Things I Don't Approve Of

As though it matters, here is a list of things I don't approve of. I recently got a phone call berating me for over an hour about all of the things I don that this person doesn't approve of, most of which seemed to boil down to my merely existing, so I thought I would make a list too. So, without further ado, here it is, in no particular order:

• Books on tape. If you want to read a book, read it. Why have James Earl Jones read it to you?
• Conformity. If you can't do something without 150 people doing it first, or if you have to do something because 150 people did it first, then you're a drone. All historical progress has been made by people being the first, the first to stop something or the first to try it. Conformists are just sheep without spines.
• Forceful arrogance. Sure I think highly of myself, but I don't tell other people to think highly of me too. Considering people to be failures because they live up to their own failures is the worst form of egotism. You're no more important to the world than I am; at the end of the day we're all ants in an ant farm and no one cares if your tunnel is better.
• Harry Potter movies, in principle. Finally a book series came along that actually got kids to read and some Hollywood schmuck came along and took the reading part out of it. Yes my kid has seen them all, but only AFTER she read the books. Same with Bridge To Terabithia, Harriet The Spy, Narnia, etc.
  
• Fwd:Fw:Fw:Fw: You Gotta Hear This!!! Not only is the thing I gotta hear almost definitely false, but the subject line is almost invariable followed by the email addresses of a hundred people who probably don't want me to know their email addresses. As for the subject matter: http://snopes.com/
  
• Neck tattoos. I understand if you're a tattoo artist, or in a famous rock band, or Chapter President of the Hell's Angles, but for most people a tattoo can be safely covered without any loss of dignity. As for the mother who wonders why she gets funny looks at the PTA meetings, it could be the two dimensional python licking at your jugular.
• Political baby clothes. A baby in a pro-life onesie isn't cute, it's a dirty trick. No one is going to believe that a child actually formed an opinion and chose to wear it on a shirt, and most people are going to resent such an obvious sympathy ploy. The "I love my 2 daddies" sleepers are slightly better, in that a baby probably does love them, at least as much as a baby is capable of any feelings other than distress or hunger. I tend to see the 2 Daddies sleepers, and their 2 Mommies counterparts, as being more akin to the "Daddy's Girl" bibs. But still, making a kid into a poster is kind of opportunistic. And please don't try to tell me who your kid wants me to vote for. My kid likes Obama, but even I know that's because she hears positive things about him from me, not because she's researched his stance on the issues important to her.
• People who know the "right" number of children to have. Either it's "I could never have an only child; who would they play with?" line, or it's the population control angle where you should only replace yourself and the other parent, or my personal favorite, "How can you bring another person into this world anyway when there are so many babies out there without parents?" (Hey, even Angelina got knocked up a couple times.) As for the parent-replacement theory, how would that even work anyway? I know of a lady with 9 kids, does that mean 7 other people should refuse to have kids just to keep the numbers right? Wait a second, they're with 3 different guys so only five people have to stay on birth control. Of course, she's married to a guy now with no biological kids of his own, so that leaves 4 couples who can never reproduce. Then again, she does have some non-related guy claiming some of the kids already, so only 3 people without babies. But two of her kids are with my husband, and I already have a daughter, so OMG my second child is too much! Now where does that leave me with the "no only children" people? And what about that family in Arkansas?

• Creditors who start the phone harassment the day the bill is due. Is it possible that we mailed it this month instead of paying online, because your company decided to charge a fee for paying online? And if we didn't pay it, if we were that strapped for cash this month, how would 15 phone calls a day help? Is there a program we could sign up for that would pay us for every call we got from you people?

. . . . to be continued.

How To Annoy Me When I'm Pregnant

1) Use the terms "preggers" or "preggo". If you're over the age of 12, the term is pregnant, or knocked up if you feel especially crass. Adults who refer to themselves as being "preggers for the third time" sound like trash ghetto 18 year olds.

2) Compare my belly to other women's. I do that enough for both of us.

