Isobel at 4 weeks (4 July--note the festive attire.) Something tells me she won't thank me for posting these, but she's just so funny when she sleeps.

( Peektures )

February 17, 2001: !!!!

What can I say? I was an excitable girl.

I read the first few lines of that entry & felt deep shame mixed with deep sadness. I wasn't even 20 yet & I was so optimistic & lost & hopeful & stupid & in love & fucked up & happy.

Perhaps I haven't changed that much after all. But I still feel sad for that girl, now that I know how some of those stories end.

Christ. Today has been emotional & if I'd known that it would set me off again I never would've started this entry. I had my first mommy-meltdown today & I am still feeling a bit fragile.

I'm still not entirely sure what happened there. One minute I was feeding Isobel, the next I was sobbing to my mom about what a shit mother I am. Whee!

Bedtime. Yes.

Still no house. Apparently some twonk at RBC thought it would be clever to wait until 1 July (i.e., the day before our agreed closing date of 2 July) to fax some employment verification documents to payroll, despite the fact that said twonk received said fax number ahead of the closing date they missed last week. Do I even need to mention that it's a holiday weekend? Bastards.

But as it's a holiday weekend, I didn't feel too bad about asking Dillard to bunk off work at 12 to look after Wes so Rachel & I can go shopping. We've been itching to check out a couple of bookshops in Floyd & I need to pick up Mom & Dillard's anniversary present. (It's today, obviously. I do love last-minute shopping.)

Tomorrow is the 4th of July celebration in Vesta. I've inadvertently joined a quilter's guild, which is pretty impressive when you consider that I don't quilt, so Isobel & I will be rising & shining early to help set up. I haven't been to one of these since I was a kid, so it should be an adventure. I need to dig around tonight & find that one lonely roll of 120 film I have left so I can document the festivities. (Yes, I know it's Independence Day tomorrow, but I'm really missing the Jessops on Oxford Street right now.)

Ah well, no time for homesickness. I've finally gotten the monkey to sleep, so I'd better grab a shower while I can. She seems to have some kind of spidey sense that wakes her whenever I have a shower planned. This is baffling. Especially considering that fenugreek makes my skin smell of curry, not maple syrup like everyone else in God's creation. Ah, the (unlikely) joys of motherhood.

Hmm, what news?

(Isn't it cute that I pretend to want to talk about anything other than my daughter?)

No house yet.  We were supposed to close yesterday, but the bank asked if we could postpone until 2nd July.  Gah!  Don't they know that I have visitors lining up, and that I'm trying to schedule a painting party, and that I have omigodsomuch baby stuff & really need somewhere to put it?

I sold a cake for $35 today.  This is remarkable for two reasons: Not only was it the first time I'd sold a cake to anyone who wasn't family or a friend, it was also the ugliest fucking cake I've ever made.  I sat here all day stressing about how people were looking at it knowing that I'd made it.  And yet the feedback I received was that the customer was overjoyed & it matched the bridal shower decorations perfectly & it was exactly what she wanted.  Considering that the only guidance I had from her was "I would like it to be hot pink.  And yellow.  With flowers." I think this was something of a triumph, regardless of how unhappy I was with the end product.  

Isobel had a three-week check-up yesterday.  She's still a bit jaundiced, so it was back to the hospital for another blood test.  I'll have the results Monday, but the doctor ddn't seem to think it was a Big Problem.  She said it's most likely due to breastfeeding, but she wanted to make sure her bilirubin levels hadn't gone up since the last visit.

I can't believe that it's been 3 weeks since Isobel was born. It feels like no time has passed. She still sleeps for England, but she's gained about a pound since her last visit (up to 9lbs, 8.75oz) & looks like a little person. I cannot get enough of her squishy little face.

My dad & I have been subjecting her to weekly photo shoots, just to try to keep a record of how quickly she's changing & growing. And as per Elanor's request (not that I needed much persuading) here are some more recent photos.  Click the images for more, if you're so inclined:


Isobel - 2 weeks


Isobel - 3 weeks

I love the way she sleeps.  In fact, I think I shall go watch her do just that.

