browser history: sugar detox

I've reached the non-stop sugar craving portion of my pregnancy, the one I distinctly remember from last time. It's right on time - roughly a month before I have to take the blood glucose test. I remember the last time being scared to death I was going to fail the test because I had basically taken to eating my meals from a hummingbird feeder.

Last weekend I baked my grandmother's devils food cake, which is made extra-devily with the addition of Crisco based frosting. It sounds disgusting but it's the best thing possible. The other best part? You use regular sugar, so you have just the teensy-est sugar crunch to every bite. We ate the whole thing in under a week.

For my encore, Sunday morning I decided to make the lemon icebox pie from the cover of the most recent Cook's Country magazine. THAT is one delicious pie. It is Tuesday morning and we have a quarter of it left. A quarter! I gave a quarter to my sister, but other than that it's been all me. Now I'm trying to decide if I make another lemon pie when this one is finished, or if I branch out to try another type of pie. The only requirement is that it includes whipped cream and a graham cracker crust.

 I've actually been experiencing a little right upper quadrant pain since last night, so maybe I blew out my gallbladder? It's entirely possible. I can honestly say I wouldn't be surprised. My diet has been very butterliscious lately.

Marlo's birthday is next Monday, and she has requested that I make cupcakes out of my grandmother's cake recipe. That is all well and good, but the success of the cake depends on cutting the layers in half and having a healthy dose of frosting throughout. This is antithetical to cupcakery. Am I going to have to try and fill them, like they are Hostess cupcakes? I think the answer is a resounding yes. This is going to be intense.

At least they're not cake pops

I've really enjoyed Beyonce-ing this pregnancy. It is much more fun to up and show up with a baby bump than to make a grand announcement and try to smile all demurely like the Virgin Mary or something. I guess, minus side, people tend to feel like they are inconsequential and get all hurt insides-feeling about it. I guess maybe it is my small act of rebellion against the culture of over-sharing in which I normally am an active participant. And whatever, I act like I kept quiet but I didn't, really. I still made the facebook announcement. But I sure as shit did not do so with the cutesy picture of me and a jar of spaghetti sauce. Prego has always been my least favorite word, anyways. 

Let's see, what else, how else can I try to offend people who possess a genuine interest in my life. I have my big 20 week ultrasound tomorrow. We're having the gender written down and I'm having cupcakes (YEAH, I SAID CUPCAKES, LAYNE) made with the appropriate pink or blue filling. That way we can be surprised together as a family at Mo's birthday dinner tomorrow evening. He didn't want the responsibility of having an appropriate reaction cutting into a cake, so we decided to let everyone focus on their own little cake. I'm excited yet terrified it's going to be blue. But then. At least blue means I get a whole bunch of new stuff. Because what is the point of having babies besides getting stuff, right? 

Speaking of gender, I have noticed an outcropping of people who feel the need to say, "we will be finding out the SEX of the baby. We will find out his or her gender when he or she identifies as one or the other." I want to make jerk-off hand motions at these people. And sometimes do. 

The no monster rears its ugly head

Well, I guess I had a good run. It took eighteen months, a week, and two days, but Marlo has figured out how to say "no." I had been holding out hope that maybe she'd be the first toddler in the history of man to skip the "no" phase, but that looks pretty foolish now.

It all started with her doing something she wasn't supposed to - like taking the chapstick out of my nightstand drawer. She would bring it to me and say "oooooooo" while shaking her head. Then she figured out how to make the "n" sound and started randomly shrieking "noooo!" about nothing in particular. Now I can barely make a move without being chastised. As I type she is wandering around the living room, shaking her head and kind of humming "nonononono" to herself. I can't wait for the first time we're out in public and she does her best ladies' self defense class impression.

In other news, I got into a giant fight with my mother yesterday. I suppose it would be passive aggressive of me to keep Marlo awake all afternoon before dropping her off to spend the night with her, huh.

All growsed up

I sometimes forget that Marlo is destined to be a grown-up, and as such can be expected to progress forward in physical and/or mental capabilities. Or to put it another way, I sometimes forget she's not a dog.

