Grape Did It

Moving, two words: bite me

For several weeks now we've been preparing for our move this past weekend and, much like expected, I have even fewer brain cells now than I did a few days ago. Saturday Bud and I took several "lighter" loads to the new house, I waited on the cable guy (be vewy, vewy careful, if you use their name, they comment) and then yesterday we did the bulk of the move work with Bud's parents in town. Which in and of itself saved our lives. I have no idea how we moved the first two times with all of our crap, though I assume it was with a lot of UNKIND WORDS.

I like to sum it all up like this. MOVING: A STORY:

Yesterday I walked into our new bedroom to turn on the one small lamp we now have placed in there since we are severely short a few lamps now that we have more than three rooms (DEEP BREATH) and realized the bulb was blown. I shook it vigorously, which probably does not help if it is indeed un-blown, but sure enough I heard that tinny telltale sound. SO. I walked into the kitchen to search for the box that had light bulbs in it and when I couldn't find any in there, I moved to the new play/guest room to search in there. Turns out a bulb was out in that room as well. This one, however, necessitated a call to Bud since the bulb had not only blown but broken into the light fixture. I had scary images of all of my hair standing up on end and for one brief, terrifying moment, my skeleton showing through my skin.

Once I called Bud into the room I ended up moseying to the back door which is when I realized the outside light was also blown which just INCREASED THE DESPERATE NEED FOR MY SEARCH. By now though the room was dark since Bud had to turn on the light so the above see-through skeleton scenario didn't happen to him and I was having a hard enough time locating the damn box with the lights on. Bud was finally able to extract the broken bulb and I began ripping open boxes again.

Which is when I ACTUALLY FOUND THE BOX OF BULBS. I believe if you have moved in the last five years you will understand how opening a box and actually finding what you are looking for is nothing short of a small miracle. I replaced the outside light, the once-broken play room light and made it back to our room to fix the lamp.

THEN carried on with my original work.

Think long and hard, these are world issues

There are a few things I am genuinely nervous about when it comes time to squeeze this probably-large headed baby out of a small canal in my body. Side note: honestly, I know people have talked this subject to death, but does it seem just a TAD ODD that our bodies are asked to do something so very nearly impossible? I've seen fish have babies and DUDE, the ratio there is much more forgiving.

Anyway. Aside from the obvious basketball out of a golf-ball sized hole thing, I have some...uh...more practical concerns. So for all of you mothers, or friends of mothers, or my aunt's friend's daughter had THIS experience, please share with me some of the tips or solutions to these puzzles.

Number one: Pooping on the delivery table. And yes, I have heard in all the excitement no one will even notice. Maybe not but I don't really feel like testing that theory with my first go. I am sure, no doubt, every nurse out there has a OH MY GOD YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE story about one of his or her moms in delivery. Do I consume mass quantities of fiber leading up to due date? Or does this only backfire in that I ate four apples and three bowls of mini-wheats and whoops! also went out for Mexican last night and here comes the baby?

Number two: I like to call this little issue Sasquatch Crotch. I'm sorry if it offends. But how in God's name does any expectant mother fix her bikini line, or worse, bikini line that now looks like a squirrel has taken up residence because my belly is too big to see down there anymore? I've considered going to get it waxed but the one and only time I've been to wax I felt like maybe I should have bought the technician dinner afterwards, it was only the right thing to do. It's just so...intimate, and I don't even consider myself particularly shy.

Those are my big two right now. But I will continue to ask as they come. And they will come.

Up yours Charter

Yesterday I came home for lunch with a few, distinct tasks to get done. One was to let the dogs out, that unending task that means that if one of us is out of town (WONDER WHICH ONE?), the other picks up extra dog slack and may, under no circumstances, go out to lunch with her friends. Secondly, to make my way down a list of utility and other companies to call and switch service or addresses or both. Yesterday I made it to calling the water board but it did not end well. Lastly, almost lastly rather, I had to feed myself and then LASTLY LASTLY I wanted to go to the TCBY near my office for some frozen yogurt that had popped into my head from God knows where but I NEEEEEDED it.

