Where's my belly button?

Have you seen it? Because I can't find it. It was there a few weeks ago when I last looked at it, but now, well now it's not where it should be. Hmmmm.....where could it have gone to?

Ultrasound

Yesterday, Thursday the 22nd, Theric and I got to take a black-and-white look at the tiniest Thteed via ultrasound.

Let me end the suspense right now by telling you we did NOT find out the sex.

Also, that all appears well with the baby.

It was nice to see it and witness that it is, in fact, a baby, and not some strange alien creature with multiple arms or seven eyes. No, this baby has two legs, two arms, feet with five toes each as well as hands, each with five fingers. There are two nostrils, lips, eyes and a brain. All major organ systems seem to be developing correctly and the heart has four chambers. We can assume, at this point, that the baby will be healthy. Though once it realizes what sort of family it has moved into, it might not be happy.

Ultrasounds are pretty amazing. That there are technologies that let us look inside our bodies to see our organs and make sure all is well is almost mind boggling. It appeared to me that the technology has made some progress since our last one in 2003. The resolution seemed much clearer--it was easy to recognize the parts of the baby. Before the tech told me what something was, I usually had it figured out--because the hand actually looked like a hand!

So, ultrasounds = good.

But let me share with you why I wasn't looking forward to it all the same.

You may have heard that when a woman is pregnant she has to urinate more often than when not pregnant. For me this is very very true. I have to pee all the time. It's annoying and uncomfortable. And now that the baby is active, it seems it enjoys using my bladder as its personal trampoline and punching bag. All can be well then all of the sudden getting to a toilet is of the utmost importance. Lest I have an accident.

With this in mind, what do you think the cruelest thing you could do to a pregnant lady is? In my book it's telling her to drink 32oz of water in a half-hour period, one hour before her scheduled ultrasound, with no urinating until the exam is completed. I was nearly in tears I had to pee so bad. I couldn't sit down so I paced the office while I waited the tortuous twenty minutes for my name to be called. I should have been really excited to see my baby but I was not. All I wanted was to pee. I walked the same short hallway over and over, looking at the same six pictures with a contorted face as I tried to keep it all in.

When you schedule, they remind you, more than once, that if you don't drink all that water, or should you go pee, you might have to reschedule and come back and do it all over again.

I did not want to do it all over again, but neither did I want to piddle in my pants.

However, as Theric can attest, I told him (more than once), "I don't care. I'm going pee. I just won't have an ultrasound. This isn't worth it. Not even close. I'm sure the baby is fine. I'm going pee." Then I would walk away and pace some more, waging battle with my bladder. I could see the public restroom from my pacing spot--it was only maybe fifteen steps away, fifteen short steps, fifteen sweet, sweet steps . . . .

What I went through may be classified as torture.

And I did not make it.

The lure of the loo pulled me in and I relieved myself before my name was called.

You must think me a very weak person.

But let me tell you:

It

Was

Worth it.

I did restrain myself somewhat however and did not empty my bladder fully. I figured I could still leave enough in there to make my bladder visible on screen. 32 oz is a lot of water. Leaving the restroom I still had to pee but the threat of a serious accident was past. About two minutes after leaving the restroom my name was called.

The technician was very nice. She got me on the table quickly and started the ultrasound while explaining to me why I had to drink all that hellwater. I thought it had to do with looking at the baby, but no. You drink that water so they can easily find your cervix and take an important measurement that lets them know whether or not you are at risk for preterm labor. Ah! Now it made sense. I thought they were just being mean. She took the measurement on screen then told me I could go to the bathroom. Alleluia! Bless you, tech lady!

Emptying one's bladder is one of life's greatest pleasures.

And I got to do it twice during the ultrasound because my bladder filled back up and got in the way.

With the addition of urination breaks, the rest of the ultrasound went fine. We got a lot of pictures, and my suspicions were confirmed: The baby is using my bladder as a trampoline. We watched it stomping on the big black circle that was my bladder: Left, right, left, right, left, right. Getting superduper leverage because it has Theric's extra-long thighs. Left, right, left, right, left, right. This child is not starting things off with me on a very good foot. Left, right, left, right, left, right. In fact, right now, I'm none too pleased with either of its feet.

Wren for Dinner

Tonight my longtime friend, Wren, came over for dinner. I have known Wren since about third grade, though we didn't really become friends till sometime in middle school. Of all the people that read my blog, she is probably the one who has known me the longest. She is also probably the one with the most embarassing stories about me......

Anyways, I have been meaning to have her over since we moved to the Bay Area back in July. Yeah, sometimes it takes me a very long time to do things I have been meaning to do. But I finally managed to invite her over and she graciously accepted.

I tidied the house this afternoon and started preparing dinner around 5pm. Wren estimated she would arrive at the BART station around 6.30pm. Preparations were right on track. The house was clean and Theric and the Big O were assisting me in the kitchen.

Menu: Green salad with tomatoes, avocado, and croutons. Garlic bread. Steamed broccoli. Roasted root vegetables (carrots, onion, potatoes). Pork loin cutlets flavored with lemon dijon marinade. Dessert: Chocolate cake...leftover from Sunday. Yes, I know that it is not entirely proper to serve leftovers to guests, but I knew it would still be good. (It was delicious.)

As I mentioned, preparations were underway and going smoothly. I was excited and waiting for the phone call from Wren letting me know she had made it to the BART station. The phone rang, it was her, I left to go pick her up. I left Theric with instructions to start the broccoli. The butter and garlic for the bread were in a sauce pan on the range ready to be melted for the bread. I was confident Theric could manage these tasks during my brief absence.