The last time I stayed up all night was June 5 - 6, 2009, and I was giving birth to my gorgeous daughter.

Speaking of my gorgeous daughter, I just gave her her first tub bath & she was superb. She definitely shares her mother's fondness for a good bath.

Someone gave me some vanilla-scented baby wash & lotion, so now she smells of cookies as well. Babies are nibble-able enough, but cookie-flavoured babies are almost irresistible. If she wasn't snoozing so sweetly, I'd be gnawing on her toes right now.

But she has a well-baby appointment tomorrow, so I think it would be best for all concerned if I went to bed. I'm not sure how I'd explain the missing pieces to the pediatrician...

Not much to report here. I did get around to posting the birth story. It's not at all graphic because I'm not that kind of girl, but I did backdate it to save your friends pages.

Isobel is still doing well--sleeping loads, eating loads, and amusing me loads. I know that one day it won't be funny when she wriggles out of her diaper so she can pee on the (waterproof-pad-lined) bed when I'm changing her, but right now it is. Even at 4am. Even if it's the second diaper she's peed on during that changing session. I admire her determination.

As for me, I'm feeling very well. No "baby blues" to speak of, though I had about an hour of uncontrollable shaking earlier. We'd just woken from a long nap & I got myself wound up thinking pointless thoughts, so I suspect it was a bad trip brought on by a combination of a blood sugar crash, weird sleep schedules (I'm still getting about the same amount, but not all at once) and stress. I've just been grabbing a few bites where I can, which is very naughty & must be stopped. I'm going to run to the grocery store tomorrow to replenish my supply of healthy snacks so it doesn't happen again. Very scary.

I've lost about 20 pounds of pregnancy weight, which leaves about 15 to go. My body was a bit of a disaster anyway because I'd been so fat as a teenager, so I have almost returned to pre-pregnancy jiggliness. My tummy is still a bit soft but my waist is actually a little smaller--or maybe it's just that my hips are a little wider. I had scary porn-star boobs for a few days, but that's mostly under control now too. In fact, I'm more comfortable in my skin now than I ever was before. Not so comfortable that I'm going to let myself slide into hotdog-ass territory, mind you, but it's hard for me to hold a serious grudge against a body that's made a child.

Still no word from her father, which is challenging my capacity for understanding. In fact, I'm actually kind of pissed off about it. I left him a voicemail to let him know she'd arrived, and I emailed him some photos when we got home from hospital. That was more than a week ago, and I haven't heard a peep. This is something of a shock. Setting aside the fact that this is his daughter we're talking about because I honestly don't have the slightest idea what he's feeling about that, I'm surprised to realise that I'm mostly pissed off on my own behalf. I grew & gave birth to a beautiful, healthy child. Even if he doesn't want to acknowledge that she's his, fucking acknowledge that.

But enough of that. My life right now is far too good for me to dwell on unpleasantness. That way madness lies.

On a non-specific tangent, I thought I'd be more stressed about being a single parent but it's actually kind of nice. I'm obviously bummed that there's no father-figure in our little Hallmark tableau & the whole "Daddy's little angel" line of merchandising will have to remain on the shelves, but I also didn't have to consider anyone else's opinion when I decided to co-sleep or breastfeed. And an added benefit to not having a significant other in the picture? I'm not looking at 6 weeks of blowjobs. Win!

All things considered, this child may well be the best thing that's ever happened to me. Every time I look at her I feel like the Grinch when his heart grew three sizes. I like.

Well, about 3 hours after writing my last journal entry, I went into labor. I prefer to think that this was because my daughter is so awesomely tuned into her mother's anal-retentiveness & not because of a meddling doctor.

