Pix From Mum's Visit to MI

Just after our trip to Douglas J's Aveda Institute for a mother-daughter spa treatment!




Mum was so kind as to keep up with all the dish-washing while she was in town!


At the gardenhouse where I volunteer every week, Maggie was putting on a cooking demonstration.




Party at my house to welcome my Mum to town...loads of friends showed up and the house was filled with kids!






Hiking at the park with friends during the Maple Syrup Festival

The Lion "Swing"...Up, Up and A-Weem-A-Way!!!

Tuesday night I took my mother to the Broadway touring company's production of "The Lion King" that is playing at Michigan State's performing arts center. We were pretty psyched to go; I had been to see it two years ago with Adam when the production was first in East Lansing, but this would be my mother's first time.

If you've never seen the stage production, I have to say that it's a sight to behold. I've found that both times I started crying during the opening scene, where all of these beautiful, colorful safari animals start walking, running and flying on stage. It's simply gorgeous, and so breathtaking, I get a bit overwhelmed. I also like the story of "The Lion King", and the fact that it's set in Africa, an area of the world that doesn't get a lot of Broadway face time, usually. Overall, just a beautiful production.

Anyway, all was going well through both the first and second acts, right up until the second-to-last scene. Simba has just learned that his uncle Scar is responsible for his father Mufasa's death, and Simba has chased Scar up to the top of Pride Rock. Scar cries out, "Simba! You wouldn't hurt me, would you?? I'm your family!"
Simba is just about to reply, "I'm not like you, Scar...I can't kill!", when all of a sudden, for no apparent reason, a big wire yanks the back of Scar's costume and carries him away into the air. He flies off of Pride Rock--yes, flies--and is carried away off-stage. Simba stands confused, looking off into the distance for half a second, before climbing down Pride Rock and running offstage to join his flying-lion uncle Scar. Meanwhile, the stage continues to be lit an eerie red-glow, the handdrummers continue drumming, and the hyenas standing at the bottom of Pride Rock pace around quietly, while we all wait to see what has become of Simba and the flying lion.

About a minute later, Simba and Scar, now wingless, come running onto the stage, battling about the death of Mufasa and the play goes on from there. It was very bizarre. I don't think I've ever seen such an error in a Broadway production before. But I guess it humanized the whole thing for me. We all get it wrong sometimes, even Broadway.

Feedback Complex

So, they say be careful what you wish for. For awhile now, I've been wishing for more feedback and comments from my loyal readers. I know you guys are out there (because you tell me that you read this stuff). In fact, I'm always surprised to find out how many people read my blog because I hardly ever get any comments. Other blogs I keep up with are always full of comments, so I'm starting to think there's something wrong with me...or my blog...(it couldn't be the readers, could it??)...

So, help me get over my complex, folks! Let me know you're out there! Tell me what you think. I'll do my best to comment on your comments, reply to your replies. Promise.

Take pity on me--I'm pregnant...*sniff* (yeah, I used that card).

In other news, I am totally bumming out here in newly-warm (60s??) Lansing, as I put my mother on a plane back home to D.C. this afternoon. I've been unsuccessfully swallowing back the tears all evening. I wasn't even able to thoroughly enjoy my yoga class tonight, because of the idea of returning home to an empty house. *sigh*

Is this what loneliness is all about? Keep me company with your comments, everyone!

Additional Thought

I forgot to mention in the last post that I've started experiencing uterine toning (aka "Braxton-Hicks") contractions. I didn't know at first what I was feeling--there was a slight pain, then tight, squeezing sensations. I knew it wasn't the baby moving, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what was going on. My midwife confirmed the early contractions. Evidently, they can happen much earlier in the pregnancy than this, but it's perfectly normal.

Adam is due to come home in 32 days, just over a month...he has no idea what's in store for him!!!

7 1/2 Month Baby Bump Pix

Well, at 7 1/2 months, I guess it's more than a bump, and with my 8th month starting next Tuesday, I guess I'm really 7 3/4 months now. But who's counting, right?

For all my friends and family who aren't around to see Baby and me grow, here you go!