So you will have to forgive me for how overly excited I am that she just learned I just figured out that she can walk herself from the car to the front door, or vice versa! What a mind blowing, liberating development this is.  This means no more running to the door with bags of groceries while she screams in her car seat! I'm telling you, it's the little things like this that make life so wonderful. Today she even made it all the way up the stairs by herself.

I guess it just hadn't occurred to me in any meaningful way that she was actually going to grow up - and now all of a sudden she walks places and understands English and helps me sort coupons. When I say "do you want a snack pouch?" she runs to the cupboard where we keep the snack pouches and picks one out for me to open. It blows my mind. I can only imagine what it will be like when she learns to do math problems.

Reflections on a year

It being Mother's Day and all, I did some looking back and reflecting and whatnot. I was looking at the last year in pictures, and here are a few of the observations I made.

In my parents' kitchen,  May 2010

Observation number one: Holy shit, I was huge! This is me about two weeks before Marlo was born. Keep in mind that I was wearing a 34F bra at this point, which should give you some perspective as to how large that bump was. Plus, my face was totally fat. At the time I had no idea. I thought I was looking pretty good. I did not realize that I could be mistaken for the broad side of a barn. That's a very kind mental trompe l'oeil - thanks, Mother Nature!

Her first night home, I believe

Observation number two: Marlo was so tiny! How was she ever this small? I remember thinking she was huge, at the time. Funny that I thought I wasn't that big and that she was bigger. Looking at this tiny baby in pictures makes me want a real life tiny baby.

Observation number three: I had a picture of Marlo sleeping up against my breasts, but at the last second I decided that putting it on the internet was asking for trouble. Had I been willing to subject myself to pervs, you would have seen that my baby's head was absolutely DWARFED by my rack. It looked like twin Death Stars and she was the Millenium Falcon. Hey Moms, remember that day when your milk came in and your boobs ached and spouted milk everywhere and were upgraded from "cantaloupe" to "watermelon?" Good times.

Face is still fat

Observation number four: We had a wedding to go to when Marlo was eight weeks old. It was the first night we left Marlo home with Gangee and Pop Pop. People kept saying they couldn't believe I had given birth only eight weeks ago. I think they were just being polite. Again with those hooters! I am glad they are getting back to the realm of reasonableness.

We have about the same amount of hair

Observation number five: I am glad that my hair has started to grow back in. I think this picture, from Marlo's four month birthday, is at about the worst point of hair loss.

Rudimentary mommyblogging, Feb edition

It's been a while since I mentioned anything about the baby. I guess because this blog is more of an escape from her rather than a baby journal or place to brag about how I'm such an awesome mom, wife,  and housekeeper.

BUT. Some of you actually care about her more than you care about my views on the world. Shocking, yes, but true. So let me tell you a little about Miss Marlo and what she's been up to lately.

Basically, she's gone from a baby you can just set and forget to a baby who will follow you everywhere, crying and leaving a snail trail of snot behind her. She moves now, but she looks like a cripple because she wants to get on her feet rather than crawl on her knees like a normal baby. So she does this sort of hopping, dragging one leg thing that looks for all the world like she just got shot on the beach at Normandy and she's trying to drag herself behind a dune for cover.

She also learned how to sit up on her own, which means you can no longer put her down in her crib and walk away. Being able to sit up means being able to pull up to stand, and she is on her feet in no time. She spends most of her "nap time" now cruising around her crib, experimenting with throwing her pacifier through the slats, and screaming.

Oh yeah, and she also finally cut her first tooth. And then the second one within 24 hours. This tooth cutting happened not 24 hours from the first time she crawled, which happened about 48 hours from the first time she sat up on her own. The first week of February was big for this little girl.

Her last ride in her infant car seat, last Saturday

Warning: Boring blog post ahead

It was Marlo's two-thirds birthday yesterday. Hard to believe she is already eight months old. She has celebrated this milestone by sleeping all night -12 hours- in her crib for the past two nights. Here's to hoping this is a long-term trend.

We have definitely entered a third phase of baby around here. Phase One was the newborn phase, where she pooped every ten seconds and slept whenever she wasn't eating. Phase Two was when she needed stuff like the swing and the bouncy seat. Lots of gear in Phase Two.

