVA band and cheerleaders. We laughed at our future little sports nut.
As we so often (okay, let's just be honest here, and say always) do, Adam and I slept in way too late on Thursday morning, when he had to have me to the airport, which was 1 1/2 hours away, by 11:30am. Oh, and did I mention we both still had to finish packing? For me, packing was just a few clothes I'd bought while in town; for Adam, that meant 2 1/2 months of his life. He had done the lion's share the night before, but that "little bit" he'd left for Thursday morning ended up taking over an hour to pack up and deal with. We drove 90 miles per hour down the interstate (which one never does in Virginia, being that it is definitely a "police state") to get me to the airport on time. And on time we did, although there were no spare moments for tears or long hugs good-bye. Just a quick kiss and a twinge of extreme sadness and then I was hustling Kika in her carrier and my luggage to the terminal. I managed to check my luggage, get Kika and myself through security, and arrive at my gate in record time. I called Adam breathlessly to tell him I was fine.
But I was bummed...I missed him already, I was going back to cold and snowy Michigan, and my little holiday with him was over. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my cute, well-behaved little dog, which is exactly what everyone in the airport wanted to talk about. When I was boarding my flight from Richmond to Detroit, weighed down with kennel, big heavy winter coat and carry-on items, a woman in the aisle started barraging me with questions: "What's in there? A cat or a dog?" I was still trying to navigate the narrow aisle, not bump into any of the seated passengers with Kika's kennel, and stow my belongings so those behind me could pass. I was really irritated that she wouldn't wait until I was settled to interrogate me, and so decided to ignore her. As I was still trying to get myself sorted, she started poking me to get my attention. I continued to ignore her, occupying myself with my carry-on luggage. After avoiding her further by getting involved in a phone call with Adam, I finally had to deal with her once cell phones were no longer allowed to be used. I looked at her, annoyed, and finally, said, "It's a dog." She didn't get the hint, and pressed on, "What? Like a little Yorkie or something?" "No," I replied, "a terrier." With that, I turned away from her and pretended to fall asleep. Maybe I was being a bitch, but she was being an annoying bitch, so I didn't feel so bad about it.
Once we landed in Detroit, she couldn't just leave me alone; instead she asked if I had drugged Kika to keep her quiet through the ride. I was repulsed by the idea. I flatly responded, "No" and then packed up my things to leave the plane. Once I got to my layover gate, I found out they had cancelled my flight into Lansing. However, it had been rebooked for the same departure time, although the gate attendant didn't realize it. After convincing her that, indeed, the new flight was scheduled to leave the same time as the cancelled flight, and yes, I most likely belonged on the new flight, Kika and I sat down. I let her out of her kennel to stretch her legs and eat. She loved the clementines my mother left for me. But of course, Kika, the clementine-eating dog that was wearing a diaper attracted a lot of attention. A woman who was sitting next to me at the gate exclaimed, "Oh, what fun! I've never travelled with my dog before." I very sourly responded, "It's not that much fun." She looked surprised, then asked why. "You tend to get way too much attention," I responded, then added, "No offense." She looked thoughtfully off into the distance, and for a moment I thought, Okay, Lauren, she did not deserve that. But relying on my sad-because-my-husband-left-me-for-2/12-months-while-I'm-pregnant defense, I decided to let it go and call Adam instead.
The flight to Lansing was uneventful, but as we were deboarding, I heard the same woman from the gate exclaiming how impressed she was by my dog's calm travelling demeanour. I felt a twinge of guilt that I had been so rude to her at the gate, but was embarassed, so I didn't turn around at her comment. Once in the terminal, I noticed a familiar face sitting in the waiting area--one of the professors who works in the same building I do. I immediately called out his name to say hello. He stood up to greet me, to meet Kika, and to tell me he was waiting for his wife to arrive. Blood drained from my face, because I just knew who his wife was going to be. As soon as he said, "There she is now!" I didn't even turn around, but rather hot-footed it toward the ladies' room to seek shelter. I tried to stay in there as long as possible to avoid running into them again, but eventually I had to come out to get my luggage. Sure enough, standing right by the baggage claim was the professor and his wife, who was the same woman I'd been rude to at the gate at the Detroit airport. I apologized to her for being so rude, and mumbled a feeble excuse for my behavior. She graciously waved it away, but I realized how important it is to never, never be rude to someone flying into the same airport as you. You never know what your connection to them might be.