I'll save the birth story for another post, but I will say that it wasn't that bad. It progressed so fast that I didn't get an epidural (though I was begging for one) and Mom & Rachel, who stayed with me from start to finish, said that I was remarkably well-behaved. I only swore a few times, and never at anyone.  

So, without further ado, here are photos of my gorgeous daughter, Isobel Kathleen. 



She was born at 10:44am on Saturday 6 June, weighing in at 9lbs and 22 inches long.  I've located Wesley's nose & her father's eyes, but I'm not seeing much of me yet. She has my long fingers & maybe my mouth, but I still think she's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.

And now, I think I'll feed her & get some sleep.  Yay.

Contractions started at around midnight & I mooched around here until about 3am, taking a shower & dithering about whether or not it was real labor. The contractions were coming every 10 minutes or so, so Mom & I thought it would be best to at least drive to Galax & walk around Wal-Mart (i.e., the only place open at 3am) while I dithered. Rachel had a friend staying over, so the four of us loaded up & hit the road.

By the time I got to Galax at 4, my contractions were about 5 minutes apart. One quick lap around the store & I was ready to go to the hospital. I figured that even if they sent me home, I'd probably get to lie down for a while first. And I did. They admitted me straight away.

I was still only 2cm dilated, so I thought I'd postpone the epidural decision for a while. I was still having regular contractions which were gaining intensity, but they were still bearable. Mom, Rachel, Daddy, and my aunt Diane took it in turns to rub my back and remind me to breathe when I had a contraction. I daresay the "bearable" factor would've decreased significantly without their help.

At around 7am they went ahead & put me on an IV & antibiotics just in case, as they wanted me to be on the antibiotics for an hour or two before starting the epidural. I had ferocious back labor, so by 9am I was begging for drugs. They phoned the anaesthesiologist & wheeled me down to the labor & delivery room. By the time he arrived at something after 10, I was too far gone. No drugs. Time to push.

I don't really remember much of this. I just went sort of...feral, I guess. I can't explain it otherwise. Or indeed, perhaps, at all. But the pushing portion was mercifully brief. I think there were maybe 5 rounds--assisted, it seems, by some judicious snipping. (Boo.)

And at 10:44am, apparently sharing my firm belief that nothing good happens before 10am, my little girl was born. She weighed in at a very dainty 9lbs and was 22 inches long. I also want to point out that the circumference of her head was 36.5cm. I'm just sayin'.

She was a bit mauve when she came out, so the nurses gave her a bit of oxygen whilst cleaning her up--under the watchful eyes of Mom & Rachel, of course. And even after she was breathing comfortably, she still didn't find much to cry about. She seemed completely alert & aware of everything that was going on, just gazing beatifically on her new domain.

I, on the other hand, was fairly overwhelmed & got the most unbelievable chills/shakes. At one point I remember my teeth chattering so hard that I had to bite down on my thumb to spare my tongue. Oddly, this was probably the scariest part of the day.

So with most of the drama over, we went back to my room to rest and receive visitors, snooze, share a cheeseburger (not something I'd normally go for but omgsogood) and generally get to know each other. We stayed in hospital for the standard two days & Rachel never left my side. She slept on a little fold-out bed & did everything she could to help. My sister kicks ass.

And that's about it for the story of what was definitely, hands down, without question the best day of my life.

Today's appointment was traumatic.

My regular doctor had been called away for an emergency c-section, so I got the nurse practitioner. Which was fine until she responded to my "Yes, there was talk of inducing me but I don't see why and, at any rate, I don't want it done unless it's absolutely necessary" by turning on her heel & marching out of the exam room saying "Let me get Dr B and see what he wants to do."

Let me just make something clear: I don't give a shit what Dr B or anyone else wants to do. Dr B is not having this baby. Dr B's job is to examine me & give his opinion so that I can decide what I want to do. Apparently I cannot make this point enough.

So Dr B came in to, uh, "check my progress" and decided to manually stretch my cervix. (If you're male & happen to still be reading but are finding it difficult to relate, imagine a doctor stretching your urethra to 2cm. Nice, huh?)