The following happened all within my alloted lunch hour and then outside of my alloted lunch hour because you will see why:

Called the electric company. Because Bud originally set up I need his social security number. I call him on his cell for social. As he is trying to answer me, the woman on the other end of our house phone politely remarks, oh wait, he'll have to call, you aren't even ON HIS ACCOUNT (my emphasis). I guess that was pre-marriage but STILL. Who is on there BUD, JUST WHO?

I moved on to the water board in order that we can do nice things like flush the toilet and then ALSO wash our hands afterwards. Modern technology. Halfway through that phone call my GODDAMN CHARTER INTERNET AND PHONE SERVICE CUT OUT. I am sitting on the phone going hello! HELLO?! Assuming the rude person had hung up on me when no, no it is as simple as your extremely expensive phone service cutting out in the middle of a random Tuesday because they couldn't think of anything better to do. LIKE PROVIDE GOOD SERVICE.

At this point, having taken the dogs out and also shoveled down some lunch, I glanced at the clock and realized if that dream of frozen yogurt was ever going to happen, it had better happen now so I grabbed the list of IMPORTANT NUMBERS and ran out of the house, sure I could make one teeny call from work.

Haul-ass to TCBY. Attempt to go through drive-through but realize my car is facing the wrong way. Have images of frozen yogurt being thrown at me from the passenger seat window. Turn around and begin to order which is when the slightly chagrined yogurt server informs me that yes, the window does face the wrong way and sorry, I can serve you, but if a cop sees you sitting this way (THE RIGHT WAY) you'll probably get a ticket. Screw that, I'll come in. Which I do after finding a painstakingly difficult parking spot. Which is when the yogurt machine runs out of the vanilla they were serving me.

Fly to work much later with dripping yogurt (they re-filled the machine), and call the water board. This works perfectly. Later call Bud and find out that I signed up incorrectly because APPARENTLY we already had an account which might minimize our sign-up fee. TELL HIM TO DO IT HIS OWN DAMN SELF.

Drive home, nearly get into a rear-end accident (no seriously, one of those slam-on-break moments where everything in the car lurches forward either onto the floor board or your head). Do you know WHY I nearly got into an accident (besides my bad driving)? CHARTER PHONE AND INTERNET SERVICES WAS BLOCKING MY ROUTE HOME WITH THEIR TRUCKS.

A well placed call to a sister

"Summer, I swear I'm addicted to Trisquits! I get a family size box once every few days. I kept reaching and reaching into the box today not realizing I wasn't getting anything because it was already empty!"

"Well, honestly, they're pretty much just made of wheat, I wouldn't worry too much."

"True, I did check the ingredients."

"And really? They don't put all that many in a box."

"Good point."

20 weeks

I was at a party last night when another woman remarked, wow, you're small for 20 weeks. I nearly cocked my head at her, all, do what? Until she said SHE gained 98 pounds with her little one. Oh. Checkmate.

So help me if someone starts quoting The Little Engine that Could

I have now hit the point in my pregnancy, just in the very few last days, where I am beginning to wonder things like, "Wait, I have four more months?" and specifically Wednesday night and this morning, "Just how much bigger can I get?" I think Tuesday or Wednesday at some point my body was all, OH MY GOD SHE'S PREGNANT and then my belly went bloop! and came charging out.

I plan to post 20 week pictures sometime this weekend but when I look at that number all I can think is halfway. HALFWAY? Don't get me wrong, since the nausea has gone away I have actually enjoyed this pregnancy. I like the feeling of knowing I am a tiny little person's human cocoon, okay now that I put it that way more creepy than sweet but you feel me. And yet when I think about the exponential growth I have waiting for me in the next few months I feel less tender and more, uhhhh. Ummm. Excuse me? I know MILLIONS OF OTHER WOMEN DO THIS EVERYDAY and all that? But I just might have walked down a path that I can't cash.

I'd like to say our trash pile is larger than our keep pile, but sadly it is not

Yesterday I set myself the evening task of packing up the bathroom before precious, precious Lost came on when I would be forced to halt all productivity and spend the next hour cursing at commercials. I know, I know. They've been a frustration ever since Saturday morning cartoons but during this show they border on cruel.