3) Ask me if I'm having twins. If I was, the polite thing to say would be "Wow! You don't look big enough!" no matter how huge I was. Unless you happen to be pregnant as well, and we have already established a long-standing "I'm bigger than you" dialogue, this is very inappropriate and, considering my fluctuating hormone levels, liable to get you smacked..

4) Lecture me about nutrition, or even just give me "that look" while I eat. I eat fresh fruit and fortified cereals so back off when I inhale a case of Nutty Bars in one day or have a cup of coffee. Oh, and the cereal is the kind marketed to adults, no cocoa fruity marshmallow stuff here.

5) Comment on how tacky the new tight maternity clothes trends are. I am facing being pregnant in August, for gods' sakes, and I am fully prepared to do my garden work in a crop top and low-rise shorts. If you don't like it, stay home in your air conditioning. As long as I don't accessorize with a cigarette and fur boots, I'm not as bad as Britney Spears and you survived that media blitz.

6) Ask me why I don't know what I'm having. Maybe it's because I don't believe in X raying Christmas gifts in November. And no, I don't care if that makes shopping harder for you. If you just have to buy me something, how about something I can use rather than some outfit the baby will only wear once. Buy me a breast pump -- they're gender neutral.

7) Ask me what names we have picked out and then criticize them.

8) Explain to me why formula is "just as good" as breast feeding. I've been through this before and even if I hadn't, I and all scientific medical evidence have to disagree with you on that. If it's what you need to believe to feel good about your parenting skills then fine, but I don't need to. Formula isn't toxic by any means, but even the Enfamil ads say that breast milk is better.

9) Ask me if I'm not just a little old to be "starting over". My daughter's only 9; it's not like we were going to be driving her up to college in the fall. And I'm only 31. Women are increasingly having kids in their forties now; it's not like the hospital staff will be torn between admitting me to either the maternity ward or geriatrics.


10) Blame all my moods on hormones. Hormones amplify moods; they don't create them. I might overreact to something, but there has to be something to set me off in the first place and if it's that you're being a butt, then my bursting into tears doesn't make you any less of a butt.

11) Ask me how much weight I've gained. Unless you're my doctor or you're pregnant too and comparing notes, my weight will never ever be any of your business. Period.

Shopping & Scanning

Well we finally did it. Tom and I took a trip down to the cities and registered at Babies R Us. It was strange, I had expected him to have more opinions. The only things he seemed to care one way or the other about were yellow blankets. He said we had enough green. Oh, and I couldn't register for anything blue, as though a girl can't use a blue blanket too. But I did slip some blue sheets past him; they went with the pack 'n play. But otherwise, he seemed perfectly content to hold the scanner gun and shoot everything I handed to him. My dream jogging stroller (the kind with 3 really big wheels that won't get caught when I cross the railroad tracks) got bumped off the list when I realized that there wasn't any way to comfortably put an infant into it, so instead we scanned a bright orange car seat and stroller combo package. The orange is kind of a road cone color but I like it. It'll keep my baby safe during hunting season and besides, I'm a strange one anyway. Plus, hunting vest orange is manly enough that Tom might even think about walking the baby every once in a while, and it has a parent's cup holder too and lots of storage underneath. Other than that, we scanned the usual stuff: crib, high chair, exersaucer, breast pump, diaper genie, baby washcloths Tom had never even heard of. We left off things like baby soap and lotion. We kind of figured that if people are going to spend money on us it might as well be on stuff we won't have to replace in a month.

We also went to the maternity store in the mall down there, so I could get some much needed articles of clothing. In addition to the much-neededs I got some tank tops too. Hell, if I'm going to be huge pregnant in August, I'm not sticking with elastic empire waist tents. I got plain ribbed tank tops and if my protruding belly button pokes through then so be it; I'll feel sorry for any toddlers I blind.

Fetal movement, ultrasound, and obstetrics bills aside, I feel somehow more pregnant now that I've registered for baby gifts in an actual store (as opposed to Amazon.com). I guess it's a symptom of our capitalist society that this is what it takes to truly feel like a mother. Sad, isn't it? Now, go feel sorry for me and buy me stuff.