Phase Three is more like having a little kid, but I assume better because she can't get far on her own and can't talk back yet. Most all of the gear is put away. She only has a high chair  and an Emergency Johnny Jump Up for when I need a shower and she is not sleeping. She sleeps in her crib, she eats three meals a day, and she is even starting to take two solid naps instead of the on-again-off-again catnap crap.

Did I mention the gear is put away? You guys, for the first time in almost a year there is no baby stuff in my bedroom. This is mindblowing for me. No bassinet, no swing, no pack-n-play. All gone. If somebody told me (probably did) before Marlo was born that I shouldn't worry, it would only be eight months and the crap would be gone and she'd be sleeping in her crib, I would have said (probably did say) "what do you mean only eight months? Eight months is forever!" But it's not. It seems like it went by in a flash.

Something I want to enter on the record is this: I'm happy. Not that I was UNhappy before, but I would rate my job satisfaction higher in Phase Three than the other phases. Yes, the days can be a slog; yes, I often wake up thinking here we go again. But I'm happy. I think it's because there is structure to the days now. It's not all haywire anymore. I get up, I feed her breakfast, I watch her play, I put her down for a nap. I know I have these steps to go through. The day is parsed into manageable increments. Maybe this sounds horrifyingly dull to you, but it works for me. Structure is my friend.

I will try not to be so boring next time. I should warn you (make excuses) that my computer is in desperate need of more RAM which makes blogging quite a task AND my mother-in-law is here, so you may not see much of me over the next week or so. But it doesn't mean I love you any less.

I wonder if the Beaba cooker could handle a steak

Marlo is seven months old today, which among other things means that I am woefully behind on my six-month reviews. Ah well,  a seven-month review must be all the more authoritative.

Right now, I'm taking a break from making baby food, for my baby who doesn't like baby food. My refrigerator is brimming with apples, and let's face it - when there is Christmas candy in the house, those apples don't stand a chance. What better to do than blend them up for the baby, who might deign to eat them one day?

Yes, we're back to square one with the eating. Marlo has not been a fan of solids, despite her initial enthusiasm. So last night she got completely runny rice cereal, just like the first attempt a month and a half ago. I thought maybe it was a texture thing and tried giving her those little puff things, but she doesn't seem to be a fan of those, either. My latest hypothesis is that she just wants a fork and knife and a big plate of meat like she sees us eating - but rather than try something with that much potential for disaster, I decided to start over instead. Fingers crossed.

I'm proud, but also screwed

I just watched as Marlo - age six months, one week and six days - scooted herself over to the ottoman, got on her knees, and pulled herself up. Once holding onto the ottoman, she surveyed the items resting on its surface before selecting one of her books over the TV remote. She then managed to work herself back into a sitting position and sat quietly turning the pages. It was all very casual for the momentousness of the achievement.

The downside to these strides in mobility is that, well, she's starting to move, for one. And when she is not moving, she is trying unsuccessfully to move, which apparently causes her a lot of angst. There have been many tears shed these last couple of weeks, mostly out of frustration.

It was bad enough when I had to try to not kill her, and now I have to keep her from killing herself? Man. This is going to be a long 18 years.

Six Months

Holy Crap, I turned around and the baby was six months old.

Yep, last Saturday was her half birthday.  She went to the vet pediatrician on Monday, and weighed in at 17 pounds 4 ounces, 26 and a half inches long. She's advanced in nearly every category, naturally, and perfect in every way imaginable.

 

Funny story. I told the doctor that Marlo is working very hard on learning to crawl, and she gave me a polite "oh, really?" and smile in response. Cut to three minutes later, when Marlo decided to flip over and get on her hands and knees in the middle of the exam. "Oh wow, you do have an early crawler!" was the doctor's response. I knew she thought I was full of shit. Way to play for Team Mom, Marlo.

Three Months

My little girl is three months old today. Count 'em, three.

A quarter of a year ago, a whole season ago, I was sitting (gingerly) in a bed at Swedish Hospital, drinking a chocolate milkshake for breakfast, deliriously tired but euphoric from endorphins. The baby I'd spent an hour and a half pushing out,  my baby Marlo, was finally in the hands of the nurses, getting all those things nurses do to babies done. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the best I was going to feel for a while.