So now it's Friday, and a long day of work is over. Adam is in Georgia now, having dinner with some old friends of ours before he heads down to Ft. Benning tomorrow. I will head home and deal with Kika and House and my routine once again. Welcome home, Lauren.
He is SUCH a liar.
One of the first things I noticed upon my arrival in Virginia last week was how many gorgeous female classmates Adam has. No, I don't mean attractive-considering-they're-in-the-military gorgeous, I mean, drop-dead, popular-girl-in-high-school gorgeous. These are the women he's been hanging out with for the last three months?? While my jealousy streak has definitely subsided over the last ten years, being pregnant has set my hormones (not to mention my boobs, my butt, my belly and anything else that has the capacity to expand and swell) off the charts. I became really self-conscious about whether the woman Adam was introducing as his wife could ever measure up to these stunning ladies. I stood there looking at their perfect skin while thinking about the recent onset of pimples that have plagued my cleavage (whoever heard of pimply boobs?). One woman tossed her perfectly beautiful silky brunette mane while I irritably thought of my in-between-stage hair that's too short to be long, and too long to be short.
By the end of day three, I had my breakdown...or was it a meltdown? This included me falling into a heap on Adam's lap as I bawled about my ever-expanding body, how unsexy I felt, and how I hoped he would stick around if I got a stretch mark. He tried to mask his smirk, but I could tell he thought I was pretty ridiculous. He kept saying, "Uh..honey, you're pregnant. I think there's something in the rule books about you gaining weight when you have a turkey growing in your body!" I have fought with my weight for years, and had a borderline (probably stepped over that line a few too many times) eating disorder when I was a teen/young adult. Body image is a major issue for me, but I thought I had tackled it a long time ago. However, the image of my body in the mirror, changing before I was ready for it to, has made me realize otherwise. After kissing my forehead (my favorite thing) and holding me as long as I needed him to, and then a little longer than that, Adam promised he'd love me, belly fat, stretch marks and all. "After all," he reminded me with a wink, "I'm not going to be this studly forever either. Pretty soon the rest of my hair will be gone and my butt will be sagging to my knees." Grin.
The trip out to see Adam was great in all, though. He felt Wee Willie kick and move and tumble which was amazing for me, as I had been waiting for weeks to be able to share that with him. We took a 2-hour hike along the Rivanna Trail on the University of Virginia campus, and saw a flock of bluebirds fanning themselves, several chickadees doing acrobatics in the trees, heard a cacophony of crows overhead, and we flushed a huge hawk from the forest understory. Kika, Adam and I were completely wiped by the end, but we settled in with a steamy cup of hot chai and snuggled under blankets in the warmth of the hotel room.
Superbowl Sunday didn't mean a whole lot to me, since I didn't have a team to cheer for, and the USA Channel was showing a 17-hour marathon of "House". So, after snagging some pizza and goodies from the hotel dining room, we settled in bed for 6 straight hours of Dr. House and staff. It was awesome! Even Adam, who usually gets tired of things like that, didn't complain once. All he asked was that we could flip back to the game to check on the score. Luckily, he didn't miss the game-winning pass that clinched it for the Steelers. It was like last year's Superbowl all over again.
Wednesday, Adam graduated from the Army JAG school. My mother and sister drove down 2 hours for the occasion and it was a lot of fun. Mum and Shannon made fun of my belly (they insisted I was sticking it out, trying to make it seem bigger than it is...little do they know!) and we caught lunch at a local buffet afterward. It meant so much to me that my family loves Adam enough to make the trip down to see him graduate. I know it meant a lot to him, too. After the graduation, Mum, Shannon and I spent about two hours looking at various people's Facebook pages; they particularly liked the "insert-your-face-into-another-person's-body" thing that my sister-in-law and Adam's friend Michael had done. It's weird and disturbing but tons of fun, too.
