31 December 2012

writing A blog post Instead Of showering...I Regret nothing

We had a family party last night, kind of a late-Christmas-early-New-Year's thing, with my husband's family. One of his aunt's has a baby girl about 18 months old (adorable baby) and said baby has a slew of health problems (so sad) like low muscle tone, extremely low weight gain, reflux, and more.

Naturally, this woman is a concerned parent. She is stressed. And she is a good soul who wishes to spare others the same stresses and concerns that she has.

So, of course, when she's holding my baby, these are her thoughts: is this baby too small for her age? Is she gaining weight at a normal rate? Does she spit up more than usual? Maybe it's acid reflux! That's why she's so small! Tell the mother! Tell the mother!!

(most people, when holding my baby, have thoughts more akin to this: oh my goodness, this baby girl is so adorable! Look at those eyes. Maybe I can get her to smile for me! Smile, baby girl! Smile for me!!)

I understand her concern comes from a good place so I don't take too much of it to heart. But she has this knack for taking small, normal things that could be, possibly, very very small concerns...
...and turns them into life-or-death diganoses that keep me awake at night.

(confession: I exaggerate. Often. I actually slept remarkably well last night.)

I was worried that my baby doesn't show much interest in standing or holding her head up when she's on her tummy. So of course this aunt tells me it's probably an issue with "Floppy Baby Syndrome" because she's so small because I'm not breastfeeding her efficiently, etcetera, etcetera...

So I did my research, cuz that's how I do, and apparently a four month baby not liking tummy time is really common for American babies. Some think it's because we have a phobia of letting our babies sleep on their stomachs (though some report that SIDS is reduced by 30% because of this practice...it's debatable...I still only put her to sleep on her back...I'm a conformist...). Either way, from the articles I've read and the observations I've made, I feel confident when I say:

My baby is normal.

I'm sincerely, genuinely sorry for the problems your baby may be having and the emotional turmoil it is putting you through. I sincerely appreciate your concern for my baby and for me as a first-time mom.
But please relax. You're freakin' me out.

My baby is fine. Developing at her own pace, a different pace from your kids, yes, but she's still perfectly normal.

27 December 2012

Oh yeah, And merry Christmas

I'm not sure where all of my time goes.

Taking care of a baby certainly takes up a lot of it. And then there's the mundane stuff: showering, eating, dressing, undressing, driving to and from places... But where did the rest of my time go? The time I used to have to draw? To read? To blog?

Oh yeah.



Well, that's a bummer.

Gads, I'm tired.

07 December 2012

parenthood. Argh.

So I haven't written in a while.
Maybe you've noticed...

I went to a mommy's group last week. A baby playdate of sorts. I only knew one person there, the other moms were new to me, so I was a little anxious. Definitely outside of my comfort zone. Then I started watching their babies, two and three weeks younger than mine, already holding their heads up and standing on their mother's laps and reaching for toys.

My sweet baby girl, at 3 1/2 months, isn't doing any of that.
And according to all the literature I can find, I shouldn't even be expecting her to do any of that, yet.

I know each baby develops differently and at their own pace and that you really, really, really shouldn't compare your baby's progress to another's...but I still left the house feeling incompetent as a mother.

I'm still terrified that I'm doing something wrong. Maybe I haven't socialized her enough. I haven't given her tummy-time often enough. I didn't start reading books to her early enough. We don't listen to music often enough. Not. Not. Not. Enough. Enough. Enough.

I was also distraught that she used to sleep 5-6 hours a night (sometimes even 7!) but she mysteriously stopped sometime last week. We're back to 2 hour stretches.

No bueno.
No me gusta.

But then I read a blog by a woman (who also has CFS, so I'm doubly sympathetic for her) with a six month old daughter who still wakes up every 1.5 hours in the night. And that's just insane.

It made me realize that what I have is not so bad. And that I probably just happened to be in a group of babies that are outrageously ahead of the curve. And that my baby girl is healthy and happy and progressing at a fine pace. I shouldn't worry so much.

It's just hard not to, you know?

And that's why I haven't written in a while. I've been too busy worrying and napping and worrying some more. I'm getting over it though. Which means: more blog posts for you!
(you so lucky)

22 November 2012

a Blog post! Oh Good, miss hobbit's not Dead

So. It's Thanksgiving.

True story so far.

So far, so good.

I feel like I ought to write something...thanksgiving-ish. Or something.

I usually start these posts with some kind of idea of what I'm going to say. This time that's all I've got: "It's Thanksgiving." So Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll.

Let's just start somewhere...

My husband's family is here for Thanksgiving. Aunts and uncles and cousins. We all enjoyed a hearty Thanksgiving meal together at about 1:00. When it was over we cleaned everything up. And when everything was washed and put away we began wandering around the house, around each other, wondering what to do next.
Black Friday shopping is tonight, you know, so it's not like anyone could go home. Not yet.

That's where we are now. Some are watching T.V. or puttering around with kids (my baby is asleep, so I'm off the hook for a little while) and leafing through catalogs, thinking about what they're going to buy tonight.