I was/am completely horrified, and not so much because it hurt (and my god, did it hurt) but mostly because it seemed like such an abuse of trust. He didn't warn me. He didn't ask me. He didn't stop when I said it hurt. Even my fucking dentist stops if I say he's hurting me & that's only my mouth.

So. Yes. I don't know. He wants me to go back on Monday morning to see if there's any progress. He acknowledged that there's no need to rush things, but in the same breath said it would be possible to induce me Monday night for delivery on Tuesday morning. No, no, a thousand times no.

I am already so frustrated with all of this that I could scream. I just want to be left alone. I trust myself & I trust my body. Why the hell can't anyone else?

And the turd-icing on the shit-cake that was today? I came home & made the apple crumble I've been craving all day, and it was awful. Well, not awful as such, just insipid. It tasted of nothing. One day, god as my witness, I will find a recipe for apple crumble that tastes like...well, like I think apple crumble should taste. Not today though, and probably not tomorrow either. Tomorrow I will make a rhubarb cobbler. Bollocks to apples.

Yesterday was quite good.

My ultrasound was scheduled for 2pm, but Mom & I decided to leave a bit early to do some shopping & have lunch beforehand. I window-shopped for living room furniture & think I found what I want, so now it's just a matter of getting a firm move-in date so I can go ahead & order it. Now I just need to figure out what I want to do with the guest room & all of the urgent-ish bits will be taken care of.

The ultrasound was great. I could see her nose & her mouth & her chubby little hands, so she looked like an actual person this time. She is also apparently quite tall, but this isn't a surprise considering that I'm 5'11" & her father is 6'2", and yes, she's already weighing in at an estimated 8 pounds. I find myself suddenly wishing that I hadn't given in to all those cravings for vanilla milkshakes, but I'm sure it'll be fine. This revelation did put a tiny dent in my determination to try to get through without an epidural, but I'm still going to give it a go.

Today, I do not intend to do anything. Much. I've already made a start on the laundry because it was getting seriously out of hand, but I think the rest of the afternoon will be devoted to embroidery (I've nearly finished the wall-hangings for the nursery), thank-you notes, and just generally sitting on my arse. Yesterday was busy enough for 2 days. I'll start again tomorrow.

I'm quite certain that there used to be more to my life than antenatal appointments, but I don't remember. On one hand, my stress level is now practically nil. On the other hand, I am one boring cow.

So. Antenatal appointments. I saw a different doctor on Friday & this doctor started the visit by asking whether I'd like to have an induction if I've not gone into labor by next Friday's visit (i.e., 1 day before my due date of 6 June.) How about...no?

My thoughts on induction are this: She will come when she's good and ready, and I will only consider induction if it turns out there is a valid medical reason to do so. By which I mean that a) I have actually gone beyond my due date & b) there is real and verifiable evidence that the baby is in distress or that I am at an increased risk for a c-section. "Just for shits & giggles" is not a valid medical reason, in my opinion. He said that they don't like to let it go much more than 5 or 6 days beyond the due date. I suggested that, if that's the case, we'll talk on 10 or 11 June.

He also reckons that, based solely on my height (i.e., before he measured or indeed even touched my belly) I'm looking at a 9-pound baby. This is quite a shock after being told all along that she'll be somewhere in the 7.5 - 8 pound range, and especially shocking after being told that I'm now actually measuring 2 weeks small for my due date.

So yeah. I kicked up a bit of a fuss & he scheduled me for that ultrasound tomorrow. I don't think it will do anything to change my mind, but if it turns out that she is indeed enormous, I'd like to be prepared.

Oh, there is one other topic--house stuff. I've found the realtor's listing and it includes photos. I can't link directly, but if you go here and enter the listing number 100606, you can see my cutie little house. And you can also see what I was saying about the landscaping. Jeeeezus. There's slightly more grass in the back garden now, but it's a moot point because it'll all have to be re-graded & re-seeded anyway. Ho hum.

