Cats and Dogs

So listen...I've been hearing a lot of complaining about the abundance of galoshes trudging their way through the city lately. "There are no swamps in NYC and we aren't going hunting, so what is with the rubber boots?" Well, I will tell you what is with the rubber boots. For those of you have ever been to NYC either during a tremendous rainstorm or as a big snow is melting, you know that there are water hazards that form at the corners and each and every intersection and while I would like to call them puddles, they aren't. They are bodies of water so large that they deserve to be named and added to the Manhattan maps. These suckers are so deep that should you unexpectedly find yourself stumbling into one, you had better hope that you've brought your mask and snorkel, because it it going to take some serious navigating to find your way back out. And those "puddles" ain't got nothing on the ones that form here in Hoboken. In Hoboken we lose whole roads when it rains hard and I don't mean like a small section of road, I mean entire blocks that suddenly go from being roads to canals. If I had a rowboat, it would be a far easier option for navigating through Hoboken on days like today when the rain just refuses to stop.



Today, after attempting to drive to the gym and being rejected due to said road flooding, I decided to re-park the car in our garage and then hoof it over instead. Now, I know some of you are thinking "If the roads aren't drivable, what made you think they were walkable?", but if you were nine months pregnant and getting in your daily workout was all that was keeping you sane, you too would ignore the warning signs and strike out for the gym. It started out as an easy walk. The sidewalks had managed to stay fairly water free despite the roads turning to canals and though I did have to step through some knee-deep "puddles" at a few intersections, I didn't hit anything too serious until I got within a block of the gym. It was at that point that I hit a new body of water which we shall name Lake Blocking-My-Way-to-the-Goldarn-Gym. And this is where it all comes back to the galoshes. Oh ye who think ye are too cool for rainboots, explain to me how I would have managed to wade across said Lake were it not for my knee high rubber boots? Tennis shoes? My tennis shoes get wet if a gray cloud so much as looks at them funny. Leather boots? Kiss those boots goodbye and still...soggy toes. Stilettos? Flats? Even my tried and true Uggs were no match for this lake. Only the fact that I am not in fact too cool to rock rubber boots saved me and enabled me to wade across Lake Blocking-My-Way-to-the-Goldarn-Gym so that I could get in my swim. Yes, I recognize the irony in wading across a lake to go for a swim, but again, were you nine months pregnant...we do what we have to do. And no, my rainboots are not a pretty purple like the ones in the picture above. Mine are a hunter not-trying-to-be-something-they're-not-but-just-admitting-that-they-are-rainboots-by-God-and-proud-of-it green. And I will wear them whenever I so choose. So says I.

(phew...that felt good...)

Pinky Swear

Dear Baby -

With only 3 weeks to go, let's make a pact. I will promise to stretch out my side body each and every day to give you as much growing room as possible. I will go to yoga and will learn all the ways in which I can give you (and my organs) more breathing space. In return, you promise not to kick me in the ribs and to try your best to keep your little butt down below rib level so that mommy does not moan and groan and jump 20 feet into the air as you strike out into some kind of rib-related bruise or nerve every hour.

Sound good?

Hugs and kisses for good behavior when you arrive.

Love,
Mom

The Sweetness of an Hour Well Spent

Have I ever mentioned that I love massage? I mean LOVE massage. If any of you are ever trying to decide what to get me for my birthday, Christmas, Mother's Day, Valentine's Day, heck, Labor Day, President's Day or any other Day ending in d-a-y, please know that a gift certificate for a massage is the way to go. Or a facial. I love a good facial too. I actually might typically love facials more than massages, but seeing as I'm now almost 37 weeks pregnant and have given up on having good skin again until after baby is born, I'm currently far more focused on the massages. Nothing feels as good right now as having somebody apply good focused pressure on those poor spots in my lower back which are forced to support and compensate for the 6lb+ weight that is now strapped to my mid-section. I could have kissed this woman today as she put her knee up on the table to give her extra force with which to apply pressure to my aching back. I could have, but I didn't. I hear that is frowned upon in the massage world. Regardless, today I took an hour out of my workday to go get a fantastic prenatal massage (Hello belly! So good to finally have been able to actually lie on you (with the help of some strategically placed support pillows) again!) and I can safely say that I am not experiencing so much as one ounce of guilt. My only regret lies in the fact that I am not yet rich enough to afford to get a massage once a day or, let's admit, even once a week. That said, I am plotting that if Orange Seed does not arrive on time, I may just need another massage for consolation. Seems only fair, right?

