Let Me Tell You About This Cookie I Had Today...

I know it sounds inane, but bear with me. These are the things that thrill a pregnant woman when all other functions in daily life have been limited to physical movement in slow motion, grunts and groans of effort to move in slow motion, and the hourly search for stretch marks on certain expanding body parts.

It wasn’t just any cookie. It was the one you get when you shell out $130 to stay at a Doubletree Hotel. But I didn’t have to plop down the cash for it. I got to eat it at my desk at work and it seemed fresh out of a some mysterious oven (what oven where, I'm not sure). Of course I would’ve rather been lying in the hotel’s giant, cozy bed someone else was going to have to make the next morning and mindlessly pump the channels on the remote while eating said cookie but I’m just grateful that the cookie showed up out of nowhere in it’s own little brown paper sack with "Eat Me" practially written all over it. Oh, and here are a few of the ingredients…sugar, brown sugar, Ghirardelli Chocolate Chips, walnuts, and cinnamon. Could you just die? Type on the bag says, “In other words, we think cookies are the perfect way for us to say “Welcome.” I say, “Welcome to my gullet.”

I haven’t mentioned any progress on the construction of our house lately because it has become an unbearable topic to address without tears and the ripping out of new prenatal hair growth. I had begun referring to the project as “taking the Autobahn to divorce court,” but for the safety of others and my own sanity, I have recently removed myself from the speeding car. I am no longer a passenger, driver, or infant in the car seat. My husband is now in charge of all decisions being made with the help of one very talented designer (“Holly, you are THE BEST!”) and someday, hopefully before Halloween, Christmas or New Years 2008, our home will be completed (and it won’t resemble Lampoon’s Animal House). In the meantime, I am pretending that I have a nest to feather for the baby (due in 7 weeks!), going through the motions of preparing for it's arrival (i.e., laundry and completion of birth plan) and exhausting the Serenity Prayer.


This is my wonderful designer in her kick ass Van Halen t-shirt circa 1984.


















This is the guy taking over the house remodel. Am I in trouble? You bet!

It's Been Too Long...

Latest baby stats: I’ve gained 25 pounds (only 3 lbs. away from outweighing my husband!), the head is pointed in the right direction (down, that is) and Junebug is weighing in at 4.5 lbs. (with a margin of error of 6 ounces). “Hello, Baby Huey!” With a straight face, the nurse said, “You’re going to have at least an 8 pound baby.” Insert belly zipper here. We did a sonogram “just for fun” and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the little tyke's face. The detail was incredible, as if I was looking through a window to my belly. I couldn’t get a good read on the shape of the nose though. Sorta looked to me like someone had erased it with White-Out.



Over the 4th of July weekend, I met the husband in Nashville for our two-hour drive to Kentucky to see family. In Dallas, my plane was delayed which was fine because I was IN the airport. When we boarded, we were delayed again but this time we were ON the tarmac for almost two hours. I pretended to have things under control as baby crawled up into my ribcage, played hacky-sack with my bladder and tried to kick the lady sitting next to me (I swear!). As my feet and legs began to swell, I silently called out for my mother. Had a minor melt down upon arriving at the airport but hubby plied me with a lovely Asian hand fan and a book he had purchased while vacationing, I mean, working in Nashvegas.

Early one morning while sleeping in our little cottage on Kentucky Lake, I was doing my full body stretch, one that I now have to navigate with a part of my brain that isn’t sleeping at the time to insure that I don’t stretch too far. If I don’t, I either pull something scary down in my abdomen region or I guarantee myself a Charley Horse. This morning, I got the Horse. Right calf, blinding pain, twisted toes, blood curdling yells of “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, no! Oh, God!” My husband, who was having dreams of flyfishing and catching mermaids with big hooters (okay, I made that part up), freaked. “Grab my toes and push, grab my toes and push, “ I roared to him as he climbed on all fours and headed to the foot of the bed. In about a minute, the whole scene was under control and I promptly rolled over (to my left side, the side I will never sleep on again after this baby is born) and went back to sleep. At lunch the next day, we talked about the incident as I massaged my sore calf under the table. He explained to me that he thought I was in labor and couldn’t recall the part that they taught us in prenatal class that involved the “pushing up of toes.” It never dawned on me that he might’ve thought Junebug was on its way to meet us. I felt very proud that he would do whatever I asked in the midst of confusion, pain, and grogginess…kinda like being in the delivery room, no? I think I’ll demand Tiffany earrings when I’m 10 centimeters.



So we had great fun with the fam, many laughs, and really enjoyed the time spent in cooler temperatures. Before we left town, I got to visit with a dear friend who is the mother of the loveliest little man I've ever seen and had the privilege of meeting. She gave me tons of baby booty, things a mommy really needs...because SHE KNOWS. I am forever grateful for her generosity.



The flight back was full of delays but I was with hubby and that made it bearable. I arrived home completely exhausted and with a lovely set of cankles. What are cankles, you query? Well, it's when your ankles become the size of your calves and when you poke them, it leaves an indentation. Did I mention that I cried when I saw them? Well, I did.