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.