And that's me, done. Not even a cherry popsicle to speak of...

Well, it's been a pretty okay day. This time last year I was in Paris with the girls, sleeping off the booze & preparing for the next round. Today? Rather less glamorous, I'm afraid. It was, however, brightened considerably by the arrival of two cards (thank you Dora & Fran), the Gaiman books I ordered for the alien, phone calls & texts & emails from family & friends, and a rather nifty London-themed calendar that Rachel made for me at school. Warm & fuzzies. :D

I started the day with an antenatal appointment. This was fairly straightforward, though it seems I've reached the truly undignified portion of my pregnancy & from what I've read, it only gets better from here. That aside, everything appears to be normal & the doctor reckons that I'll have an average-sized 7.5-pounder. My relief at hearing this was palpable, which piqued the doctor's curiosity about how much I weighed when I was born. It seems that 9lbs 11oz is the magic number to get you from "Well, it'll probably be about 7.5 pounds, I'm guessing" to "When you come back next week we'll measure more thoroughly, possibly do an ultrasound, to determine exactly what we're looking at." Win.

After the doctor, I felt I deserved a bit of indulgence (it's my birthday, after all) so I treated myself to a rather gorgeous cookbook I've had my eye on for a while, lunch, and an enormous cinnamon roll. I also browsed a couple of antique shops looking for dressers & other furniturey bits (I can't remember if I mentioned that my offer was accepted so house-buying is underway?) and then picked (up) two gallons of strawberries from a local farm (-ers market) before coming home for a bit of a lie-down.

I know, right?

I did at least turn some of the berries into a few pints of freezer jam, which was my first solo jam-making experience & was also enormously satisfying & smug-making. The rest of the strawberries will go into my birthday cake, if I can find a recipe that's at least passably similar to a glorious cake Dillard's sister used to make. Otherwise I shall make a metric fuckload of jam & boycott cake as a matter of principle.

But for now, I think I shall waddle off to bed. Daniel said he had a bunch of furniture that I should check out. The shop's only open on Saturdays, so I have a feeling I'd better get there early...

Where would I be without Radio 6? All the radio stations here are either country, trailer park rock, or dentist-office easy listening, so I still rely on the Beeb to keep my iPod full. Evan Dando is Nemone's special guest today, and it appears that the Lemonheads have a new album out in a few weeks. Squee!

James, you especially might want to check this out: The Lemonheads featuring Liv Tyler - Hey That's No Way to Say Goodbye

Yes, that Liv Tyler.

Good stuff. It makes me want to give the world a hug.

So it's Mother's Day on this side of the pond, and it's been a bit of a mixed bag:

Woke up, stumbled upstairs, and found an enormous puddle of (dog? cat?) diarrhoea on the kitchen floor. Nothing like donning the marigolds & dry-heaving into the bin before you have your breakfast. Took me back to the early days of morning sickness, that.

But then I received a yellow rosebush from Mom as my very first Mother's Day present ever, and that was really nice. We're making an offer on the house soon, so this will look perfect in my garden. Especially since there is no garden at present.

Took Nanny grocery shopping because Pappy hasn't been well enough lately for them to do a big shop, and two total strangers wished me a happy Mother's Day. I've only just gotten my brain wrapped around the fact that I will go into hospital in a few weeks, leave with a child, and no one will try to stop me. Incorporating the label of "mother" into my personal identity is such a mindfuck, I can't even tell you. I have no doubts about my ability to raise a child, but the title is seriously intimidating. How am I grown-up enough for someone to call me mom?

Ah well. I have to drive Nanny & Pappy to a doctor's appointment in Eden tomorrow, so I should stop fretting & get to bed--if my raging heartburn will let me sleep, of course. I've been no stranger to heartburn over the course of this pregnancy, but it's getting out of hand. Something needs to give, and soon.