The Big O and I got in the car and drove to the station. We found Wren. She got in the car, we happily greeted each other and we headed back to the house.

Theric opened the door with, "Hello... Don't go into the kitchen."

What!? What has he done to my meal?!

Turns out the lid covering the broccoli exploded while we were gone. Exploded. The lid was made from glass. Exciting, no?

Thank goodness it was tempered glass. Little blocks of it were all over the kitchen. The broccoli was covered in glass. Theric, fortunately, was not covered in glass. But I love broccoli! and was so looking forward to eating it! Fresh from the farmers' market! The garlic butter appeared ok after Theric took out the big chunks of lid, but as it was right next to the explosion it was not considered safe. Sigh.

The garlic bread and broccoli were a no go. But all was not lost. Theric cleaned up most of the glass and Wren and I finished the remaining dinner preparations. Green beans replaced the broccoli and we went without garlic bread.

Despite the glass explosion, dinner went well, tasted great and visiting with Wren was most enjoyable--especially because she didn't tell Theric about C***********n. Thanks, Wren!

Now. Let us pray: that we will not poop blood tomorrow.

President's day

For President's Day I worked in the yard and ate lots of ice cream.

I think my activities would have received Presidential laudations from Washington and Lincoln. Certainly they must have approved of sweat inducing labor and delicious dessert afterwards.

******

I am currently in the process of preparing a strip on the side of our house to be a vegetable garden. Since Friday I have been hard at work and yesterday, President's Day, I completed the task. A neighbor suggested I clear the area then cover it with black plastic, a method called Solarization, to kill all the weeds and their seeds, so that I can turn it into a vegetable garden in a few months.

Working in the yard is hard, it burns lots of calories. Thus, my ice cream orgy was completely prepared for and justified.

The Thteeds visited a fantastic ice cream parlor called Fenton's with 'sposita and her family. Fenton's makes all their ice cream and toppings and it is delicious. Should you ever come to visit, and you like ice cream, you must go to Fenton's. I will gladly accompany you.

I had toasted almond ice cream with hot fudge and caramel sauce. mmmmm......My favorite. Their caramel sauce is divine. I bought a jar. Let the good times roll.

I hope your President's Day was also filled with rolling god times.

My men need Haircuts

Badly.

Theric’s hair is a wild fluffy mop that threatens to eat my face whenever he goes in for a kiss. Yes, we may live in Berkeley where such unkemptness is acceptable, even the norm, but I do not always find the look attractive. Sorry, Shaggy.

The Big O’s hair is not wild and huge like his father’s, but it is covering his neck, ears and, now, eyeballs. It doesn’t seem to bother him, but it’s starting to bother me. He looks like . . . his father.

You may be wondering why haircuts are not that common in a Thteed family where the sole woman is desperately longing for them. Well, Theric has a hard time selecting a barber. Or, rather, he refuses to pay exorbitant amounts of money for haircuts. I feel the same way and one might, therefore, logically assume that I would then cut their hair. But, no. Cutting hair is not something I do.

I did try cutting Theric’s hair once (once) in the early days of our marriage, but it ended with me in tears and Theric with a shaved head. Perhaps you now understand my reluctance to cut their hair? and Theric's love of hats? I don’t want to make my husband and child have to shave their heads in order to ‘fix’ a truly horrible haircut. Yes, I know I should try again because practice is the only way I’ll ever learn to give a decent haircut, but honestly I am scared. When I create something--say a drawing or a batch of cookies--and it turns out ugly or tastes horrible, I just throw it away. Can’t do that with a haircut. The evidence of my shoddy handiwork will be constantly before me, causing aches of guilt and pain.

So. The Thteed men need haircuts.

Can anyone out there come over and perform this dreaded task? Please?

They’re awfully unpleasant to look at.

Absence.

It really does make the heart grow fonder.

I have been unable to get on to the computer for any extended period of time lately. It's very frustrating. Seems like every time I come in to use the computer there's Theric typing away.

My lack of decent posts lately is entirely his fault.

Oh, and also, I've been hard at work tending our yard, taking the Big O places and sweating over the LDOTFMOT.

I hope this week to spend more time with you dear readers. I've missed you.

Happy Sunday.

It's Valentine's Day!

I sure hope everyone consumed chocolate.

What Have I Done!!???

The other day the Big O and I were getting ready to go to the park. As I was helping him get his shoes on I took a long look at him to make sure he was dressed appropriately for the activity. It was during this long look that I noticed something...then thought to myself, "What have I done to my child?!"

The Big O was wearing the following: a Spider-Man t-shirt (old school Spider-Man, this shirt used to be my brother's), Black Converse, and a CARS hat (gift from grandparents). He was carrying his Thomas the Tank Engine lunch box (also a grandparent gift).

My child was sporting so many brands it almost brought me to tears. I almost undressed him to redress him in cartoon-free clothing.

I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how I had let so many brands sneak into my child's life. My only conosolation was that the hat, lunch box and shirt were not purchased by me.

To the rest of you parents out there, Beware! I swore I would never let my child become a walking advertisement yet failed!

Do not be seduced!

Diligence!

Constant diligence!

Locked

I just discovered that my bedroom door has a functioning lock on it. I am very happy about this discovery. I can now send myself to my own room for a time-out and not have the Big O barge in on me while I'm trying to resist the urge to hurt him.