It's hard to remember the specifics of those early weeks, but I know that it was a slog for a while there. I guess it's good news that my hazy memories are all of happiness and warm fuzzies. You gotta love the way your brain erases pain over time. But I was thinking the other night, as I rocked Marlo in the nursery glider at 2 AM, wow, I used to do this every night. Twice. At least. That just amazes me. It wasn't that long ago that was my life, but it has become such a foreign concept.  No wonder people get suckered in to having a second baby. You don't remember how much it blows.

As of today, officially, I am no longer the mother of a newborn. She is a garden variety infant. The fourth trimester is complete. I am so looking forward to all the new things she is going to learn and do over the next three months, but I am just a little bit wistful for my little froggy-legged newborn. She is on the express train to adulthood. There's no turning back. I'm never going to hold that fresh tiny baby again. It's sad.

First Bath At Home (2 weeks)

But then again, I do like sleeping longer than three hours at a time.

First Bath in the Big Girl Tub (3 Months)

38 Weeks: The descent into madness

Do you see these lists? These are the lists of a crazy person. A crazy person who was up at 5 a.m. yesterday, vacuuming the laundry room and washing baby clothes. Sterilizing baby bottles that might see some action a month from now. Maybe.


But look, my little fashion maven's closet is pretty well in order.


I wish I could say the same for my closet. I got as far as taking everything out of it before I lost my momentum and needed a rest.


Oh, and here is my hospital bag. Yeah, probably going to want to get hopping on that one.

I cried today because the cat wouldn't stop meowing at me when I was trying to make myself something to eat. Husband reminded me of some study that said cats make the same noise as newborns to make humans feed them, and assured me that I probably only cried because I'm so hormonally geared to be sensitive to crying now. I think it was nice of him to say, but probably I cried because I am just that crazy.

I'm beginning to get miserable enough physically and mentally that I get why women just want it over with at this point. I think I'd be fine going the two weeks to my due date, but after that ... I don't want to think about it.

36ish Weeks

Yesterday marked 30 days left until my due date. Tomorrow marks 36 weeks completed. So I figured today was a good day for some comments and observations...

It is getting more and more difficult to get comfortable. I find myself dreading bedtime, because even though I am sleepy, I know the whole night is going to be one uncomfortable suckfest.

The (possibly?) good news? I appear to be adapting a sort of newborn schedule. I am up every three hours to pee. Which reminds me. You know what you probably don't really want to eat when you're nine months pregnant? Asparagus. Asparagus pee at 12, 3, and 6 AM really starts to grate on your nerves.

Which brings me to eating. I am not enjoying the eating anymore. It's not the whole baby's-too-big-stomach-is-crushed scenario - I ate through that phase like a champ. It's just, I don't know, I'm not hungry anymore. I find myself eating because I have to. I think I'm still eating more than I used to, I'm just not quite at the I-must-have-two-french-dips-for-lunch level I was a few months back. It depresses me, because I love eating. I love it the most.

And I keep having random bouts of nausea! What's up with that?

This weekend is my baby shower. I am very excited and glad that the day is finally here. I remember vaguely when we were looking at dates a few of my mom friends saying May 1st might be a *little* late - and me shrugging it off that I was sure it was fine, it's four whole weeks from my due date, after all! Now that we're here I see what they meant. I figure I will be very busy next week, getting everything all finalized, and then I will sit on my ass watching my stockpile of 16 and Pregnant episodes until I go into labor myself.

34 Weeks

Two people told me this week that I don't look like I could possibly make it another six whole weeks. This caused me anxiety at first, until I remembered that people are always saying this to pregnant ladies and it is just code for "my GOD you are big as a house."

But really, the fact that the baby is medium-well at this point just blows my mind. Only three more weeks and I'm - or she's - full term.