Hormones + Politics = Bitchy Post. Sorry

I am so pissed off about politics lately. Jimmy Carter wants to talk to Hamas, a militant terrorist organization standing in the way of peace in the Middle East. The Bush administration goes on record as being firmly against any peaceful discourse with Hamas and Condy Rice says she finds it "hard to understand what is going to be gained by having discussions with Hamas about peace when Hamas is in fact the impediment to peace." This is basically the same thing Hillary pulled when she jumped Obama's shit for promising to talk to enemy leaders during the first year of his presidency. Apparently US policy seems to be to give enemies the silent treatment rather than try to talk anything out. Yes, talking things out may seem like a pretty naive solution, but it's better than sticking your fingers in your ears and yelling "Lalalalala I can't hear you!" After all, it's worked so far with Cuba.

Obama made the observation that some people in middle America are bitter, jaded by the way things have gone for so long, and that they cling to guns and religion because of it. McCain, candidate for the bitter guns and religion party, of course jumped all over him for it. But so did Hillary! She called him elitist and arrogant for it, and then she told a story about shooting guns and downed a shot of whiskey in a bar. Of course, it was Crown Ryan whiskey, a Canadian brand. Nothing less than imported booze for our All-American gal. It's not like America has any well known brands of whiskey, after all. (Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Southern Comfort . . .)

It's just, we finally have a candidate who's willing to talk about these things, that people are bitter, that it's time we try to solve our international differences rather than invade or bomb them away, that perhaps black and white people have racial issues. And Hillary is so self-obsessed, so bloodthirsty, that she can't step down for the good of the party (Hell, for the good of the nation!) and let this once in a lifetime candidate run against McCain and McCain alone. I expect to get pissed off by Bush, and by extension I expect it from McCain too, but Hillary? She's wrecking the Clinton name worse than Bill ever did. He tried to fuck an intern; she's trying to fuck the country.

A Sad Day For Our Children

I had hoped the next generation would be spared this evil. My hopes are dead now. The saddest part? I can name them still, on sight.

Rock Star Mom?

I think I'm having a mid-life crisis, which is really sad because that means I'll only live to be 62. Maybe it's just a mid-pregnancy crisis, but either way it kind of sucks. I feel old and despite knowing it would just look foolish and desperate, a large part of me wants to rebel by acting young. Not acting young in a "take a class, learn something new, live for today" sort of way, but in more of a "dress completely age-inappropriate and listen to loud music and be cool" kind of way. Yes, cool in italics, which is way too hard for a pregnant 31 year old housewife to pull off. I envy my friends who know themselves, the ones who are equally at ease in make-up and heels or in spit-up and sweats. Me, I'm always second-guessing myself. Some part of me is stuck in Jr High, wondering if the kids are going to laugh at me because I have a tweed car coat and this season it's all about leather bomber jackets. I'm like Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed. I'm a dork. And worse, I'm a dork with stretch marks and bad tattoos.

I want to be goth. Maybe not Abby Sciuto goth, but a little Mary Alice Yeskey goth would be good. I think I was goth before it existed. I was grunge, although sadly I looked more like Dave Mustaine than Claire Danes, but I still rocked the plaid flannel. But now there's so much more out there! Skulls and 1950s cherry prints, and Doc Martens even come in neon green now. How cool is that? It's not that I want to wear corsets and fishnets and neon green Docs around town, but boots under my jeans, or some skulls on my Converses, that would be okay. Maybe a black bag with lots of buckles, or a vintage Ramones tee under a denim jacket. Yes, I'm married to a Nebraska Farmboy who can't tell Godsmack from Gwen Stefani, And yes, he has characterized my taste in music as "not heavy metal, not soft rock, maybe medium metal?", and for me to go all goth on him, or even just shell out the cash to buy a pair of Doc Martens, would probably send him into an early grave, but I still feel the need to resist soccer-mom obscurity.