That night Adam took me to a UVA v. Boston College basketball game. UVA just couldn't top BC, and we were happy to leave the sour spectators by the end. Wee Willie was having a go at it, though, punching and kicking in time to the UVA band and cheerleaders. We laughed at our future little sports nut.
As we so often (okay, let's just be honest here, and say always) do, Adam and I slept in way too late on Thursday morning, when he had to have me to the airport, which was 1 1/2 hours away, by 11:30am. Oh, and did I mention we both still had to finish packing? For me, packing was just a few clothes I'd bought while in town; for Adam, that meant 2 1/2 months of his life. He had done the lion's share the night before, but that "little bit" he'd left for Thursday morning ended up taking over an hour to pack up and deal with. We drove 90 miles per hour down the interstate (which one never does in Virginia, being that it is definitely a "police state") to get me to the airport on time. And on time we did, although there were no spare moments for tears or long hugs good-bye. Just a quick kiss and a twinge of extreme sadness and then I was hustling Kika in her carrier and my luggage to the terminal. I managed to check my luggage, get Kika and myself through security, and arrive at my gate in record time. I called Adam breathlessly to tell him I was fine.
But I was bummed...I missed him already, I was going back to cold and snowy Michigan, and my little holiday with him was over. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my cute, well-behaved little dog, which is exactly what everyone in the airport wanted to talk about. When I was boarding my flight from Richmond to Detroit, weighed down with kennel, big heavy winter coat and carry-on items, a woman in the aisle started barraging me with questions: "What's in there? A cat or a dog?" I was still trying to navigate the narrow aisle, not bump into any of the seated passengers with Kika's kennel, and stow my belongings so those behind me could pass. I was really irritated that she wouldn't wait until I was settled to interrogate me, and so decided to ignore her. As I was still trying to get myself sorted, she started poking me to get my attention. I continued to ignore her, occupying myself with my carry-on luggage. After avoiding her further by getting involved in a phone call with Adam, I finally had to deal with her once cell phones were no longer allowed to be used. I looked at her, annoyed, and finally, said, "It's a dog." She didn't get the hint, and pressed on, "What? Like a little Yorkie or something?" "No," I replied, "a terrier." With that, I turned away from her and pretended to fall asleep. Maybe I was being a bitch, but she was being an annoying bitch, so I didn't feel so bad about it.
Once we landed in Detroit, she couldn't just leave me alone; instead she asked if I had drugged Kika to keep her quiet through the ride. I was repulsed by the idea. I flatly responded, "No" and then packed up my things to leave the plane. Once I got to my layover gate, I found out they had cancelled my flight into Lansing. However, it had been rebooked for the same departure time, although the gate attendant didn't realize it. After convincing her that, indeed, the new flight was scheduled to leave the same time as the cancelled flight, and yes, I most likely belonged on the new flight, Kika and I sat down. I let her out of her kennel to stretch her legs and eat. She loved the clementines my mother left for me. But of course, Kika, the clementine-eating dog that was wearing a diaper attracted a lot of attention. A woman who was sitting next to me at the gate exclaimed, "Oh, what fun! I've never travelled with my dog before." I very sourly responded, "It's not that much fun." She looked surprised, then asked why. "You tend to get way too much attention," I responded, then added, "No offense." She looked thoughtfully off into the distance, and for a moment I thought, Okay, Lauren, she did not deserve that. But relying on my sad-because-my-husband-left-me-for-2/12-months-while-I'm-pregnant defense, I decided to let it go and call Adam instead.