I had a mild scare today. I was chatting away at Husband on the phone when suddenly my vision went blurry. It went from "huh, that's weird, I feel like I'm looking through water" to "OH MY GOD IT'S GETTING DARK I'M GETTING SLEEPY IS THIS DYING?!?!" over the course of a half an hour or so. My OB had me go to my regular Doctor who had me see the Opthalmologist - sending me down the hallway with a reassuring "I'm nervous that you've thrown a clot." I had time to wait then, visualizing the imminent emergency C-section, the coma into which I would surely slip, and the tearful bedside vigil of my friends and family.

There was no clot. I ended up being diagnosed with an optical migrane, something that apparently I can expect to have happen again. Hurray! Here's to hoping they stay of the optical variety and that I don't suddenly develop real migrane headaches - just to make the last six weeks more enjoyable than already promised.

31 Weeks

It feels like we're entering Official Baby Season. My due date is only nine weeks away, and I will be considered full term (or "in dates" as the cool kids say) in just six. With the way time has of flying, I'm sure my neck will just about snap with how quickly this next month or two goes.

Saw the doctor today. I'm seeing her every two weeks now. I have gained three pounds since my last visit, giving me a total of 30 overall. I broke into the 160's today, which means my goal of 175 is attainable with a little extra effort. The ginormous bowl of restaurant chicken alfredo I had for lunch after my appointment was probably a step in the right direction. Boy do I love eating. It's going to be sad when this is all over and I have to be all "reasonable" again.

Chopita has discovered that my short ribs make for an excellent foot stool. I am constantly rubbing my right side in a way that makes previously pregnant women (ie mothers) point and laugh. She's doing lots of good movement that is both visible and-um...feelable from the outside. Husband was so excited to finally get to feel her kick a few weeks ago, but now he just kind of makes a kind of nauseous face when I hold his hand to one protruding body part or another. Preaching to the choir, buddy.

Oh. Want to see her face? Tune in next time. :)

25 Weeks, if you're counting

So I had it planned out that my post for the day would be all about stats. I was going to tell you my weight and circumference and even post a picture...but best laid plans - blah, blah, etc.

Instead of posing for my glamour shots yesterday, I sat in the ER with my grandfather. He's okay - at least for a guy who is 89 years and 10 months old. Who suffered a severe head trauma. Oh yeah, and then a broken back. Oh yeah, and sepsis. All within the last five months. He's in the hospital under observation and should be going home in the morning.

Combine that with the dreary, rainy weather we're having and I'm ready for a comfort food project. One that my grandfather likes, and that will occupy my mind for a while without making me stand over the stove constantly.

I'm thinking Split-Pea Soup.

I went on a split-pea soup rampage a couple of years back, and could never find a recipe that I liked as well as the Campbell's Chunky version. I feel like I can never get it as velvety as I would like it.

Since none of the food bloggers I follow seem to have any ideas, I'm hunkered down with my cookbooks, which is really a way I like to be anyways. I'll let you know what I figure out.

23 Weeks

While yesterday I announced I was four months from my due date, today I am here to tell you that it's technically 17 weeks. Can we all just agree that we need to have some ruling board lock themselves in a room and not come out until we have one, unified, universal system of time-keeping in pregnancy? It's just ridiculous. I mean, yesterday was 4 calendar months until my due date, today marks 17 weeks until my due date, I'm considered 5 months pregnant, but I'm in my 6th lunar month, it's the beginning of week 24 but really let's call it week 22...too many answers to the same effing question, in my opinion.

*Deep breath* ... Anyway...I am 23 weeks pregnant today.

Supposedly the baby is now the size of a mango. All I can think of is Chris Kattan in his gold lame' skirt and beret. Picturing this inside of me is rather unsettling. Although I must say if my little Chopita ever gets into a slap fight with J-Lo, I'll be pretty proud.

Everything I'm reading now about my body is getting very ominous, from a vanity perspective. I have been warned that the baby is about to quadruple in size and that stretch marks are imminent. So far so good there - through some combination of water consumption, body oil and genetics I have avoided them so far. Of course, I have also avoided having some wiggly four pound alien in my belly so far, so who knows what will happen.

Speaking of wiggly four pound objects, my breasts are completely out of control. I have gone from a nice, manageable borderline B/C cup to an F. EFF. Yes, my bra size is now 34F. When I say this to mothers who have experienced the horrors of Milk Coming In, they shudder. They shake their heads and regard me with pity. I think I had better pay special attention to the section in the breastfeeding book about What To Do if Your Giant Oversized Breast Is Suffocating the Baby.