My husband and I are going to have a post-Thanksgiving celebration with my family tomorrow. My family has no money to speak of, so there won't be any talk about shopping or Black Friday. Instead, we'll eat and probably spend the rest of the day avoiding dishes, telling stories and playing games.

Yeah. It's different.

I wish I could get a card game started upstairs, but no one seems interested.
So I'm blogging instead.

I know this post should be full of "I'm grateful for"s and "Thank you"s, but I'm sure you've met your gratitude quota from Facebook by now. Sorry for the non-holiday-on-a-holiday post.
I hope we can still be friends.
Now go get you some pumpkin pie.

07 November 2012

A List, For list-Lovers

I was out grocery shopping today and I realized that our car is filthy.

It was my husband's car before we got married. I had my own car, but it was relinquished from me under most unfortunate circumstances (which is the end of that story). So now it's our car, but I consider the general chaos and disorder of the interior to be his mess. Mainly because I'm insanely particular about things being in their proper place and knowing where all my stuff is at all times (I lent out a DVD and two books to three different people weeks ago and it still wakes me up at night when I try to remember who has what) so I don't typically leave random things behind in the car.

At this moment, the following items are kickin' it in our car, and I have no idea why:

  • a 25 year old ragged and torn towel
  • a coupon book that is so torn apart, it's more of a loose-leaf coupon collection
  • two spoons
  • a silk handkerchief
  • a keyboard belonging to an Apple computer
  • a Microsoft computer mouse
  • a roll of red electrical tape
  • wire cutters
  • my husband's Jedi lightsaber, which broke on Halloween when he wore it to school
He keeps saying he's going to clean it out, but it never happens. Which means I'm going to have to do it. Which means it may or may not get done within the next decade. Guess I'd better start getting comfortable with that random keyboard in there...

03 November 2012

got To Remember to Put titles on these Things

I'm going to go for a walk today. No lie. I'm going to do it. It's way too sunny and beautiful out there for me to not be out in it.
It's way too alive outside for me to stay in this basement all day. (Even if there is Netflix down here...)

But right now the baby is sleeping on my lap, and she's just so adorable with her legs curled up into her chest, that I can't bring myself to move her and put her in the stroller. When she wakes up, we'll go.

It's a wonder how she fits so perfectly on my lap. Human beings start out so small... At one point in time, I must have been this small, too. Difficult to believe.

Ooops, she woke up. And now we're nursing again and i'm literally reduced to typing with one hand so say good-bye to puntuation and capitilization and while we're at it say good-bye to spell-checker too.

when i first started breast-feeding it was great, i thought to myself, this is awesome, so healthy for the baby and this way we'll really bond and all that other good stuff. i'm going to be a good mom and nurse exclusively for at least six months.

and then i realized how often a baby eats.


like 8 times a day, everyday, for months on end!! it can take up to an hour for one feeding including burping and switching sides...that's 8 hours a day. do the math: 1/3 of my life for the next four months (at least) is going to be spent breast-feeding. one-freaking-third of my life. good grief, how do other mothers get anything done?? especially nursing mothers with other children to take care of. i know it must be possible because humans have been doing it for thousands of years, but that fact does not offer as much reassurance as you might think.

(oh good, done nursing, I can have my left hand back)

So the other two-thirds...aw drat, I finally have both hands to blog with, but it looks like we're in need of a new diaper. Aw crap, and a new onesie.


Motherhood is such a trip.

13 October 2012

Ever get stuck In Your calendar?

September always lets me down. Every year I tell myself that this time, I'm going to slow down and savor the end of summer. This time I'm going to pay attention to September.

Summer was long. So very long. I spent all of it being pregnant and waiting for a baby to come. Counting down months and weeks.

Then the baby came and time sped up again. I can't believe it's been 9 weeks. I don't remember September happening at all, but it must have because we're already halfway through October!




When did Time stop "marching on" and start sprinting?

I can't stand how off-kilter I feel. I'm sure it's just because the baby has caused some serious readjustment to my sleep cycle, but there's got to be a way for me to get a grip. Center myself. Get grounded. Meditate. Open some chakras. Take a bubble bath. Or something.

(I meant the chakra thing as a joke, btw. But I might be serious. I want to be joking. ...I think. Or do I?)

I don't seem like myself at all today. Weird week. Weird weekend. Weird Saturday.

I'm going to go stare at a wall, see if I can find myself. I think I'll find Me somewhere in the first week of September. I've got to get back there and tell Me to snap out of it. Enough dilly-dallying around, already! We've got stuff to do! A life to lead!

So let's get on with it.

08 September 2012

my baby Has insomnia, Which Means I have No sleep

Drink the moonlight to overflowing, splashing silver at my feet.
I drench my soul and sink into the sensation.
I abandoned myth and magic for dry, predictable patterns.
Now, I strain the silence for the echo of their calls.
Maybe they'll come back to me.

04 August 2012

the opening Ceremony In dual-Vision

Let me start this post with an explanation and an apology:
I do not religiously follow the Olympics.
I don't even follow them in a religious-Catholic-that-only-comes-to-Mass-for-Easter-and-Christmas sort of way.
I don't follow it at all.
I'm sorry if this upsets you.