I began by making a trash pile, a giveaway pile - no, not a giveaway pile in the bathroom as I'm PRETTY SURE no one wants small packets of old Sudafed OR MAYBE THEY DO - and the remainder into a plastic tub to then be UNLOADED at our new house (can you tell how fond I am of packing and unpacking?)

As I'm rummaging through a basket, one of the ones I bought in some misguided flurry towards organization that then turned into, hey! There's a basket! Throw something random into it and it looks nicer in here! I find a very small bottle of my mother's perfume that I somehow garnered years ago when she probably had some extra and let me take with me to college or something. I have a small obsession with smells and whereas you might wear an old boyfriend's sweatshirt on a nostalgic day? I might try to find his cologne at the drugstore and sniff it for a few sad moments. Yes drugstore, it was college. Sheesh.

Aaanyway. This particular perfume is worth more than my life so I just ever so delicately pulled the stopper, put it up to my nose and inhaled that comforting smell in before rolling my eyes at my sentimentality, plugging the stopper and tossing it back into the basket to travel with me to another house. Which is right around the time Bud waltzes into the bathroom. You should know why this is a problem. I love to throw stuff away. In fact, much as I think moving is the equivalent of going straight to hell, it is nice in the sense of purging yourself of unneeded crap. Why in the world do I have an partially used, opened packet of mud mask? No, no, more importantly, why have I KEPT IT ALL THESE YEARS? Bud, on the other hand, might look at that packet of hardened crap and muse, "Hm, I wonder how else we could use it?" BY THROWING IT AWAY, THAT'S HOW.

I felt my blood pressure rise slightly as he browsed the throw away pile, pulling up an old bottle of cologne HE HAS NEVER USED SINCE WE HAVE DATED I SWEAR and wondering whether he should keep it. Which is when he sprayed some into the air to, "let me know how it smells". And I agreed that it was pleasant but come on, the nozzle is broken off and you don't wear cologne am I right? He continued to stare at it before giving it the kiss of death by adding morosely, "But an ex-girlfriend gave this to me."

We also pulled ANOTHER bottle of old cologne, spritzing this one into the air, wondering does THIS ONE merit saving before deciding no, it too shall go. Though it cost him $40, Bud finally relented.

People. This story has officially gone nowhere . Absolutely NOWHERE and I have no idea how to finish it. I was thinking about saying something about a perfume headache because if you followed, there was a lot of perfume going on in that room such that I will probably always see this episode of Lost and think, huh, why does it remind me of scents from the past? BUT THAT'S ALL I GOT. And no time before work to end it properly. Feel free to comment an alternate ending.

If I can't drink, I will at least pinch

"Hooope?"

"What?"

"Where's my green shirt?"

"I have no idea!"

"But I don't want to keep getting pinched!"

Letter to Cider, 19 weeks

Dear Baby Cider,

I didn't realize how long it had been that I'd written you a letter until I compared the dates of this entry to the last. Over a month and though I didn't give myself any strict instructions for when to write these, I certainly intended them for at least every few weeks.

Maybe that is something you'll inherit from me - lots of good intention with only adequate follow-through. I won't go so far as to say no follow-through but I do have a lazy streak that is broken up by moments of frenetic activity. Or maybe you'll inherit your father's ability to do! do! do! Does it need doing? Then we will do! Right now! Whereas I'd rather write it down on a list and attack it one morning after three cups of coffee. In which case, IT ALL MUST BE DONE NOW SIMULTANEOUSLY. I wonder which of us you will take after the most, but don't think I won't try to impart some of my Jimmy Buffett attitude in your direction. Pour mama another glass of wine and here, here's another brownie, we'll tackle that project tomorrow.