With a touch of modesty...



Letting it all hang out!!!

Baby Woes and Wiggles

My mum has been in town, taking care of me (despite my stubbornness and strong will to fend for myself) for the last several days. It's been a great, great visit, which is why I haven't had time to post to the blog for a while. I've been taking loads of pix during her stay, but I'll post them and a rundown of what we've been up to later today. For now, I want to give a brief update on Baby Mittman (affectionately known as Cyrus-Minerva by my mum) before leaving my half-day of work today!

Mum accompanied me to the birth center last Thursday afternoon, and it was a real treat to have her there. She really loved the center, and was really surprised by the amount of specialized, one-on-one care I received. She kept saying that at the hospital, you're in and out; at the birth center, each appointment is one hour of individualized attention with loads of information, explanations of what's going on with me and baby, and answers to all my questions.

Baby is doing well, still growing at a normal rate (my belly was 29 cm at 30 weeks, pretty much right on schedule), and baby was doing laps around my belly during the whole appointment. They found not only the baby's heartbeat but also the pulse from the umbilical cord; Mum and I were floored to get so much fun information at one visit!

I haven't really mentioned this on the blog, pretty much because of embarassment and fear of judgement from my readers, but there is one on-going issue that I've been having a problem with. I can't seem to gain enough weight with this pregnancy. At any other point in my life, NOT gaining weight would be a highlight, but for now, I just want to be like everyone else, and gain what I'm supposed to gain to make a healthy baby. So far, I've only gained 15 lbs, and being that I'm 2 months away from the delivery, I'm getting a little nervous. While the midwives say that "it's not how much you gain, it's what you eat that matters", even Clarice said that I should be upping my calories and eating more everyday. The last three visits have had me at the same weight each time. Every single person I see at work, at the grocery store, at the mall, wherever, looks at me and says, "Wow, you're really tiny! You don't look like you're seven and a half months along!" I feel like I'm doing something wrong and it's wearing thin on me. My midwife Kip said that everyone's different, and we all metabolize at different rates; Mum said I should be happy not to put on a ton of weight that will be really hard to take off later. One girlfriend assured me that she only gained a total of 20 lbs with her baby, who was born at 8 1/2 lbs! So, I guess I'm starting to feel a little better, but it's so hard to think that you might be doing something wrong that could adversely affect the rest of your kid's life.

Two nights ago, I was on the phone with Adam while my mum was resting on the couch opposite me. While I was reading aloud to him all about the kicks and punches baby will throw during pregnancy, I all of a sudden felt a sharp pain front and center, above my belly button (which still has not popped out yet!). I groaned out loud, then timidly felt my way down to the offending area...only to find a hard lump protruding out. I freaked out. I started trying to push it--whatever it was--back into my belly where it belonged! Once I finally nudged it back into place, I realized that I had been so busy panicking that I had missed a really cool experience--the first sighting of baby's elbow/knee/etc. Oh well, next time.

Baby has been really active ever since, rolling around, tumbling, wiggling, you name it. I can tell that it's getting bigger and stronger, and probably has long legs and big feet like its father. This morning I couldn't go back to sleep after 6am because baby was so busy trying to kick itself out of my stomach.

I'm off now to return home to mum. We're going to make lunch, watch movies and sort through all the booty I've gotten so far from everyone. Your thank you card will be in the mail shortly.

A Cry In The Night

I am not a fearful person, but I admit that I am a glass-is-half-empty type gal. I expect that things will go wrong. Like I expect that when I turn the ignition in my car, the car bomb that was randomly placed there by a domestic terrorist will go off, killing me. Or, that Adam will die a tragic death days before baby is born, leaving me alone, pregnant and grief-stricken. Oh, and I completely expect that someone will break into my house in the middle of the night, and that I will have to hide in the dark shadows, waiting with a knife to jump on the intruder from behind and slit his throat. I tend to expect these types of things to happen.