(Side-note: this is why I'm so amused when others show anger or disappointment when results from the Olympics come out on Twitter before they get a chance to watch it on television; in my mind, the news coming out over Twitter saves me the hassle of having to sit and watch the competitions. It's the best thing to happen to the Olympics since...ever.)

I have great respect for the tradition of the Olympic Games and the international camaraderie that it represents. I just don't care about sports. In pretty much any shape or form.
Allow me to clarify one point before moving on: I am not anti-sports. I'm not opposed to them in any way (except, perhaps, aesthetically...), I just don't care about them. Like my carpet. It's there, it's doing its job, and that's great, I'm just not that preoccupied with it. Don't care.

That being said, I do try to make a point of seeing the Opening Ceremonies for the games. I feel like that's the decent, respectful thing to do. Another country is hosting a global event and opening its doors to the athletes of over 200 other nations, spending wild amounts of money and time and energy to put together a show to embrace and welcome those nations. The least I can do is watch, admire, and learn about the host's culture. To me, it's one of the largest and most symbolic gestures of international peace and cooperation that we can find in today's world.

I've watched Opening Ceremonies over the years with my family, my husband, and sometimes alone. This was the first time I've watched them with an elderly person. My husband's grandmother, to be exact, with whom we are currently living (henceforth to be known as Grandma R).

London's theme for the ceremony was Pop Culture (for those of you who aren't "in the know"), and rightly so, I felt. They've given us classic literary characters from Mary Poppins to Harry Potter. The music of the western world as we know it would not be the same without England's contributions of The Rolling Stones, Queen, and The Beatles. And I'm sure my fellow anglophiles out there will agree with me, that life is just better with Dr. Who and BBC's Sherlock in the world.

Grandma R knows nothing about pop culture. She has only a very vague idea of who The Beatles were, and I'm sure she's never heard of Dr. Who. I'm pretty sure she's heard of Harry Potter, but I don't think she knew that he was from a book until they mentioned it in the Opening Ceremony.

The idea of interpretive dance is also completely lost on her. Seeing nurses dancing around beds with sleeping children confused her considerably, so you can probably imagine her mental state when large balloon-characters of Captain Hook and Voldemort began to rise up on the stage and a small girl on a hospital bed began floating into the air.

She looked at me with a look of incredulity and asked, "Were our opening ceremonies like this??" I think it would be a fair assessment to say that she was horrified at the prospect that our opening ceremonies might have born any resemblance to the spectacle before her. Yes, I believe "horrified" is the exact word I'm looking for.

I didn't know how to respond. I still don't. Not really.
At one point I tried to explain what the different parts of the show represented to Great Britain, but as soon as the horde of Mary Poppinses started raining down onto the stage she interrupted me (I don't think she meant to interrupt; truth be told, I think she forgot what I was talking about or that I was speaking at all) and said, "Mary Poppins is a great show," and in a more serious tone she added, "There's no swearing at all in that show." Then she nodded, wordlessly saying, 'And that's the absolute truth. Watch it yourself if you don't believe me.'

I stopped trying to explain things after that.

For the most part I enjoyed the Ceremony, but the experience was slightly tainted because part of me was watching from the point of view of Grandma R. Half of me found it hip, fresh and unique while the other half was made uncomfortable and perplexed by its strangeness. The literature and music that was highlighted spanned over decades and decades of time, but the show was definitely not tailored to appeal to all generations. I can't imagine many of Grandma R's peers really diggin' it.

Except maybe the Queen. I'll bet she liked it. She's a pretty hip lady.

This post makes it sound like Grandma R is on the verge of dementia. She's not. She can still take care of herself and is quite lucid. She's just old. 80 or thereabouts. It makes me wonder what I'm going to be like after I've been around for the better part of a century, and what my grandchildren will think (and blog) about me.

And how's your Olympic week going?

02 August 2012

Oh the Times, they Are a-changin'

For you, patient friends...

...a story:

I live with an old person now.
As you may or may not remember from some previous post, my husband and I decided to live in his grandmother's basement. She's a widow and could use the company and help around the house. We're poor with a baby on the way and could use a rent-free place to crash for a while.

So far it's been quite pleasant. While my husband is at work, I hang out upstairs in the kitchen and sit with her, listen to her stories and keep her company. She's a sweet old lady.

It's different to spend an afternoon with an old person, as opposed to an afternoon with peers. No matter how sweet the old person may be, you'll still have to adjust to the conversations.

For example, with my peers we talk a lot about the future. What our plans are, when we're going to graduate from school, where we're going to go after graduation, the jobs we plan to have, the lifestyle we're going to live...
And we talk about the present. What's going on in so-and-so's life, this professor is amazing, this professor should die in a hole, here's my latest project...