Wonder

Oh my gosh, what a beautiful day! It is a perfect 70 degree, crystal blue sky, sun shining down and brightening all the colors of the world kind of day. It's the kind of day that makes you want to dance down the street and stop to buy flowers from each of the streetside stalls just because.

Orange Seed, you and I are going to have so much fun on days like these. We are going to go for walks and relax in the park and we are going to do things like pick out flowers from the store, because you need to experience the magic of the seasons changing and to understand the love and appreciation that should flow from you every time the world decides to change her colors.

It's the kind of day when anything is possible and everyone feels it as they walk around with a secretive smile playing on their lips.

Chuck Norris Lives in My Uterus

Well, it's official. We are out of babies at the top of the screen, so I guess that means that Orange Seed really will make an appearance soon. I have to admit that I can't wait. While the first 8 months seemed to fly by, these last 5 weeks are dra-a-aging. When I think back on my first and second trimesters, the refrain "You don't know what you got til it's gone" pops into my head. Logically, I realize that the next 4.5 weeks will fly by, but when I sit here with an aching back and bruised and battered ribs, it certainly doesn't feel like time is doing anything but meandering slowly along, occasionally stopping to smell the flowers. Listen time, I know it is finally starting to feel like spring out there, but enough with the lallygagging, got it??

"Wait...bruised and battered ribs?" you ask. Why, yes. In the past couple weeks, Orange Seed has taken up the highly unnerving pastime of kicking and kneading and generally just beating on my ribs. On the one hand, it seems she is still head down (yay!) because I'm pretty sure that the culprits in this case are her feet. On the other hand, can we just talk about how much it hurts to have someone kicking you in the ribcage from the inside? (As an aside, I'm sure it doesn't feel good from the outside either, for those of you have had it happen and are about to interrupt, but somehow having it happen from within your own body is so much more disturbing. If you've seen Alien or if you've read the Twilight series, just picture the scenes of those little stomach born monsters trying to get out. Mmhmm. Just like that. At least if the beater is on the outside you have a chance to escape. There is no escaping Chuck Norris in your uterus!) On Monday, Orange Seed was exceptionally active and I swear she kicked and rubbed and battered my ribs non-stop for about 13 hours straight. This was not only exceedingly painful while it was happening, but the next day I felt like I was waking up after having gone round for round with Muhammad Ali the night before. My poor ribs are so sore that it hurts to sit, let alone move. There is also apparently a sweet spot in there that when she kicks it, it not only aches, but it sends a searing pain all through my upper body. What is that?? And do I need it, because I'm pretty sure she is trying to put it out of commission?! And why, oh why, did the person who planned this whole pregnancy thing out not find a way to keep baby BELOW the ribcage? For all the times that I wondered if God might be a woman, being pregnant has 100% solidified the fact that nope, no female planning here. No woman would let the baby come up into your ribcage because she would realize that on top of all the other "special" things you experience during pregnancy, experiencing this as well is just not fair. Additionally, a woman would not have included bad skin in the pregnancy equation because, well, come on...honestly. Ooh, nor would a woman have allowed for the period-like bleeding that I am apparently going to have for days to weeks after the birth. Sorry if that is TMI, but these are the things you start to learn as you get closer and closer to D-Day and these are the things that make you go "hmm...".

Outside of being beaten up by my unborn child (I knew we were in trouble when her last ultrasound pic showed her flexing!), I have been busy trying to knock out the last few things we need to get done before the birth. This week we've been visiting pediatricians, which is enlightening and totally confusing all at the same time. We've also been working on things like making sure our insurance is good to go, getting Chris a new/working cell phone so that when I go into labor I am not scrambling to get ahold of him, taking some trips to the Salvation Army to make a little more space in here, and just generally getting organized and prepared.