Last week, when I was recovering from that respiratory infection, I was awoken around 2am to the gurgling sounds of Greg House vomiting on my window sill. The last thing I wanted to have to do at 2 am was clean up a vomit-soaked cat and window, but fearing he was really ill, I rolled over and pushed myself into a sitting position. I pulled back the blinds and found House, not vomiting, but making an awful racket at something on the front porch. I peered into the darkness, fearing what I'd see. My heart plummetted as I caught something moving just outside my window. Just as I was about to run for a knife, I realized it was a cat; in fact, it was the cat Adam affectionately refers to as "House's brother."

This is a big ole grey tom cat that struts around the neighborhood all day and night, in and out of people's yards, crossing the street like he owns the place, fat and happy. He's not really House's brother (we don't think), but since both cats are grey and on the streets, Adam likes to pretend they're related. I've tried on a few occasions to pet him, but while he is obviously someone's cat--he's too well-fed to be a stray--he's not nearly as friendly as Greg House is. But that doesn't mean he won't take advantage of my yard as his personal hunting ground, toilet and resting spot. In fact, one day earlier this winter, this cat sat for 10 minutes watching as I shoveled out my driveway. When I finally asked him if he was going to just sit there and watch or actually help me, he turned his nose in the air and slinked silkily past me. As if.

So, back to that night. Once I realized it was House's brother, I was amazed by how he was reacting to Greg House. This guy was standing on his hind legs, front paws on the outside window sill, nose to the glass, looking in. Greg House was having a conniption fit, literally spitting he was so angry. I was fascinated. The two cats were nose-to-nose at the window, one calm and happily instigating a fight, the other worked up and itchin for a showdown. I laughed despite the late (or early?) hour, picked up House, and tried to put him back to bed. But he could not be contained until his "Brother" left the porch a few minutes later.

A few nights ago, I was awakened to the pained warbles of a seemingly ailing kitty. I sat up with a jolt, looking for House. He had not come to bed that night, so I immediately stumbled out of bed, running into the living room to find him. All I could think was that he had bitten his open wound too deeply and started hemmorhaging, or that he'd gotten an infection that was making him sick. But when I turned on the lights to the living room, he was sitting--his front legs tucked in underneath him, his eyes half-closed--as if he didn't have a care in the world. I was a bit confused, but decided to bring him to bed anyway, just in case. Pretty much as soon as he settled into bed next to me, he jumped away, into the windowsill. And that's when I heard the cry again...but it wasn't coming from House, it was from outside. Greg started his gurgling vomiting sounds again, and I knew that his "Brother" must be back. Sure enough, the two cats were nose-to-nose again, with just a double pane window separating them. Greg chortled and hissed until finally his "Brother" sauntered away, but Greg paced the house for several minutes thereafter, agitated and angry.

Last night was the same deal. What started out as a funny little encounter has now become a nightly nuisance. "House's brother" seems to be coming by for a visit every night now, stirring up Greg House and waking me up. I have to attempt to calm House during the altercation, and meanwhile miss out on my own full 8 hours of sleep. A coworker also warned me that two male cats squaring off day after day (or, rather, night after night) might result in one or both of them attempting to define his territory...if either of these cats sprays, inside or out, they are both out on the street for good!

Lucky for Kika, she sleeps through the whole thing.

The Original Maverick

I've gotten loads of flack (namely from my hubby) over the years for being a die-hard fan of the 80's flick, Top Gun. I know a lot of folks find it a little corny, but hey--that was Tom Cruise in his heyday, before the Scientology-Katie-Holmes-couch-jumping-phenomena took over. And Kelly McGillis never looked sexier, either. Mix in a little Anthony Edwards and a wily Meg Ryan, not to mention big, fast flying machines, and you've got a recipe for a great cult classic.

Evidently, I'm not the only one who thinks so. According to a story on NPR's "Morning Edition" today, a lot of Navy and Air Force pilots really like the movie, too; they think it's fairly realistic. Okay, maybe not the bedding your flight instructor part (or maybe so??) but definitely the cutthroat culture of flight school.

I've been putting off buying the collector's edition of that movie for years now, but maybe this is karma telling me to feed my desires. Already I'm imagining the famous beach volleyball scene. Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

Spring Awakening

Sorry to those of you expecting a detailed synopsis of the uber-sexy new rock opera.