With an old person, we only talk about the past. Memories and stories of children, how they've grown and when their children were born, stories of past escapades, past jobs, past neighbors...
And inevitably, we come back to the topic of death.
"I used to chase with these girls in high school, two of them are dead now."
"He had a coworker with the best sense of humor, they're dead now."
"My neighbor from way back would trade pears for apples with me, she's dead now."
Cancer. Stroke. Heart attack. Plain and simple old age.

When the topic of death comes up with my peers, it's sobering and solemn. We speak softly to reverence the dead, wonder and mourn at how young they were, and are silently grateful that we're still traipsing about on this spinning blue marble we call Home.
But when she, my (new) grandmother, says the word "dead" there's no change in volume, tone of voice, or even a sympathetic pause. That person is dead now. That's what they are. And Death is coming for us, too. That's reality and she's dealt with it.

I, being young and still believing myself to be immortal, am still learning how to adjust to this outlook on Death. I can't pinpoint how she expects me to respond. A soft, sad "oh..." seemed inappropriate. Silent, solemn nod of the head with eyes averted to the floor didn't seem quite right either. Even a subtle eyebrow-raise seemed to be too much.

Now I just put on a poker-face and try to quickly usher her forward, away from Death and on to the next reminiscence. Which is ultimately pointless because we keep coming back to it. I can't get any kind of read on her when she mentions someone has died or is dying - her poker face is impenetrable. Is she sad? Resigned? Anxious that her number is coming up? I can't tell. At all.

I try to read her face to see how she expects me to respond. The weird thing is, I get the feeling that she's looking at me the exact same way.
Don't look at me for the appropriate emotion; you're the one that brought this up, lady!

Now you know what my days are like. Talking about the past and avoiding pop culture references (they just confuse her and explaining them to her is never a satisfying experience).

Speaking of pop culture, I watched the opening ceremony for the Olympics with her this week, in which London celebrated all the fantastic music, movies, television programs and literature it has spawned and spread to the rest of the world. That was interesting to watch with an old person...remind me to tell you about it next time.
Until then...cheers.

26 July 2012

Life's more entertaining In My head

The 24th of July was Pioneer Day in good 'ol Utah. We watched the local parade in the only way parades should be watched: in our pajamas, on the couch, in the air conditioned house, on the television.

Oh yeah, baby, I got Pioneer Day spirit. Rah rah rah.

The emcees made quaint comments about the local floats and festivities, as well as letting the audience know about the other festivals going on around the state. Each city in the area has a special thang they do for summer: Strawberry Days, Rodeo Days, Pony Express Days, etc. (Not sure why everyone suffixes with "days" rather than just calling it a "festival." I've never asked. It's quite probable that no one else knows, either.)

I wasn't paying that much attention, I'll admit, but I did perk up when they mentioned the Orgy Festival coming up.


Say wha-?? I've never heard of this before!

Much to my disappointment, the emcee was actually referencing the Orchard Festival.

It figures. Our county isn't exactly a prime example of a simple little thing known as diction.

It's too bad I didn't figure it out before asking my husband if you had to register for that sort of thing or if you could just show up. It does explain the strange look he gave me, though...

20 July 2012

songs And Kids and Life

I woke up with this terrible song from the 90's stuck in my head. I don't even know the artist or the whole song, just the chorus phrase:

"Paaaasionate kisses...frooom yoooou."

Over and over and over. The worst.

So to mix it up and keep myself from going crazy, I started to sing the original lyrics (or, rather, what I originally believed to be the lyrics when I first heard the song at age five).

"Maaatches and peaches....foooor yoooou."

Imagine a precocious 5 year old, singing loudly and earnestly at the kitchen table, "Maaatches and peaches! Foooor yooou!" Can you see it? Yeah...that was me.

I remember my mom trying not to laugh as she asked me the reasoning behind matches and peaches being in a love song. It wasn't just a lack of enunciation on the part of the singer, I had also employed the power of logical reasoning to deduce what the song was about.

Matches make fire. Fire is the source of heat and light. Fire gives us life. Just look at our Sun - a giant, glorious ball of eternal fire. Matches are like miniature versions of the power of the Sun. Of course you would want to give your loved one matches.
Matches = the ultimate Life Source (you can see what a poetic old soul I was back then).

And my grandmother's canned peaches were the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted in my young life. So, you know. No brainer on that one.

Matches and peaches seemed like the most obvious love tokens anyone could give.

As daunting as the prospect of motherhood can be, I must admit that I look forward to having similar conversations with my own precocious five year old. I guess you've got to go through painful labor and delivery and long periods of postpartum recovery, sleep deprivation, and some nasty diaper changing to get to that point...*shudder*

Just gotta hope that matches and peaches will make it all worth it.

03 July 2012


The move is now complete.


...it's not that bad.

And I was going to write about it and share amusing anecdotes but now that I'm here, finally here, I realize that I'm tired.

Really, really tired.

I'd like to be able to ...shoot. Where was this sentence going? What was it I wanted to do?

Probably nap. I keep losing track of my thoughts and find myself staring mindlessly around this room. Oh no...eyes are closing...I should nap...