I've also been trying to keep up the workout routine, though I have to admit that it is getting a little more burdensome these days. Swimming is still a great workout and relief, but jogging is definitely out now. I kind of saw it coming, but the last two times I've tried to switch from a brisk walk to a jog, I've gotten a horrible cramp in my lower right side that takes minutes to go away, so after getting the cramp for the third time today, I think it is officially time to admit jogging defeat. This is especially hard now that the weather is so nice. Yes, I can still go for long walks, in fact, Orange Seed and I took a nice 4 mile walk this morning, but it is still torturous to see everyone else flying by, their legs pumping, sweat pouring off of them. I hate not being able to pick up the pace. But if I can't run/jog for just the last 4 weeks of pregnancy, I guess that is really nothing to cry about. Lord knows it could be far worse. Getting to do a lot more yoga lately has helped fill the void. Since I've finally been home for some solid weeks/weekends, I'm finally managing to make it back out to yoga and pilates. It's so funny to now be the Senior person in those classes. Last week in pilates, all the 20 week pregnant women were complaining about "popping" and how "huge" they are and how much they "ache" and I just wanted to say "Oh, ladies...if you only KNEW what you are in for. You can't feel that bad now! You are barely pregnant!" That's right. I am that woman now. Now I know why all the 35 week pregnant people just looked at me like "Oh please, you are SO not pregnant" when I was in there at 12 weeks. They were right. I was SO not pregnant. NOW I am pregnant. You have to earn your pregnancy badge. Only bruised ribs and an aching back will really get you into the club. Until your child is beating you up from the inside and you can't sit in one position for more than 5 minutes, I don't want to hear it.

Okay, kidding, kidding...everyone is different and everyone has a different reaction to pregnancy. Pregnant friends, do not be afraid to call and complain. I will totally sympathize, even if you are only at 12 weeks. Of course, I may also have to pause mid-call to groan in pain and push my baby's legs out of my ribs...just sayin'.

The Sky is Falling

I originally wanted to title this post "Reason #477 Why I Hate Jersey," but I decided that was a little over dramatic, so instead I settled on "The Sky is Falling," which I realize also sounds dramatic, but in this case, it is TRUE.

Today was a relaxing day. I went to pilates this morning, then we went out and did our part - donating to the Salvation Army, then we came back and installed the baby seat in the car (It fit! Hallelujah!) and then we settled in for a nice afternoon of vegging on the couch while watching the ACC tournament games.

But all that calm and serenity came to a halt at 10:12 tonight when suddenly...
*drip*
*drip*
Erin: *blink blink* Did you see that?
Chris: What?
*drip*
(two sets of eyes slowly move to the ceiling above the couch)
*drip*
Erin: Oh my god...the ceiling is definitely leaking.
*drip* (off to the right)
Chris: You are totally right.
*drip* (from somewhere behind)
Erin: In numerous spots!
(two sets of eyes look up again and see...
Chris: *giggle*

So, since we are not on the top floor, water dripping from the ceiling seems especially strange, even despite the storm that has been raging outside all day long. Of course, my first suspicion is Captain Suckage upstairs who has tormented us with his elephant footfalls and constant furniture rearranging since the day we moved in. I figured this was just his newest, most imaginative way of torturing us. But nope...Chris went up to the fourth floor to let Captain Horrendous know that he was flooding us and it turns out (we should have known from the serene stillness we had enjoyed all afternoon) he's not home. Hmm...so it was off to the neighbors to beg the number of the property management company. God bless our neighbors who not only found us the number and called for us (Our neighbor rocks. Under his silver tongue, our dripping ceiling quickly became a "gushing torrent of water" which he guaranteed would get the management company's attention sooner.), but who also came over and were able to tell us that the guy above us has a balcony with a sliding glass door and that this isn't the first time they've had a leaking problem because of it.

I knew he was evil.

30 minutes later, after we've sprung two more leaks, the Property Management Company finally calls. When you picture this conversation, picture the guy talking with a thick Jersey accent, because I'm sorry, but it just makes the story even more special.