All I meant to say is that yesterday I took a stroll through the woods with some friends and saw my first American robin of spring 2009. I almost cried with delight, particularly considering the last few days here in Michigan have been a glorious 55+ degrees out. Tomorrow is supposed to get up to 68 degrees!

I also (accidentally) hooted out a barred owl at the park last night. I had no expectations that one would be there, but a few minutes after I jokingly did the "Who-cooks-for-you?" hoot, I heard a real owl hooting anxiously back at me. It was great.

If this weather sticks around and the birds come out in full force, spring will have truly awakened me.

Love My Baby, Love Her Poo

When Adam and I went to England several years ago to visit his sister and her family, her youngest son was still in diapers. He'd have huge, explosive poos that messed up his entire outfit, leaving us all wondering how so much poo had managed to escape the confines of his diapers. It seemed that every couple hours we'd smell "the smell" and knew it was time for baby to get his diaper changed. I've baby-sat the majority of my teen and adult life, so while not my favorite thing, I know poo is just something one must deal with when caring for children. Adam, on the other hand, was pretty disgusted. I remember him asking his sister how she dealt with constantly changing a dirty diaper. She looked him square in the eye and said, "Adam, I love my baby; I love his poo." Adam has never forgotten that little life lesson, and neither have I.

I've only told a very few people my dirty little secret, but I guess I will air it for the masses now. When Shabbi was in her last, ailing year, she had a hard time taking a poo. Not because she was constipated, but because she didn't always remember to poo in the appropriate places (aka, outdoors). So she'd wander around outside for endless minutes, needing to poo, farting incessantly, but never actually...well, performing. Her little butthole showed signs that she needed to go, but she wouldn't always push it out. In fact, too often she'd wait to do that until we were back inside!

So...I one day realized that I might be able to 'help things along' for her. You might remember my anal-gland-squeezing prowess, a skill I picked up from having worked at a dog grooming shop one year. Well, I decided to put that skill to work, to see if it might help my little girl clean out her intestines. After pumping the outside of her anus with my fingers a couple times, she started to push the poo out almost on command. It soon became the sure-fire way to have Shabbi poo outside before I went to bed at night, knowing that I wouldn't wake up to the smell of poo in my bedroom, or to the sounds of her whining to go out at 2am. I pretty much used this method (not every time--oftentimes she could poo on her own) whenever I needed to until the day she left us. I will say, though, that once Adam was back in town, he left the anal squeezes to me--just not his bag, I guess.

I only bring up these stories because of recent events. Kika's most recent foray into people food--she and Greg House's tag-teaming to get the crackers from the cupboard--left her bloated, a bit disoriented and unable to walk normally. I was pretty worried about her, because she drank so much water, I knew those crackers were just expanding inside her little belly. She was ripping stinky ones every few seconds. That first night, she (thankfully!) squeezed a long sausage out all on her own, but was still pretty gassy when we went to bed. Yesterday, she wasn't nearly as bloated, but was still gassy and uncomfortable. By evening, she still hadn't taken a poo (despite the banana I had given her at lunchtime to help move things along). So...I decided to revisit the old tried-and-true method that had worked so well with Shabbigirl. Voila! Evidently it worked with Kika, too! She seemed much happier (and lighter) once it was all out of her, and she slept soundly through the night (as did I--no Dutch oven to deal with!). This morning, she was spry and almost back to her normal self, although still having a wee bit trouble walking. But her spirits and temperament were back.

I know this probably isn't the post most of you wanted to read today, but hey, I'm opening myself up to you, folks! Now you know something about me you didn't know before (or maybe more than you ever wanted to know?). Love my Kika, love her poo.

Happy Purim!

Adam and I have both been itching for some really good hamantaschen. Oh? You're not familiar with this delectable treat? Really? Well! Let me fill you in!