I did a lot yesterday. I cleaned, vacuumed, moved furniture...the risk of sending myself into preterm labor crossed my mind. So, naturally, I did a load of laundry and cleaned the washing machine and dryer (this is probably the first time those appliances have been  free of dust in 50 years) before making myself lunch and finally sitting down. Good thing I stopped. Too bad I can't get going again.

sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep

Why am I still on this [obscenity] website? How am I, after all this talk of sleep, not in bed yet??

This is not what I intended to post, but I've accomplished the ultimate goal: I've given you a synopsis of my life as of late. There's really no more to say.

I'd write on here more often but, let's be honest, you're not missing much.

21 June 2012

I put Up A pretty Convincing facade

I fail at consistency. Let's just own up to that. Accept it. Embrace it. Move on.

Everyone owning? Accepting? Embracing?

Good. 'Cuz I'm already over it.

My husband and I have decided to move out of our one bedroom apartment. Originally the plan was to find somewhere with two bedrooms so we could turn one into a nursery. But then pesky little things like...bills...college expenses...the reality of what a money-suck a newborn baby is...things like that, started tapping me on the shoulder.

So we rearranged our plan a little bit and decided to move in with my husband's grandmother in the next town. She's a widow and could use the company and our help around the house. I can be handy tending the garden and my dear hubby just can't wait to start remodeling her bathroom for her.

We'll save quite a bit of money this way, and it might be helpful to be living with a veteran mother in my first months of motherhood.

Very few downsides to this arrangement.

Except for the incessant sense of foreboding and despair, of course.

I'm going to miss having my own kitchen. I'm going to miss having all my stuff around me (materialistic and shallow, possibly; but I can't deny the comfort one's belongings can provide). I'm going to miss having large windows. I'm going to miss the freedom that comes with confidently knowing one's territory.

Yeah. Especially that last part.

I foresee some egg-shell treading as we adjust to one another and establish boundaries. We'll talk it out, of course, and try to be responsible adults about the whole situation, but I know that most of the boundaries formed will be realized with a wordless, primal instinct.

I've been told that having two women in the same house can cause tension. I've never experienced this myself, but I have no fear. I embrace the opportunity to experience.

(Actually, if we're being honest (and I'd like to think we are), then I have to admit that I have experienced it...my aunt had to live with our family for a while and she really struggled going from her own house to only having a bedroom to herself (understandably so) and it ended up causing some tension between her and my mother. But I don't put too much stock on this single example since my aunt is also a little bit craaaazy (O.o) so she throws off the curve a bit.)

I never imagined I would look around this cluttered, cramped apartment with a sense of longing. I can't believe I feel that I'll miss this place. As desperate as I've been to get out of here for the last year and a half, I have to acknowledge to myself that it's not the worst place we could have spent our first years of marriage. Inexpensive, fairly spacious, and the corner apartment offers more privacy than most of the units in this complex.


It's okay. The thought of the sunny garden in the backyard cheers me up considerably. And the thought of all the money we'll be saving (cha-ching!) inspires me to pack faster (because, apparently, I'm a total Scrooge).

Oh, just look at all that wordy wordiness up there. Sheesh, I'm amazed you've made it this far. Congratulations and good news: I'm done typing for tonight.

And when shall we meet again, you and I?

It's hard to say. Remember that bit about consistency I mentioned earlier? Yeah...I promise to write again before the baby is born. Satisfied?

Accept it. Embrace it. Move on to your next blog of the evening.

10 May 2012


So I don't have gestational diabetes.

I was surprised when they told me. After coming so close to passing out during the blood tests, I actually wondered if I should just confess to having diabetes, ask them to abort the test, and send me home. It's a good thing I persevered!

Do you know what this means?

A celebration is in order! Rounds of ice cream for EVERYONE!

In seriousness, as much fun as it would be to glut myself on sugar until I literally hear my pancreas cry out in agony, roll over, and die...this little adventure has motivated me to exercise some restraint while indulging my sweet tooth.

I know. I'm surprised, too.

All kinds of surprises in this post.

Sadly, Reality is calling me back from this virtual world, so I must leave you now. Adieu.

03 May 2012

It wasn't even That much Blood

I had some lab work done at the local hospital this morning. The experience was outside of the usual routine and I thought it might make a <insert appropriate adjective of your choice here> blog post.

The test was for gestational diabetes (if you've never heard of it, don't worry, I hadn't either. But don't expect me to explain it here because that's what wikipedia is for. C'mon, guys, you gotta work a little). There are two tests for this. The first only takes an hour. They give you a sugary drink after you've fasted for a few hours and then draw your blood an hour later.

I failed the first test.


The second test takes three hours and they draw your blood four times. They can only do the test early in the morning, before the lab gets too busy. So I went in at 7:15 in the morning with no food in my stomach, ready to drink that nasty sugary drink again.

7:(freaking)15 in the morning. What an awful hour.

Same routine as last time. They give me the drink, I gulp it down within 5 minutes, an hour later they come to take my blood. But, for whatever reason, my body reacted very differently this time. About 30 minutes after chugging 10 oz. of glucose, I started to get dizzy. My stomach started to ache. I thought about throwing up. I took a stroll to the restroom, as nonchalantly as is possible for a pregnant woman who is about to be sick.