Property Mgmt Guy: Yeah, uh, we got a call about this address...
Me: Yes, we called because our ceiling is leaking in numerous spots and we're trying to figure out what we are supposed to do.
Property Mgmt Guy: Yeah, well, that's bound to happen.
Me: *stupefied silence* what?
Property Mgmt Guy: Well, with the rain, we've gotten like 100 calls. It's bound to happen.
Me: Yeah, okay, but we're not even on the top floor...
Property Mgmt Guy: Hmm, yeah, well listen, it's gonna happen. What you gotta do now is poke a hole in the area that's leaking because you gotta drain it so it doesn't just keep getting worse...

At this point, Chris must have seen the look of horror on my face because he confiscated the phone and finished the rest of the conversation, but seriously...
"That's bound to happen"???
My ceiling is bound to leak when it rains?
Really?
Wow, clearly all this time I have been confused about the very nature of a ceiling, about it's reason for existing. I had the impression that the ceiling was there to keep OUT the rain. I mean, that's what all my other ceilings have done, but now I guess I know that those ceilings were confused as to their purpose and mission. Ceilings "are bound" to let in rain. Who knew?
"That's bound to happen."
Nice.

Needless to say, Property Mgmt Guy was not overly helpful, so here we sit, pots and pans spread around the room, towels covering so much of the floor that we look like we are trying out a new beach themed decorating scheme. And maybe it's just my imagination, but I think it's getting chillier in here. That said, we haven't sprung a new leak in at least 10 minutes, which gives me great hope. And, suspiciously, about 10 minutes ago we heard a strange screeching, sliding sound, that definitely could have been a sliding glass door. My guess? Captain Chaos upstairs came home, realized he had neglected to CLOSE his sliding glass door during this monsoon, shut it, and now we are experiencing a slowdown in the level of water as the problem has all but been solved. Chris thinks I'm crazy, but seriously...it definitely could have been the sound of a sliding glass door closing. Plus, I like to blame everything on the guy upstairs because he is my arch nemesis. My being woken up at 8am to the sound of a vacuum overhead? His fault. Our sitting here with clenched jaws because every 5 minutes a huge BANG erupts from above as he lets some new object slide through his butterfingers? His fault. The fact that it's raining? His fault. The fact that the price of a grande mocha at Starbucks went up? His fault. The reason we can't solve this whole healthcare issue? His fault. All perfectly logical things to blame him for.
*drip*
*drip*
*drip*
*drip*
Regardless, I am now surrounded by pots and pans slowly filling with water. And I may have to sleep with one on my head just in case that side of the apartment decides to erupt tonight. This is great entertainment 5 weeks before the baby arrives. Nothing like a good diversion to keep up the excitement.


By the way, if this baby is late...I'm totally blaming the dude upstairs.

It Demands a Sacrifice

Last night I woke up in a new and exciting way.

At 445am, I was awoken by the sound of my stomach growling and when I say growling, I don't mean grumbling or rumbling or any of those other cutesy terms people use to describe their stomachs' hunger signals. When Pooh Bear would talk about a "rumbly in (his) tumbly," he had no idea how much worse it could be. I mean last night my stomach did not rumble, it full on ROARed. I mean I awoke to my stomach growling "WAKE UP AND EAT BEFORE I EAT YOU!!!!" Along with the growling of my stomach, Orange Seed was throwing herself all over in there, I'm sure terrified that she was under attack by a herd of wild boar or better yet, yeti. Honestly...you have never heard anything like it. I laid there for 15 minutes thinking "This can't be happening. My stomach can't possibly be waking me up at 445am to eat. I mean come on...there is pregnant and then there is stupid pregnant." But after 15 minutes, the growling hadn't subsided and was, in fact, getting worse, so I finally did the only thing I could do. I dragged my sleepy, confused self out of bed and into the kitchen for a granola bar.