The flight to Lansing was uneventful, but as we were deboarding, I heard the same woman from the gate exclaiming how impressed she was by my dog's calm travelling demeanour. I felt a twinge of guilt that I had been so rude to her at the gate, but was embarassed, so I didn't turn around at her comment. Once in the terminal, I noticed a familiar face sitting in the waiting area--one of the professors who works in the same building I do. I immediately called out his name to say hello. He stood up to greet me, to meet Kika, and to tell me he was waiting for his wife to arrive. Blood drained from my face, because I just knew who his wife was going to be. As soon as he said, "There she is now!" I didn't even turn around, but rather hot-footed it toward the ladies' room to seek shelter. I tried to stay in there as long as possible to avoid running into them again, but eventually I had to come out to get my luggage. Sure enough, standing right by the baggage claim was the professor and his wife, who was the same woman I'd been rude to at the gate at the Detroit airport. I apologized to her for being so rude, and mumbled a feeble excuse for my behavior. She graciously waved it away, but I realized how important it is to never, never be rude to someone flying into the same airport as you. You never know what your connection to them might be.
So now it's Friday, and a long day of work is over. Adam is in Georgia now, having dinner with some old friends of ours before he heads down to Ft. Benning tomorrow. I will head home and deal with Kika and House and my routine once again. Welcome home, Lauren.
Monday, February 2, 2009
I've Got A Name, I've Got A Name
I haven't talked much about the whole baby-naming process that Adam and I have been going through, partly because we only talk about it sporatically over the phone, and partly because we're keeping the baby's name on the down-low until the birth. But, for all of you curious kitties, I will say a few things:
--I have learned an awful lot about Adam since this process began. In years past, if we ever talked about baby names, he'd always stick to the more common names that we've all heard before. I am definitely interested in more unusual, exotic names, so I thought that we'd come to blows when it really came time to choose. But *WOW*, has he ever surprised me. He's much more open-minded than I'd have ever thought (or given him credit for), suggesting names that I knew I liked but would not have dreamed he'd approve of. I'm astounded.
--Our kid will not have a name that will subject him or her to taunting rhymes, embarassing moments in junior high sex ed class, or being stuffed into a locker (that might happen but it won't be because of the name).
--One thing that we've been pretty careful about is respecting cultural and familial customs. In Judaism, one does not name their child after a person who is still alive (ie--there would be no Adam, Jr.). However, it is respectful to either name your child after a deceased relative, or to take the first initial from that person's name and use it to name your child. For example, if I had a grandmother named "Sarah" who'd passed (I don't, but let's just say for this example that I do), then we might name our son "Samuel" or our daughter "Susan." While we haven't been hell-bent on naming our kid after a passed relative, we have been really careful about not using letters of the alphabet that could be traced back to living family members. So between our two families, we're pretty much left with about half of the alphabet that we can actually use!
--My mother asked me the other night if our kid's name was going to be original enough that one day, it's future high school classmates would be able to track him/her down on Facebook. "There aren't going to be a thousand of your kid's name out there, will there?" I reminded her that the kid's last name--Mittman--will be unusual enough that it wouldn't be much of a problem, but that no, the names we've chosen thus far are pretty uncommon. Not made-up, mind you, but names you don't hear everyday. We're kinda proud of what our collective brains have come up with.
Current status: Right now, we've got two sets (first and middle name combos) of girl's names that we're both happy with. If we have a girl, we've decided to just spend a little time with the munchkin to decide which name combo suits her better. We figure, just like each puppy has its own personality, so will each baby, so why not wait till we meet her to determine what first and middle names suit her best? It's been a little more difficult with the boy's name. For some reason, it's just a lot harder to find a nice, strong-sounding, masculine name that flows well, but doesn't come across as too...well...pretty. Strong, pretty girl names are easy. Strong, nice-sounding-but-not-pretty boy names are not. We've got at least one combo that we like (I love it; Adam likes it a lot but is still holding out for another zinger name-combo to come along). We're both hoping for the same luck we had with the girl's name--at least two name combos to have in store for when the little tyke arrives. We're realizing this is going to be a little harder with the boy name, however, as we just haven't found a combo we like as much as the one that we already have. But I've got almost four more months to keep searching.