While in the restroom the dizziness got worse, to the point of seeing double. And I started to get really hot. And I had this thought, and knew it was true, "I'm going to pass out."

I've never passed out in my life. Never swooned, fainted, blacked out, and/or keeled over. Doesn't happen. Not what I do.

Yet there I was.

There's one thing I've learned about fainting from those with personal experience: it is not painful to pass out when you're already lying down. It can hurt quite a bit, however, if you're standing on a hard tile floor in a public restroom.

And so I laid down. Right there on the restroom floor. I have no shame admitting this; I regret nothing.
The floor was cold and helped my body temperature stabilize. After about 5 minutes my head cleared and I was ready to go back out to the waiting area.

Only ten minutes left to wait at this point until a phlebotomist would come for me. I could last ten minutes.

And I did. But just barely.
I started feeling like I was going to pass out again by the end of the ten minutes. The phlebotomist must have noticed something because she asked how I was feeling and offered to let me wait in a reclining chair in the back room rather than in the public waiting area. An offer I eagerly accepted.

As she was prepping my arm for the needle I started to see double again and my ears filled with a sound of roaring static. And I had the thought again, "I'm going to pass out. I've never passed out in my life but it's going to happen. Right here. Right now." I started taking deep breaths and let the nurse know that I felt like I was going to pass out.

There was a guy in the chair next to me getting his blood drawn. I can only imagine how uncomfortable I made him. :-/

Good news for all of you sitting on the edge of your seats, I did not pass out. After some deep breaths my vision cleared and the roar of static subsided. I was led to a small room with two reclining chairs and I stayed there for the next two hours.

They told me that the worst of it was usually the first hour and a half, and they're right. Most of the nausea passed in following half hour. I probably could have gone back to the waiting area, but no one seemed to mind me being there, so I stayed put. Every hour they would call me out to draw another vile. There was a small television in this back room which was stuck on Fox, so I watched Kelly Ripa (co-hosting with Josh Groban, who is surprisingly personable and enjoyable to watch) and Doctor Oz.
(Random sidenote ~ our apartment complex cut off our cable months ago, which also cut off our local channels, so I haven't watched television in a loooong time. Watching these shows, the outfits, the interviews, the live studio audience, was almost surreal. In a pointless, mindless sort of way. But it made the time pass pretty seamlessly, which I suppose is what it was created to do. ~ end of random sidenote)

Based on my experience this morning, I don't hold a lot of hope for passing this gestational diabetes test. What a bother. At least it will only last while I'm pregnant, which will only be for another 3 months. (holy $%@! only 3 months?? it's all happening too fast!!)

The rest of my day has been dedicated to sleeping the whole ordeal off. It's now half past five and I'm only just beginning to think I can handle standing up for the hour or so that it will take to wash my dishes. I'm no stranger to hospitals or lab work, so I'm surprised this visit took so much out of me.

I blame it on 7:(freaking)15 in the morning. What an awful hour.

I know regaling this little tale will stir within some of you the urge to comment with hospital anecdotes of your own. I welcome this, but if I could entreat you with a small, personal request: if you comment, please keep it light and entertaining. I really don't want to read sad stories about how you found out you had cancer. My emotions, driven by drastic pregnant-lady hormone fluctuations, just can't take it.

Thanks. {hugs} for all of you.

26 April 2012

pretty Much Every day for The last Week

I have no words.

I hope this will suffice:

I hope you can read the thought bubbles, they're a bit small. If you can't, well...try harder. :P

07 April 2012

I read 'cuz I Can

I finished this book last night, Quantum Enigma by Bruce Rosenblum and Fred Kuttner,

and I had this thought:

"Wow. This was a great book. I want this in my personal library, I think I'll buy my own copy someday. This book was so great, I'm going to write a blog post about it. Yeah!"

Except it was 3:00 a.m. at the time, the computer was already turned off and it's a mother-of-a-monster to turn back on, so I told myself I'd do it after a good night's sleep.

Well, here's the thing guys, it was 3:00 in the morning when I had these thoughts. Now, nearly twelve hours later, I don't really remember all the poetic and profound things I was going to say.

So here's the gist of it:

The book is about Quantum Mechanics. Specifically why it's so hard to understand, what the experiments are telling us, some of the interpretations, and why the "enigma" makes physicists so uncomfortable.

It's put into terms that do not require a technical background, just an above-average dose of intelligence and a general interest in science (when I read that in the introduction I almost jumped out of my seat with my hand raised in the air, "Hey, that's me! That's me exactly! Pick me!!" which would have been awkward since I was in the public library at the time...). I found it to be informative, easy to follow, and incredibly thought provoking.

It was published about 5 years ago, and a lot can happen in the science community in 5 years, so I have to wonder if anything has changed in our general understanding since then. And then I saw online that there is a second edition!

Sweet. I gotta get my hands on that.

06 April 2012

reflecting On Marriage

 I don't like surprises. A lesson my husband, Ranger, had to learn the hard way. I do, however, greatly relish occasional and unexpected revelations.