Now, maybe I should have known better. It did occur to me when I went to sleep that I probably hadn't gotten enough calories yesterday. Between working out hard that afternoon and then running off to Newborn Care class last night so that dinner consisted of one tiny turkey wrap, I kind of figured I probably should have forced some more food down once we got home last night. But here's the thing...I didn't feel hungry! I just didn't. My stomach wasn't making any noises at the reasonable time of 930pm about wanting more food, so by the time I went to bed at 11, I just sort of figured everything was working out. Oh how wrong I was. I am paying for that calorie deficit today. Not only did I have the 445am wake-up, but ever since I got up at 900am this morning, my stomach has been on a rampage. I couldn't get to that bowl of Cheerios quick enough. I followed that about 30 minutes later with a banana. I followed that about an hour or two later with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a handful of baby carrots. And now, only oh...20 minutes later, I am STARVING again. I mean my God, you would think I had fasted for a month.

So I guess the lesson here is that should you find yourself in the position of being responsible for growing within your belly a child who, at this point, is supposed to be gaining approximately .5lbs per week, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, FEED THE BELLY!!! The belly knows that you are supporting not just one life, but two, right now and it demands a sacrifice.

Nesting Like a Maniac

Dear Orange Seed -

It is getting harder and harder to focus on anything but you and your upcoming arrival. I find myself triple checking lists of Must Haves, making sure that we've purchased everything necessary for your first weeks home. I have been reorganizing drawers and shelves, making room for all of your belongings. I keep looking around the house finding things that need to be moved, taken care of, sorted, or managed before you get here. I can't seem to focus on anything but you or things related to you. How I will make it through the next 40 days is beyond me. I don't believe that I'll be acting like much more than a twirping mama bird by the time you actually arrive.

Also, I accidentally bumped you into the car door today. Despite being unable to focus on anything but you, I sometimes forget how large you have gotten and misjudge the kinds of spaces I can fit through. I really did think that I could open the car door and still have room to squeeze between the car and the truck in the next space. Nope. So...sorry about that.

Oh and it turns out you like the soundtrack from Rent. You definitely started dancing when it came on this afternoon. This makes Mama very happy. I can't wait to sing to you when you are out here and not hidden beneath layers of body.

And now, back to work. See? You did it again. Completely distracted me from what I'm SUPPOSED to be doing. 40 days...

Now You See It, Now You Don't

Lately, I have noticed something entertaining happening at the gym. I've watched people who have only seen me from the back do a double-take as I turn to face them or as they suddenly catch a glimpse of my profile. This happens typically when either I was on the treadmill in front of them and they haven't seen my front/side until I step off post-workout or when I am over lifting weights and all you can see until you walk up next to me is my body from either the shoulders up or hips down, depending on where you might be standing amongst the weight machines. The look goes a little like this: normal eyes meet mine and smile politely, then said eyes glance down, take in my ginormous belly, widen to the size of saucers and look back up at me all startled and and alarmed. Now listen, on the one hand, I take this as a huge compliment. I take this to mean that I am not obviously pregnant from the back nor am I swelling as the books say I will. This week, the book says I should watch out for chipmunk cheeks. Chipmunk cheeks? Seriously? I think not! At any rate, I thought a little photo aid, for those of you who haven't seen me in awhile, might help you understand the gym scenario.

Picture #1 - Erin From the Back

Picture #2 - Erin From the Side

Reality of the pictures? Erin is now a full 34 weeks pregnant and what was once a little Orange Seed is now a hefty 5lb "pineapple" who has pushed out my stomach, ribs, and hips to make enough room for her ever growing mass. Notice too that in order to make these pics of the Gym Experience especially realistic, I took them right after I got back from a good long workout. Nothing like pics of a sweaty pregnant lady to start the day off right, no?