Things from my brain, in no particular order:

1. According to the dictionary, a dream is "a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep." In the dream category, we also have nightmares, which are "terrifying dream[s] in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety, sorrow, etc." So what's it called when you have a dream that's so exactly perfect that it makes reality seem like the above definition of a nightmare? When your most secret wish is granted, and then you wake up heartbroken because you're back in the real world where it's never going to happen.
   
   Those are the bastards.



2. Baby showers are a lot of fun & you get absolute shedloads of baby clothes. I can't even believe how many people turned up. Mom, Diane, Anita, and Grandma worked really hard on making it a fun day & it was absolutely fab.



3. Baby showers are also hotbeds of unexpected family drama, which would be amusing if it wasn't so balls-achingly frustrating. I am sick.to.death of grown-ass women (I'm talkin' 60s here) who still try to act like this is elementary school, and I am beyond annoyed that I have to send this woman a "thank you" card. If I could write what I wanted, it would go something like this:
   
   Dear Aunt ____,
   
   I understand that you are still mega-pissed with Aunt ____ for divorcing your brother 9785028 years ago, but don't bring your shit to my sandbox. If you couldn't share the same postcode with her, you shouldn't have come. Storming out of my baby shower minutes after she arrived was beyond lame, but rest assured: I'm sure everyone there knew that you were the better person.
   
   Furthermore, I checked with the people at Guinness. They said you have yet to demonstrate any real talent for defecating rose petals, and, unfortunately, "stink" is a subjective term that cannot be measured objectively so you will not be eligible for inclusion in the record book. Get over yourself.
   
   Many thanks,
   
   Misty
   
   But I won't.



4. I am trying to decide whether the video card or the monitor on this PC is fucked. One minute I have normal, happy full-screen, next minute the screen has shrunk to a 5"x8" hourglass shape. Frustrating.



5. I have also just noticed a melty-plasticy sort of smell coming from either the monitor or the tower, so perhaps this would be a good time to shut down & read a book.


Yes. Let's do that.

Well, it looks like the house deal has fallen through completely. My dad had been doing the dealing, and I gathered from a phone call from Dad yesterday that it hadn't gone well. Dad wanted the guy to reduce the price by 10% if we paid cash, and the guy was threatening to raise the price by 6% if we didn't put a deposit down by tomorrow. Something of an impasse then, what?

I am secretly a little bit happy about this. I really didn't want to live next door to Nanny & Pappy (they were going to give me a bit of land so I could build a modular house), but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But given a choice? Yeah. So I popped into Floyd this morning, visited a realtor, and found a few houses to look at on Monday--one of which looks quite similar to (if a bit smaller than) the one I was going to build, so fingers crossed for that!

Came home to find a voice mail from the guy who was trying to sell me the modular. He was all butthurt after the conversation with Daddy yesterday & he launched into a bit of a tirade about how the price he'd quoted was very fair & how he felt it was a "slap in the face" that my dad was trying to negotiate even further. He still wants to sell me a house though, but I got the distinct impression that, in future, he'd prefer to deal directly with the gullible little woman than with her big bad father.

So...bollocks to that. I'm sure it wasn't the guy's intention, but it felt like he was trying to play me against my dad & lord knows our relationship is tricky enough without anyone trying to sow discord between us.

The only twinge of disappointment comes from the knowledge that I probably won't be in my own home by the time the alien arrives. Whilst she'll probably be sleeping in my room for the first couple of months anyway, I was kind of looking forward to decorating the nursery in time for her grand arrival. Hardly the end of the world though.

In other news, my sunburned bosoms are healing & the skin is starting to peel. On a scale of 1 to Sexy, this is about a 3. (They get 1 point automatically, just for being boobs, and 2 points for being fairly nice boobs. But that's all.)

Pajama+book time, I think. Yes.

No news may be good news, but it makes for a pretty crappy journal entry. Despite the fact that it's been 9 days since my last confession, very little has happened that I would consider noteworthy.