An example from this morning:

I was lying down on the couch, watching Ranger pull up Pandora.com and create a new station. I asked him what the new station was and he said, "Nabucco."


"Nabucco. It's an Italian opera."

"Oh. What's it about?"

"The story is about the Hebrews in exile from Babylon."

Maybe this sounds like a normal exchange to you, but it was a mild surprise to me. Couple of reasons for this, 1) he's never talked about opera before, much less a specific one from Italy, and 2) I had just seen him finish a youtube video about the Ruger 1022 Takedown (it's a gun...or something...I tried to pay attention but I zoned out within the first 30 seconds) while talking to me about guns and knives and wilderness survival. You know. Man Stuff.

And I expect this sort of Man Stuff from Ranger because that's who he is. He's also a complete sci-fi nerd (Star Wars, Star Trek, Stargate, Dr. Who, Firefly...you name it, he's seen it. And loved it). I also expect conversations about preparedness, bug-out bags, Zombie Squad, costuming and online role playing games. (but not LARPing. Everyone's got their limits.)

-Miss Hobbit, this is quite an insight into your life and interests. What do you have in your bug-out bag?
-I didn't say my interests. I said my husband's interests. You don't have to love everything your spouse loves - it's why we're such a terrific match.

And now I find out, with pleasant astonishment, that he is also somewhat versed in classical music and operas.

I love his many dimensions. It's a bit thrilling, too, when I discover a new one. I hope we keep surprising each other like this in the coming years.

16 March 2012

Returning From vacation To reality

I have phone calls to make today. I hate making phone calls. The only thing worse than making phone calls is knowing that I have phone calls to make. And that they have to be made today. Ugh. Phone calls.

I'd rather do nothing at all.

Not true. I want to be doing something. I don't know what I want to be doing exactly, just that I want to do more than nothing.

And so I sit, getting nothing done as I avoid my phone. Wishing I was somewhere else, getting something done.

Seems like most of my life lately is spent wishing I was somewhere else.

Like, a place with a dishwasher, for instance.

Ugh. Dishes.

02 March 2012

I Try To avoid Life, but Sometimes It corners You

Nearly every dish I own needs to be washed, and I have research to finish up for two episodes of the Arts and Facts podcast that will be recorded tomorrow (that blog has had a makeover recently, you should have a look), laundry needs to be put away...

...and instead, I'm blogging.

So many other things I ought to be doing right now. So little desire to do any of it.

Couple of reasons why:
  • I'm tired. This should go without saying by now, but just in case you've forgotten: I. Am. Tired.
  • I don't feel well. Estimated to be functioning at 65% capacity presently.
  • I'm distracted by thoughts of St. George
Not the Saint George, the-Christian-martyr-dragon-slaying-one-of-the-Fourteen-Holy-Helpers Saint George (although he is a fairly interesting figure and I can see why you might think that...). I'm talking about the town St. George, located in southern Utah. 

My grandparents have a townhouse in St. George (well, specifically Santa Clara, but I'm an out-of-towner, so it may as well be the same thing) and my mother and my sister are going to spend a week there. And they invited me to come along.


It's going to be fantastic, mostly just because it's going to be warm. And I'll get to see the sun again. And it'll be warm. With sun. ^_^ Upper 60s and lower 70s (Fahrenheit) with 0% chance of precipitation. 
Let me explain to you why this is a big deal to me, big enough to distract me from my general life duties.

Where I am now: it's 27 degrees outside and it's cloudy, dreary, and soggy. It's no bueno. I can't seem to warm up, even when I'm in-doors. It keeps snowing at unexpected moments and leaves everything sopping wet. No me gusta.

But I can endure this crap weather. Because on Monday I'm leaving for St. George. Why are we waiting till Monday? Why not go now? Let's just leave. Let's go! Let's pack up and hit the road now! Woo-hoo!!

Oh wait...

All of my dishes are dirty...
And the laundry's gotta be put away...
And I have to record for Arts and Facts tomorrow...

Guess I should get started on all that, huh?

01 March 2012

where's The Edit > Undo option For thursdays?

This day blows. I quit. I just quit.

 I'm hungry (I think...probably...) but the thought of food, specifically eating it, is nearly unbearable.

But I gotta eat something. Not good to go without food.

So I nibbled a cracker.


So I nibbled some cheese.


Then I thought about (didn't actually do it, just considered it) eating some yogurt.


I blame the prenatal I'm on. I'm trying out all these sample packs from the doctor's office, finding one that fits, and this week's special experience goes to: CitraNatal Assure. It's supposed to be "gentle" and "natural" and there are no side-effects listed. It sounded great on paper.

I call shenanigans.

I've had enough of this nonsense, I'm tossing this junk and moving on to the next pack. And then I'm going to go try to sleep this off...