These past few weeks have seen two distinct, and wonderful, changes in my pregnancy with you. First - and I think this deserves a drum roll - the nausea has ended. Last Friday morning, a day before week 18 began, I woke up and just knew I had turned that corner. That son-of-a-bitch corner that took its ever-so-sweet time to arrive. No joke I felt like Cinderella in that one scene where all of the little forest creatures begin to fly into her bedroom window and alight on her shoulders and whatnot. I FELT THAT GOOD. This is a cliche that I sort of hope you get early in life but then again sort of hope you never do come to understand the meaning of. Good health is everything. It's true what they say about the sun in your eyes or the promotion you didn't get - if you and your loved ones have their health, you have everything. I say that not because I experienced an incurable or chronic illness, but because I believe those thirteen weeks of hell gave me a glimpse into what it might be like to feel sick all of the time and I will not take feeling normal for granted ever again. It's a strong and dramatic statement I know, so feel free to remind me of it next time the complaining begins drowning out the sounds of all of those pesky woodland creatures.

Speaking of Disney movies, your father and I do not agree on how much - if any - television is appropriate for a growing child's brain. Quite frankly I say next to none seeing as how stupid I feel after a few episodes of The Real Housewives of New York, asking questions vaguely aimed at your father, all, "Why did Ramona even SAY THAT to the governor of New York at that Social Life party!?" Plus I just read another study, another one of those self-righteous, all SCIENCY STUDIES, that said not even videos aimed at children or babies is truly helpful in brain development. My guess is that when you are home with me the TV will remain mostly off, but I cannot vouch for when your father gets home and you are asking me questions about people who drive heavy trucks across great expanses of ICE. Yes, ice. But can't it break and create a really dangerous situation?Yes darling. And that is called testosterone. I will explain that ever present chemical in our household to you someday. And perhaps, if you are a boy, you will join your father in shushing me when, GASP! Something terrible just happened to one of those drivers! YOU DON"T SAY?!

But no, the most remarkable, wonderful, this-next-paragraph-will-be-gooey thing to happen to me, to us, this month is the fact that I can now feel you tumbling around in my lower belly. Some days it feels like you are just practicing your reflexes - gentle but odd feeling movements - and yet other times, especially in the last couple of days, I'll feel a small but distinct jab. Something, perhaps, of a reminder of just what your father and I have really gotten ourselves into.

And someday, if there is a heaven and if by some miracle I make it there, and if God asks me what my favorite part of being alive was? Well, up until this point, it will be take me less than a second to reply, those first few kicks.

That's $100 an ounce and you just washed it off with Suave!

Last night we were again graced with the foul odor of dog-roll perfume. Bud took the dogs out to run and when he returned I lovingly bent down to kiss Copper's neck. I quickly brought my face back, all, "It's! It's! OHGODBUUUUD!" who came running into the kitchen to inspect the situation. Sure enough, on the side of his neck, was ground in assy-smell, no doubt from a good romp with a long-dead animal. You should know that when we take the dogs with us to workout it is at an old office complex in the woods. We run around the track, as the dogs run free in the middle portion - which includes woods and plenty of space for mischief.

The entire time I was bathing Copper I kept up a monologue of something like, WHY? WHY DOES HE DO THIS? HOW DOES HE FIND THESE ANIMALS? To which Bud might reply, because he LIKES the smell! And then me, WHY DOES HE LIKE THIS SMELL?

Maybe my favorite part of the whole I've-rolled-in-dead-animal portion of dog ownership is the care with which they get it RIGHT at the pulse points, ground in just at the neck. Just like their mothers showed them. I imagine the conversation at the perfume counter goes something like this:

"I'm looking for something new, something strong no doubt, something gag-inducing. What have you got?"

"Ah yes, yes sir, I have just the thing. Brought in yesterday from the immensely popular Roadkill shop in New York."

"Sniiifff. Ah well, I liiike it, but it's not quite as powerful as I was hoping. I'm really looking for something that may realistically make my humans vomit. I mean TRULY VOMIT."

"Okay, okay, I understand. How about this one? Essence of dead raccoon, rabbit and rodent. It also contains a background scent of garbage sitting in the sun all day and fish market at closing time. The essential oils are not harvested until at least three weeks postmortem."

"Sniff. Quite right! That's the one! Bag it up!"