I should probably be taking pictures every week at this point. I certainly feel like my belly is now growing with every day. It's amazing how things have changed in just a couple of weeks. I'm finally the one in yoga class who can't bend into certain positions without the help of a block. Orange Seed now moves constantly, to the point where though I still love feeling her squirming around in there, I also occasionally want to tell her to take it easy. The fact that her new favorite place to put her feet is up under my ribcage makes some of her sweet movements a little harsher than necessary. Also, the fact that she will now occasionally do what I swear must be a full 360-somersault in there is making some of her escapades feel more like a bad case of seasickness than like the sweet tickles of baby toes. Seeing as she weighed 4lbs6oz at our last appointment and is supposed to be gaining nearly .5lbs per week, Orange Seed could now be weighing in at over 5lbs total. Incredible to think that she is somehow going to manage to pack on another 3 or so lbs before it is time for her to emerge. I'm not totally convinced that there is room in there for another 3lbs. I've been getting some pretty intense shots of pain through my ribs lately and I'm thinking that it's because they are being forced to expand with her increase in size. I've got to believe there is only so far they can go before we start seeing breakage. But then, the body is certainly an amazing thing and who knows...maybe those ribs are made of more flexible material than I have previously been informed. Let's hope so, otherwise it might be time to invest in a corset to keep those suckers in place.

Sometimes February Showers Bring March Flowers

So we finally get to see Orange Seed again and is she eager to show off her pretty profile or her so cute they're practically edible toes? Nope. Every time the tech tried to snap a photo of her cuddlier bits, she kicked and squirmed and left us with only the blur of a foot in flight. From our long anticipated session we came away with one pic of her five (phew!) toes, one pic of her face (straight on so that she looks more like Skeletor than a pretty baby princess), one pic of her fat rolls (That's right - fat rolls. The tech was very excited to catch a pic in which you can supposedly see some little belly rolls. Honestly, I'm a little relieved that our baby HAS fat rolls. Between Chris and I, I was worried she might come out a skinny little string bean.). Oh! And the final pic...the only one I really like...it is a picture in which, I kid you not, Orange Seed is welcoming all viewers to the "gun show". She is FLEXING! It is a picture of her little fist, arm, bicep...Apparently all of these gym sessions are rubbing off on Little Miss Orange Seed and she is coming out already proud to have been working on her fitness. She is not my daughter at all...

Honestly though, this kid will be here in just over 6 weeks and she has already taken over both our lives and our apartment. I've been teasing Chris about the fact that the only person whose welfare he checks on lately is Orange Seed (It is not true, by the way, for those who are gasping. I kid. I kid.). "How's my daughter?" "How's our Orange Seed?" "How's my baby today?" Her mother has taken a slight backseat. And the apartment. Oh my lord. Having a baby truly does equate to having a third roommate move in, although worse in terms of the stuff that comes along with the new roomie because usually a roommate doesn't warrant a deluge of gifts from family and friends. Between the clothes and the toys and the blankets and the furniture and the strollers and the bottles and the diapers and and and...we're going to have to get this kid her own place! And she's not even here yet. You know there will be a second round of "Oh crap, we really need..." items once she actually arrives, so what is here now is only the beginning.

But trust me, I am by no means complaining about all the amazing things we've gotten. The past two weekends were spent attending my AMAZING showers with family and friends and we could not be more thrilled and awed by how incredibly generous everyone was. Two weekends in a row we have now driven home with a car packed to bursting with baby goodies. I say we have driven home...technically, Aunt Sue and Lisa were nice enough to drive all our stuff home from the Williamsburg shower. A darn good thing since even the two humongous suitcases we brought weren't enough to allow us to get everything home on the plane. There is so much to say about the showers, that they really deserve their own entry, so I won't get into the details yet, but let's just say that there are far too few occasions on which you get to have all of your female family members and female friends in one place. Those are still some of my most treasured memories from our wedding - the two bridal showers in which I was lucky enough to get such a large number of aunts, cousins, grandmas, friends from across the country, etc. in one place. Getting to do that again through my Williamsburg and DC showers was just as incredible. We really out to get to have "showers" for far more life occasions. There is something very special about a gathering of women - a little magic - generations of wisdom and commonalities that come together in one wonderful day of bonding over stories of life and love. I am blessed to have so many incredible women in my life and having them all in one place just makes my heart soar. Orange Seed has no idea what a loving, caring, amazing group of women are here awaiting her arrival. As one friend said in her card, "Orange Seed already has a tightly woven group of friends and family ready to support her 100% as she makes her way through life." Who could ask for more than that?