26 February 2012

limerick Junkie

I have a fantastic group of friends and every so often we have a Poetry Slam. They used to be Mad Hatter Poetry Slams, but then we became aware of the magic that is Steampunk (because it's fantastic) and now these events have become Steampunk Poetry Slams (and they're fantastic).
The program consists mainly of poetry, original compositions or personal favorites, ranging from humorous to solemn to bizarre. There are also other performances including music and multi-media presentations. Basically it's a night to share in creativity with friends, and it is always delightful.

Last night was no exception.

I wrote a small handful of humorous limericks about being pregnant (limericks have been my favorite since I learned about them in some obscure children's book when I was 7 years old. the spelling was different in that book and I've spent most of my life, on into my adult years, convinced that the spelling is "lymric" and not "limerick". I will spell it "limerick" because every dictionary I can lay my hands on and every internet search engine has told me this is so...but part of me is still convinced that it should be "lymric," which I find to be a much more aesthetically pleasing way to spell it. So there.)

Aaaanyway. The limericks (*coughlymricscough*), posted here for your enjoyment.

One Way Trip
(A Collection of Pregnancy Limericks)

A child we would like to rear;
The time when we'll have one draws near.
The idea seemed charming,
But it's somewhat alarming,
'Cuz there's no turning back now, I fear.

I'm excited for when I will show.
Gaining weight's scary, but I know,
In this case, it's not bad;
But I'm still a bit sad,
That I'm slim and curvy no mo'.

My husband says that I look great,
He can't tell that I've gained any weight.
But I know in my mind,
That in 9 month's time,
I'm going to be HUGE at this rate.

My appetite's out of control,
I'm so HUNGRY I feel like a troll.
Every two hours,
The kitchen I scour,
And after 2 bites, I am full.

My least favorite pregnancy curse,
Is the nausea, it is the worst.
All night and all day,
Never goes away,
With or without food, it still hurts.

I'm so sleepy all through the day,
So I nap and I lounge and I pray
That somehow I might,
Sleep through the night;
Until then, nocturnal I'll stay.

I'm sleepy most all of the time;
Constant exhaustion is unkind.
As a matter of fact,
I've not had my nap,
I'm amazed this poem even rhymes.

Someone suggested I write more of them and turn them into a book. "What to Expect When You're Expecting - In Rhyme!" I'm pretty tempted, not gonna lie. Sounds like a book I would read. And thoroughly enjoy. And recommend to friends.

(thoughtful pause)

Challenge accepted.

Disclaimer: humorous writings on the predicament of pregnancy does not qualify this as a "mommy blog" so point that finger somewhere else!

13 February 2012

been Awhile...

I just want you to know that I haven't been avoiding Blogger because of you. It's me. Well, mostly it's Reality in general and my complete inability to strike any kind of compromise with it.

But things are settling down now (settling? really? no, not really). Things are falling into a flow (check your word choice, Miss Hobbit, cuz that's not what's happening, either). Alright, nothing has changed with the "things" going on in life, what's changed is the amount of sleep I've procured in the last few weeks which has increased my ability to stare those "things" in the face and take care of them.


I found out a couple of weeks ago that I'm pregnant.

(oh congratulations we're so happy for you that must be exciting oh my goodness it's just so thrilling...)

Yeah, yeah, I know. And I appreciate it, I really do. Just give me a few weeks for the day-long bouts of nausea, the extreme exhaustion, and horrifying mood swings to go away and I'll be able to properly reciprocate your good wishes. I'm told the second trimester is much easier. We'll go out and celebrate when I get to the second trimester.

Not to mention all the horrendous paperwork this thing entails. Medicaid, Baby Your Baby, hospital visits, WIC, prenatal classes and vitamins and exercise and diet regimens... Is it any wonder I'm tired?

The last few weeks have been a weird haze of sleep and food cravings, nausea, appointments, and more sleep. And through it all, I keep hearing Graham Edge's voice in my head:

Breathe deep. The gathering gloom.
Watch lights fade from every room...

The text on the screen does not carry the same effect as when you hear the man's voice say the words. But maybe it gives you a vague idea...

This blog will not be transitioning to a "Mommy Blog" so you can keep reading (is anyone reading?) without fear of slowly losing your mind. Mommy blogs kind of make me want to slap someone in the face with a quarter staff. They would have us all convinced that becoming a "mommy" makes you a complete moron (hey, maybe that's true. maybe it does. guess I'll find out soon enough) and I just have no desire to share that kind of mental deterioration over the Internet.

So that's why I've been offline for that past...however long it's been. And now that I've updated you and fulfilled my duties as blog author, I'm going to go listen to The Moody Blues.
Still craving them. That band, man. They speak to me. Always have. Admittedly more so now that my hormones are completely off kilter...

28 January 2012



  • I have a nasty cold
  • I miss breathing through my nose
  • I am obsessed with Regina Spektor and Newton Faulkner
  • I am intrigued by lists
  • I am craving The Moody Blues
  • I am eating toast
  • My cold was worse
  • I pushed through an 8 hour workday anyway
  • I watched the Director's Commentary on disc 1 of The Two Towers, Extended Edition
  • I ate a lot of French bread
Besides the nasty cold, this weekend has actually been quite pleasant. I hope tomorrow brings more of the same.