Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Probably babies

You know what? I know a lot of kind, generous people. I was previously aware of this, but this whole having a baby thing has really brought it home in a new way. The handmade gifts! The thoughtful gestures! They are overwhelming. I'm pretty lucky.

Another way that I'm lucky? My husband has bought me the most beautiful, romantic gift that anyone has ever received: a dishwasher. Seriously, I am so happy about it I could just cry (and I might, depending on current hormone levels). In the past fifteen years, I've only had a dishwasher in my home for one glorious 10-month period, and at this point I'm pretty sick of doing the dishes. I'd rather dust, clean the toilet--just about any other chore is preferable.* Plus you can just throw baby bottles right in there. And probably babies. Those machines can do anything, right? Modern technology is wonderful.

*Except scooping the kitty litter. But that's the one big bonus of pregnancy: no scooping.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

What I did on my last vacation as a non-parent

Okay, I said I was going to write a Portland post a hundred years ago, and yet have not. Here are some highlights:

1. It was sunny and 65 degrees the day we were in Corvallis, cementing that town in my mind forever as a paradise on earth.
2. Also, our hotel had an indoor heated pool. Heated!
3. Here is a picture of the courthouse:

4. Why did I take a picture of the Corvallis Courthouse, and nothing else in Corvallis? Because I am crap at taking pictures, both technically and in the sense that I somehow always forget to take them.
5. Our hotel in Portland had fancy French bath products and waffle-fabric robes and slippers and a French press (do you capitalize the "P" in French press? Wikipedia says no) and loose tea. It was delightful. I love a fancy hotel.
6. We went to practically every single restaurant and shop you suggested, both in Corvallis and Portland, and they were all lovely. Thank you! Here is the breakfast we ate at St. Honore:

8. Yum.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Where to look

One of the many things you're not supposed to eat as a pregnant lady is unheated deli meat. Apparently some sort of deadly bacteria can grow on it that only pregnant women are susceptible to, science, studies, blah blah blah.* But at the same time, the pregnant ladies need a lot of protein. So everyday when Mr. A packs my lunch (let's just take a moment to appreciate the fact that he packs my lunch every day, shall we? thank you), he puts the turkey in a separate baggie so that it won't contaminate the rest of my sandwich and I can heat it up in the microwave at work.

He generally leaves the house before I get out of bed, so he also leaves me a note to remind me to get the turkey out of the refrigerator:

Mr. Awesome really lives up to his name, does he not?

*Also there is something about nitrates, if you really want to get into it, but we buy the nitrate-free deli meats. So please don't worry your pretty little head about that.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

My state of zen calm

I'll post an update on the Portland trip soon--we didn't take many pictures, but we took a couple and I will post them here for your viewing pleasure once we get them up on the computator.


I attended a meeting today at which I think I came off as kind of a crazy person. I hate it when I do that. You would think that, at my advanced old age, I would be able to advocate for issues I find important without sounding like a lunatic, but alas, this skill eludes me. I even came straight from doing prenatal yoga with another knocked-up friend (which was really fun, by the way), but my state of zen calm only lasted about four minutes into the meeting.


At our birth class last night,* the instructor said we should bring several different outfits to the hospital to give birth in. She said that having something fresh to change into can make all the difference. People who've given birth, is this true? I feel like this will likely be the one time in my life when fashion really doesn't matter to me, but maybe I'm wrong.

*Will I ever talk about anything besides birth class ever again? Perhaps no.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

It's gonna hurt

Conversation with a teen at the reference desk:

Her: How many months you got?
Me: About seven.
Her: This your first one?
Me: Yup.
Her: Dang. It's gonna hurt.


At our first birth class, the instructor mentioned that there was a sign-up sheet for anyone who wanted to bring pot-luck dinners to future classes. We could bring our own food if we wanted to, but wasn't it nicer to share, etc. Mr A and I declined, since we had signed up for the class under the assumption that as grown-ups, we would take care of our own nutritional needs.

This last class, though, she laid the potluck guilt on pretty thick. We were specifically instructed to sign up right now for the potluck, and not come to the next class with a full stomach. And really, wasn't it much, MUCH nicer to share?

Mr. A and I do not believe it is nicer to share. It's not that we have anything against sharing per se, but we both have full time jobs that end just about an hour before the class begins--enough time to pick up some food for ourselves, but not enough time to whip up a little something to feed the whole group. We chose this class specifically for its proximity to our workplaces, and going home in-between isn't an option. Plus, even if we made some giant platters of something in advance and somehow hauled them to work on the bus, where would we keep that stuff all day long while we're at work? And how could we reheat it?

Aside from all that, I just don't want to be responsible for feeding a room full of pregnant strangers. Everybody has different (not to say crazy) beliefs about what it is okay to eat while you're pregnant. I can just imagine some woman standing up and saying "Macaroni?! Don't you know that ingestion of noodles during the 3rd trimester has been shown to inhibit breastfeeding and cause colick in newborns? Are you trying to KILL US ALL?!"

So yeah, we still didn't sign up for the potluck. I'm assuming that we are now the pariahs of the class.