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter too much what we name the kid, as long as it's not embarassing. They won't really appreciate their name (the uniqueness or commonality of it) until they're much older anyway. It's really all about the parents right now. A friend once told me of his days growing up in small town, Oklahoma, and how a teenage classmate of his had a baby girl, and insisted on naming her...Gonorrhea. Oh, she pronounced it "Go-NAW-re-ya", and to anyone who told her, "you know that's an STD, don't you?" she'd reply, "I don't care, I think it sounds beautiful and that's my baby's name!" No worries, anyone...Adam and I don't have a baby Chlamydia or Syphillis in our future...
--I have learned an awful lot about Adam since this process began. In years past, if we ever talked about baby names, he'd always stick to the more common names that we've all heard before. I am definitely interested in more unusual, exotic names, so I thought that we'd come to blows when it really came time to choose. But *WOW*, has he ever surprised me. He's much more open-minded than I'd have ever thought (or given him credit for), suggesting names that I knew I liked but would not have dreamed he'd approve of. I'm astounded.
--Our kid will not have a name that will subject him or her to taunting rhymes, embarassing moments in junior high sex ed class, or being stuffed into a locker (that might happen but it won't be because of the name).
--One thing that we've been pretty careful about is respecting cultural and familial customs. In Judaism, one does not name their child after a person who is still alive (ie--there would be no Adam, Jr.). However, it is respectful to either name your child after a deceased relative, or to take the first initial from that person's name and use it to name your child. For example, if I had a grandmother named "Sarah" who'd passed (I don't, but let's just say for this example that I do), then we might name our son "Samuel" or our daughter "Susan." While we haven't been hell-bent on naming our kid after a passed relative, we have been really careful about not using letters of the alphabet that could be traced back to living family members. So between our two families, we're pretty much left with about half of the alphabet that we can actually use!
--My mother asked me the other night if our kid's name was going to be original enough that one day, it's future high school classmates would be able to track him/her down on Facebook. "There aren't going to be a thousand of your kid's name out there, will there?" I reminded her that the kid's last name--Mittman--will be unusual enough that it wouldn't be much of a problem, but that no, the names we've chosen thus far are pretty uncommon. Not made-up, mind you, but names you don't hear everyday. We're kinda proud of what our collective brains have come up with.
Current status: Right now, we've got two sets (first and middle name combos) of girl's names that we're both happy with. If we have a girl, we've decided to just spend a little time with the munchkin to decide which name combo suits her better. We figure, just like each puppy has its own personality, so will each baby, so why not wait till we meet her to determine what first and middle names suit her best? It's been a little more difficult with the boy's name. For some reason, it's just a lot harder to find a nice, strong-sounding, masculine name that flows well, but doesn't come across as too...well...pretty. Strong, pretty girl names are easy. Strong, nice-sounding-but-not-pretty boy names are not. We've got at least one combo that we like (I love it; Adam likes it a lot but is still holding out for another zinger name-combo to come along). We're both hoping for the same luck we had with the girl's name--at least two name combos to have in store for when the little tyke arrives. We're realizing this is going to be a little harder with the boy name, however, as we just haven't found a combo we like as much as the one that we already have. But I've got almost four more months to keep searching.
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter too much what we name the kid, as long as it's not embarassing. They won't really appreciate their name (the uniqueness or commonality of it) until they're much older anyway. It's really all about the parents right now. A friend once told me of his days growing up in small town, Oklahoma, and how a teenage classmate of his had a baby girl, and insisted on naming her...Gonorrhea. Oh, she pronounced it "Go-NAW-re-ya", and to anyone who told her, "you know that's an STD, don't you?" she'd reply, "I don't care, I think it sounds beautiful and that's my baby's name!" No worries, anyone...Adam and I don't have a baby Chlamydia or Syphillis in our future...
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