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Bookends, Jane Green

It was terrible, like I suspected. Awful. I didn't even finsh it, I just threw it in the trash.

Am re-reading Transmetropolitan as an antidote.

Check out:

I am going to hell for laughing so hard at this.


Ducks sitting in our front lawn. Ducks! So cute.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

When I first heard that you could rent those baby doppler things online in order to hear the fetal heartbeat in the comfort of your own home, I thought it sounded kind of cool, but rife with the potential for obsession. I didn't want to be constantly poking a goo-slathered microphone around my belly, intently listening for sounds of distress, or something. Besides, I told myself, I'll have plenty of doctor's visits to check up on the kid's wellbeing.

Then last week I sort of completely changed my mind and ordered one. I'm not really sure why - maybe because at 15 weeks I feel plenty PORKY and BLOATED, but weirdly not pregnant at times. Anyway, it arrived on Monday afternoon, and JB and I eagerly rushed off to the bedroom to yank down my pants and bust out the lubrication.


So, there I was, lying on my back, my belly all a-glisten with ultrasound gel, and JB started sliding the wand around. Right away we could hear a heartbeat, loud and clear.

About ten minutes later, we finally picked up the baby's softer, much faster heartbeat, and I managed to recover from the escalating freakout I was experiencing from mistaking my own heart's slow-ass adult WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH (that can be picked up all over my belly, just about) and jumping to the conclusion that I had caused irreparable fetal harm by eating too many Thin Mint cookies during the first trimester. Let me tell you, when you read "The normal fetal heart rate (FHR) is 120 to 160 beats per minute" and you count 88, you start wishing you'd never heard of the fucking doppler because all it brings is FEAR and MISERY and A REALLY, REALLY DRY MOUTH.

We seem to have it figured out now, though, and it's very exciting and sort of miraculous and yes, a little obsessive to hear the sounds of the life inside of me. I also learned that JB's stomach houses some very interesting noises of its own. A downright educational experience, the baby doppler.


On Sunday JB and I spent quite a bit of time driving around looking for open stores or restaurants before finally realizing it was a holiday. Jesus-Comin'-Out-of-a-Hole day, as JB's brother calls it. We were in search of mexican food, but had to settle for Taco Bell. Not even Taco Time, which is marginally less disgusting and possibly contains less rat feces; no, we went and bought food at Taco Bell, which is really only suitable fare if it's 2 AM and you've had four hundred and seven beers beforehand.

Other than craptacular fast food joints, the only other business that remained open in our neighborhood was Home Depot. And so while our Sunday plans had not initially included anything more strenuous than maybe catching a matinee of Robots (and digesting our 7-layer burritos), we found ourselves armed with drop cloths, tape, brushes, rollers, and cans of paint, ready to magically transform our guest bedroom into the Perfect Baby Room.

Annoyingly, the Perfect Baby Room now has streaks of yellow paint on the white ceiling, a few smudges of paint on the carpet, and a splat of paint in my hair that I'm not sure I've managed to completely get rid of. And it only took two days! Feh.

Now with the painting out of the way, we just need to get rid of the double bed, find a crib, a changing table, figure out if we need a new dresser, find bedding that will not smother the child in their sleep, get one of those snot-sucker-upper things, find a reputable daycare place, tour two hospitals and make a decision on where to have the birth, start a college savings account, invest in a large silo of diapers, pick a car seat that hasn't already been recalled, ask ourselves just what the HELL we think we're doing, we can't even keep HOUSEPLANTS alive, blah blah blah panic worry etc.


Things That Suck:

Whopper tongue. I have this particular way that I like to eat Whopper candies: I bite them in two, eat one half, then suck on the other half until it eventually melts. Sadly, indulging in a nightly chocolate fix the last couple days has destroyed my tongue - it's like I've been beavering my way through particle board or something. It's almost bad enough that I'll have to take a break from the Whoppers. I said almost.

My hair dryer. This morning while I was drying my hair, I heard something break loose inside the housing and it immediately began making this horrible rattling sound and an acrid burning stench filled the air. Because I am so vain I would apparently rather set myself on FIRE than go to work with wet hair, I ran the thing for five more nerve-wracking minutes before finally turning it off, once and for all. RIP "patented ion air delivery system".

The movie "Forgotten". Oh dear god this was bad. So bad. The only way this movie could have been saved is if Julianne Moore would have flashed her naked girl parts, like she did in Short Cuts, so instead of sitting around wallowing in the shitty plotline people would be all "Well, that answers that - she's definitely a natural redhead".

My clothes. Because they are shrinking. It's weird, I wash my stuff on cold, but over the last few weeks they have steadily been getting smaller, especially my pants! Crazy. I for one just can't figure it out.

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