Hamantaschen are little (or great big) triangular-shaped cookies, with a little 'pocket' in the middle, where fruit preserves, chocolate, nuts, etc are filled in. But it's not really the middle that counts--it's the cookie itself. Dense, cakey, crumbly, with hints of lemon and orange...my, my, it's orgasmic. It really is. Hamantaschen are the traditional cookie of the Jewish holiday Purim.




Large and attractive, small and cute, or tiny and messy, hamantaschen are yummy whatever they look like! My favorite fillings are apricot and prune, but you can find raspberry, chocolate, poppyseed (yech!), walnut, and even cream cheese!

My favorite hamantaschen come from a Jewish bakery in Queens, NY, called Beigels (sp??) that our friend Michael works at from time to time. Whenever we visit New York, we always make a mental note to drop by and pick up some (or Michael surprises us with a box). Luckily, Beigels' makes hamantaschen pretty much yearround, so whenever we're in Queens, we're able to stock up.

Unfortunately, the Jewish bakery presence in Lansing is not quite what it is in NYC, so we've been at a loss the last several years in trying to find our favorite cookies. Today, while e-mailing with my friend Mara, I found out that our local food co-op sells them in cooperation with the Jewish deli/bakery out of Ann Arbor, Zingerman's. I popped over to the co-op after work today and (with Adam on the phone) literally cried out in delight as I found ten large cookies left. I bought them all. When I asked Ads if I were being greedy, and should maybe save some for others, he said, "No, they should have gotten there sooner!" I think his Scrooge-ishness was due to the fact that I've already promised to ship him a few of the cookies I bought.

Happy (belated) Purim, everyone! Greg House just tried to nab some hamantaschen out of the cookie jar...I'd better go eat one or two so that he can't get to them.

Nancy Drew and the Case of the Stolen Crackers

I arrived home from work today to find utter chaos at my house. Cupboard doors were open, papers were strewn everywhere, and my little dog, Kika, seeemed out of sorts. Not to mention, my favorite crackers had gone missing! I immediately called my best friends, Bess and George, and my boyfriend, Ned, to come over to help crack the case.
Once they arrived, George started taking photographic evidence, while Ned and I interviewed the suspects. Bess examined the cracker crumbs for any physical evidence.
After about five minutes of thorough investigation, we realized the case was solved. Here are the photos that George took; see if you can solve the case of the missing crackers for yourself!

The Evidence...





The Motive...



The Suspects...




The Smoking Gun...

Welcome To The World, Leah Jordan!

The first of my pregnancy-buddies has given birth. My friend Heather delivered her baby girl, Leah Jordan, last night. Leah was a big, healthy, bouncing baby, and I'm sure her parents couldn't be more happy.

Congratulations Heather and Scott, and welcome to the world, little Leah!

I Want Your Sex

Adam and I had an interesting discussion today about something that I've wondered about for a long time, but have pondered even moreso now that I'm pregnant.

What's the big deal about SEX???? I'll even bet that the title to this post threw most of you a bit, am I right?

Considering the only way any of us are here on this earth is because two people "did it" (barring assisted fertilization methods, religious beliefs of immaculate conceptions, and horror movies), it's hard to understand why sex is such a taboo subject. Most people have it, no one would be here on earth without it, and it ain't going anywhere.

However, we continue to giggle sheepishly when sex is mentioned in mixed company, frown because it's an "inappropriate" subject to bring up in most social situations, and even pretend that a pregnant woman somehow just got in that "condition" by being a nice girl and clicking her heels together three times. We all know a good roll in the hay was involved, people!

Personally, I think sex is funny. It looks pretty ridiculous (okay, with the exception of Angelina Jolie doing it on the big screen), is hot and sweaty, and is (in my book, at least) equivalent to someone taking a poo (everyday function, noises are made, and it's a bit messy). Guess that's why sex jokes and potty humor go hand-in-hand for me. My favorite sex references are "bumpin' uglies", "shakin' the sheets", and "the mattress mambo."

Adam says the fact that sex is "fun, pleasurable and a great stress reliever" are all reasons that it's so taboo. Isn't poo-ing a good stress reliever, too, though? I always feel better after a good visit to the toilet. Okay, but do I take pleasure in it--well, no...but...