Highlights included:

1. CPR/first aid/TOVA training day. Although an intermediate agency signs my paycheck, I am actually employed by The Man (Medicaid) and Medicaid requires a basic knowledge of the aforementioned skills. Emphasis on "basic" knowledge.
   
   Training ran 10am - 4pm last Saturday. We started with the written tests (WTF? Am I alone in thinking that we should learn some theory & its practical applications before taking the certification tests?), practiced a little CPR before lunch, and then went outside for the avoid-getting-your-ass-kicked-by-a-violent-client (aka Ninja Moves 101) portion of the training. My partner was about 5'3" so I had to get on my knees to demonstrate what I'd do if someone was choking me or had me in a headlock. I wonder what the neighbours thought of that.
   
   Technically, I am now adequately trained and should be getting my certificates in the mail. Realistically? If I collapse, I hope the poor bastard who administers CPR or grabs the AED got better training than I did.
   
   
2. The rather spectacular farmer tan I received as a result of sitting outside in the blistering sun for a couple of hours during training. Or what would be a farmer tan if the farmer was wearing 3/4-length sleeves & a cleavage-baring top. I look ridiculous.
   
   
3. Finally getting paid on the 10th, and knowing that another paycheck is coming on the 25th. Bi-weekly pay periods kick ass.
   
   
4. Pamper day at a local salon yesterday. I booked myself in for a haircut, manicure, and pedicure so I am cute from head to toe. I think I may go back for a massage.
   
   
5. The oatmeal butterscotch cookies I baked last night. My god, they're delicious. So delicious that I'm really dreading my next weigh-in.

And I think that just about brings us up to date. Sad, isn't it?

By popular demand, here are a couple of pictures of my enormous gut.

( Click )

More later, when I've had time to wrap my brain around the events of today.

From this week's pregnancy bulletin:

You are 32 weeks pregnant - 56 days to go!

By now, your baby weighs 3.75 pounds (pick up a large jicama) and is about 16.7 inches long

---

Well, how lucky. I often carry a large jicama with me, but I never knew why until now. I just thought it might come in handy one day.

Next week, my jicama will become a pineapple, which, as "things to give birth to" images go, is rather an unpleasant one.

Go on. Try not to imagine it.

I've spent the last too-much-time trying to decide whether creating a gift registry is less of a pain in the ass than possibly having to exchange stuff I don't want/need. The jury is still out.

Especially considering that I've created my registry at Target, despite the fact that I live out in the sticks & the nearest Target is 45 minutes away. Most of my family live closer to (expletives deleted) Wal-Mart, but I've discovered that all gift registry terminals at Wal-Mart have been closed since mid-February for system updates and no one seems to have the slightest idea when they might re-open. The online registry works fine.

Why do I have a feeling that I'll be creating a Wal-Mart registry at some point, too?

In other news, I ventured out for a bit of clothes shopping yesterday. After numerous tantrums over the uniformly hideous maternity clothes, I waddled over to the normal sizes & bought a couple of slinky/stretchy empire-waisted dresses two sizes larger than I usually wear. I've only gained about 20 pounds, but this gut is out of control. I really need to get a photo of this monster. Who knows when I'll ever be this fat again?

Shelby, John, and the children came over for dinner last night. I made my internationally-acclaimed pasta with prawns & spinach in a pesto cream sauce, toasty seeded bread, and a green salad. Big bowls of watermelon & strawberries for dessert. Lots of chatting & catching-up, because I don't think I'd seen them since last summer. It was heaven.

No big plans for today, except waiting for my clothes to dry so I can drive back to VA. Maybe I'll do something crazy on the way, like stopping for a milkshake. Woo!

ha! "Up the Junction" just came on the radio. Where's James when you need him? I have a fond (if fuzzy) memory of him singing this in the Albert one drunken evening. Good times.

Man. I've just put away an obscene amount of watermelon for lunch, so I think this would be a good time to get dressed & go outside. The further I get from the fridge, the better.