I'm now pretty solidly in maternity clothes and t-shirts that used to be too big for me to wear in public, and I think I have about all that I need to get through the duration. I tried to buy a bunch of cheap t-shirts, cardigans and sweatshirts so that I could layer according to the weather. I had to buy cheap because the budget was blown on the miracles of engineering that are my two new bras. The one thing I still want to buy is a new pair of slip on shoes, seeing as getting to my feet is already slightly uncomfortable sometimes.

The best part? I feel Chopita move all the time now. The worst part? I feel Chopita move all the time, and she's getting deliberate. Lately it feels like she's been punching me in the cervix. It's uncomfortable. I have tried bargaining with her - hey kid, stop punching me in the lady bits and I will let you wear mascara in high school - but apparently that's meaningless to her now. I'm looking forward to telling her how she blew it later on.

T minus 4 months

Four months to go until my due date. That seems both exceptionally far away and mind-bogglingly close.

What was happening four months ago? September 27th. My calendar shows that it was my mother-in-law's birthday and that the Seahawks played the Bears. I had known I was pregnant for almost two weeks. It was still scary (scarier, anyway) then, and I was prone to waves of nausea. I think I remember eating a cup o' noodles in the car on the way to that football game. It was the first one we drove to, rather than take the bus, because there would be no risk of drunkenness. My grandfather was in the hospital, and we stopped by on the way to say hello.

Well, with that perspective, the baby seems farther away. All of that stuff seems like an eternity ago. But maybe that's just because it was an entirely different head space. My pregnancy was still a secret at that point, not to be revealed for another few weeks. The fall that sent my grandfather to the hospital set off a busy chain of events, which included Husband and I flying to Phoenix to drive home with my dad. Yes. You heard me. Two day, marathon road trip with a secret, fresh pregnancy. It was as fun as it sounds.

So now that I'm firmly in baby mode, and couldn't hide it if I tried, maybe it will go faster. Things are going to start happening quickly. Our birth class starts four weeks from tomorrow, and will occupy our Thursday nights until the middle of April. I have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, another one four weeks later, and then I start going every two weeks already. Granted, four weeks is still four weeks, and thinking back four weeks to New Year's...THAT even seems like a long time ago. The ultrasound where we found out it was a Chopita was that week! It seems like we've known she was a girl for an eternity.

Whatever. As slowly or quickly as it goes by, there's still a lot to do. Like all that baby registery stuff I was going to get done after Christmas? Yeah, I think there are one or two items on there. I still need to register for (more) classes, and of course do the physical setting up of the nursery. It's nice to start the concrete action portion of this pregnancy, rather than living in abstract concept land like I have for the past five months.

No Sandwiches Today

No sandwich report today, sorry. Just didn't happen. I had to eat some leftover potstickers so that I could quit yelling at the dog for farting every time the refrigerator opened. Yes, I realize there are two questionable premises within that sentence; number one, what kind of idiot thinks it's going to help to yell at a dog to stop farting and, number two, who would eat something that smells that bad. I can't account for myself on the first question, but I can tell you that Husband and I have long marveled at how something that smells so bad in the fridge can taste so good on the plate. Call it the mystery of the potsticker. Or blame the cabbage in the filling.

At any rate, there is much bigger news to discuss. That would be that today marks seventeen weeks of pregnancy down, only...uh..23 to go. Yeeeeaaaaaaayy. I am beginning to think that the point of pregnancy, if not life in general, is learning to adjust expectations. I am only just now beginning to realize what a haul this is going to be. In my mind this whole thing was going to be done, I don't know, two weeks from now.

However the good news is that the "baby brain" effect sometimes causes me to lose all sense of time and/or reality, so maybe it will pass by quickly. Like today, for instance, I had to sit down and THINK about WHETHER OR NOT CHRISTMAS ALREADY HAPPENED. Yeah. Only the single biggest holiday of the year which involves about four changes of venue for me to celebrate completely. Seriously, losing it.