Anyone who knows me probably thinks it amusing that I'm asking "what's the big deal about sex"? After all, I talk about it all the time, make joking references to it, and amongst close friends, am not hesitant to discuss its finer points. But isn't that the point? I feel comfortable talking about it because it really isn't that big of a deal to me; just one of these natural things that we all know about, and most of us participate in, but no one likes to talk about. In fact, the only reason I shut up about it is because I know other people are uncomfortable talking about the subject. I love talking about it about as much as I love a good "woman in the stall next to me was grunting while pushing out a poo" story. But that's just me, I guess.

Anyway, that's my two cents on the subject. I'm off to la-la land now to go have some pleasant dreams...interpret that any way you want.

Luck Be A Lady

Wow, I must have stepped on some dog poo and not known it, because it seems as though my luck has been turning around lately. Not only is the weather getting nicer (in the 50s this weekend, replacing the barely-above-zero-degree weather we've been bracing all week), but I've got not one, but TWO visitors coming from out of town to pay me a visit in the next month.

My mother had suggested a visit out to MI pretty much as soon as she heard the word "pregnant" six months ago. She had no shame in being candid about the fact that "with a grandchild in the picture, I'll come visit you and Adam wherever you live!" Wow, had I known all it took was a baby to get her out here, maybe I would've done this whole pregnancy bit years ago...
So she arrives in a week and a half, and I can hardly wait. We're going to do a spa day at the local salon, take a trip to Ann Arbor for some yummy ethnic food, and generally bum around my house (I promise it will be clean before you arrive, Mum!)
In any case, I've talked my mother up enough over the years that my local friends are itchin' to meet her. I'm trying to think of the best way to have everyone meet her at once (good thing she's not overly shy); so it looks like a small party is in order! Geez, whenever I say small, it always turns into a big to-do, but after all, it's my mother, and after all, it's my friends, so what the hell? I'd just better keep the booze locked up in case any crashers arrive. Although, Mum likes booze...(there's a good reason I'm her daughter!)

I just got an e-mail a few days ago from one of my oldest childhood friends, and she's offered to fly into MI to visit me in April, before Adam returns. That was such a nice surprise, highly unexpected. She is my baking and drinking buddy; every Xmas, we have a bake-a-thon where we make selected gooey baked goods for our holiday delight. Since I was in Michigan this past Xmas, we missed our annual drink-and-get-happy-while-not-burning-the-pie event, but I'm intent on making up for it during her April visit (sans the drinking for me, though). By April, I'll be big as a 2-family house so I'm not even going to think about putting the brakes on my dessert consumption. After all, I'll be making up for what I missed out on during the holidays.

I finally heard from my soldier last night. He called, tired and sore after having slept outside, sans tent, in cold, snowy conditions. Yep, it snowed in Georgia, too. Anyway, "slept" is a misnomer, because he said between the shivering cold that kept him awake, and the constant simulated IED blasts that forced him to get up and run every hour or so, very little sleep was actually achieved. One of his comrades whispered in his ear, "Only 50 more days of this..." so at least they all know there is an end in sight. He was a sweetheart last night, staying up way past his bedtime to talk to me even though he had to be up by 5am this morning to report for PT. Tomorrow he graduates (there's a ceremony and everything--the military is all about ceremonies, just like the Catholic Church) from this second phase of his training, and then after this weekend he's off to the last phase of it all. That's when his butt is really going to get kicked--constant field training, shared accomodations and no weekends off. We are expecting to have very limited communication this last 1 1/2 months. I'm bummed, especially now that I'm so far into the pregnancy, I fear I won't be able to contact him if I need to. But we'll leave it to the cosmos and hope for the best.

Just so you don't think I've forgotten, luck can take on the bad side, too. Remember that dog poo I must've stepped on (a sign of good luck?) Well, evidently some of it never made it under my foot--last night Kika poo'd twice in the house when I had my back turned and ate it both times. Then she burped. Yeah. Gotta balance out all that good luck, ya know.

Running on Empty

Today I'm writing simply because I've run out of other things to do (don't tell my boss that, though). So, I'm writing on the blog just to keep up the pretense of being busy. There's not that much to report, so I'll just go over a few of the more mundane things that have occurred in the last couple days and call that a blog post. Sorry if it bores you...

First off, Adam and I celebrated our 10th anniversary on 28 February. I had gone to dinner at a friend's house, but excused myself fairly early so that I could hightail it home for a "phone date night" with the hubby. Adam was at the tail end of "Slum Dog Millionaire", which he loved, so I had a little time to take care of the animal kids before my date arrived (aka, called me back). It was nice to just talk about the future and some of the bigger issues that we haven't had the time or energy to discuss in the past few months. Friends later accused me of having raunchy phone conversation with Adam (which I'll neither confirm nor deny) since "any other kind of call is just conversation, not a phone date!" (as per the Peanut Gallery). Really, it was just nice to talk, not about everyday happenings, but about real, deep meaningful things. I enjoyed our anniversary.

The following day would have been our first wedding anniversary, that is, if there had been a 29 February this year. So we "sort of" acknowledged it on 1 March. It was pretty anti-climactic, but that was okay, considering the decade anniversary the day before. I still can't believe I've spent a third of my life with this man. Sometimes I still think of him and am shocked that he exists, that we're together, that we're married, and expecting a child. I think sometimes I still forget how old I am.

I took the kids to my regular vet clinic this past weekend (car did not break down this time) but unfortunately my favorite vet was not there. So, I had to meet with the Brumhilde of the veterinary trade instead, and got the following synopsis: Kika is underweight (down to 10.5 lbs!) and needs to "eat a sammich!"; Greg House is a mess (duh!), but she did agree with me that it might be a food allergy (take that cat doctor!), so we have now started him on some ultra-pricey protein-sensitive cat food. He eats just about anything he can get his toothless little mouth around so he's already laid into the new food. Kika is still trying to scavenge his food scraps even though she's getting healthier portions of her own food. She ate a whole banana with her kibble for dinner yesterday. What a little Chiquita.

Baby Mittman is putting on a show. Last night I looked down and could see my belly making little bulging movements everytime baby kicked. I called my mother right away (Adam is away doing field training so he is incommunicado at the moment). Mum really thinks baby will come sooner than the due date. I am frightened by the prospect, as I want to know that Adam will be home by the time s/he arrives.

Today is the first day of my last trimester. We're in the 7th Inning Stretch now, folks. Time to get up and sing.

Insane In The Membrane

My so-called Invincible Woman status is gone. I've been sick all week with some type of mild upper respiratory infection (is there a such thing as a lower respiratory infection?? You never hear about those...). I started having dodgy breathing patterns two Fridays ago, and by last weekend, I could barely struggle a full breath into my poor lungs. I even called out sick last Monday so I could high-tail it to the doctor's office.

I was diagnosed with some gobbledy-gook medical term that I didn't quite understand, and the good doc prescribed some antibiotics and a (we-think-it's-safe-for-the-baby) inhaler. Uh-uh. No way I'm pumping my body full of drugs if I've only got a mild infection. After all, I'm the same woman who has been around extreme sickness for the last several months without even issuing a cough. I can beat this thing with my own superior immune system. Surely.

Not so much. My lung membranes are seemingly lined with mucus, and I'm constantly a-hem-ming to clear my chest cavity out so I can breathe normally. The constant use of the space heater in my room at night led to four nosebleeds in a two-day period. My sore, aching body craves a warm bath every single time I visit the bathroom. My state of being right now is pretty sad, but for the 2-Benadryls-a-day I've been popping to keep the congestion under control. Thank goodness for those tiny pink pills. And yes, they are (they-think) safe for baby.

It's not quite 10pm yet, and just the mention of a warm bath has made me happily consider it. I think I deserve one, considering the back pain and sore stomach muscles (oh right! and lack of breathing!) I've been putting up with. And I decided to go ahead and get that prescription filled today, too, since my body has not yet fought off whatever ails me. But, seeing as everything else is failing me these days, it only figures that I'm also insane in the brain...I left the prescription inside the rental car I returned last week.