This is the life I want, the life I've always wanted, to be a wife and mother and drive a minivan. I guess I just thought that I'd be a cooler wife and mother, and drive a cooler minivan, maybe one without stock speakers.

Only Stupid People Are Breeding

I kind of like being pregnant, and I like blogging about it. But I am finding that I have less and less tolerance for other pregnant women. I read, and post on, a pregnancy message board, sort of an online gestational community, and I have to say that there are some idiots out there breeding. My main peeve, though I would never say anything on the boards about it, people stick their kids with some awful names. Not the Colins and Coltons and Avas and Marissas. But Nevaeh? That seems to be a real popular one, across racial and ethnic divides lest anyone think it "sounds black" (which was actually a comment I read). Why is Nevaeh so popular? Because it is Heaven spelled backward, which is just so pretty for a baby girl, apparently. Me, if I wanted to go for an angelic name, would pick Angel, or maybe something biblical. Heck, even Gabriel would be better for a girl, but I'm partial to boy names for girls anyway. And what's with arbitrarily adding the letter Y to names anyway? I thought it was loopy when people started spelling it Bryan, but now there's Dawsyn, Allysyn, Krystyn, Jennifyr. It's like people sit there and say "How can we ensure that our child's name is constantly misspelled, mispronounced, and that she has to introduce herself and explain it at the same time?" "Hi, I'm Jenni with an I," is one thing, but "Hi, I'm Allysyn with two Ls and two Ys," seems excessive to me.

I have nothing against ethnic names. I don't care what cultural name you give your baby to keep him in touch with his roots, religious or racial or otherwise. However, I do think it's almost unforgivably selfish to choose random moronic names. It's an abuse of power. Someone should have kicked Nicolas Cage in the balls for naming his son Cal El. Yeah I know, it's superman. So name the kid Clark Kent if you can't outgrow your comic book. This kid will have to live with the name for at least 18 years and while he can claim to be Cal L. Coppola, the world and all future employers will know the truth, that he is genetically descended from idiots. Same with Rob Morrow naming his daughter Tu (a pun, really?) and Gwyneth Paltrow naming her baby Apple.

I know some people have a problem with me naming a girl Ryan, but I did NOT name her Chewbacca or Himalaya or Tila Tequila. I chose a real human name which when written backwards spells on a name written backwards, not some word that makes no sense spelled backwards. Nevaeh. Shit, why don't I call my kid Legna? It's Angel spelled backwards. As the song says, I've been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding. A song which, by the way, came out the last time I was pregnant.

Kicks, Weeks and Arbitrarily Assigned Gender

I call the baby "he". I don't know what it is, but I suspect it's a boy so I call it he. Plus, in our backwards patriarchal society, words like "he" and "him" are the default anyway. The main reason I suspect the baby is a boy, against all logic or reason, is that the close-up picture from the ultrasound looked sort of masculine to me. Yeah, I know. Even with skin, babies don't look masculine or feminine anyway, which is why any baby with short hair, no matter how many frills or ruffles it wears, gets called a boy by strangers. But still, I am somehow sure that this is a boy, just like I was ten years ago when I knew Ryan was a boy. She hates that story, by the way. So last night, lying in bed but not ready to fall asleep yet, Tom and I were talking and he had his big fat heavy hand on my belly and the baby was kicking him. Repeatedly. In the same exact spot, which is odd because it's usually not that predictable. But sadly, Tom couldn't feel even the hardest whacks from within. I'm forced to try to explain what it feels like to me so that maybe he can understand. Bubbles popping, so in that sense he feels like gas. Or you know when you get a muscle twitch but it's just in one spot, like one pinpoint jerking on your arm? It feels like that. But it's different, because with a muscle twitches you can flex the muscle to stop it, and with gas you can sort of feel it coming on, but this is so completely unconnected to you, because it's not your body doing it. It's someone else doing it so there's no warning and no flexing or moving to stop it either, not that I particularly want to stop it anyway.

On a side note, I am 140 days along now, exactly half way through my pregnancy. Twenty weeks, which I choose to view as five months, lunar calendar be damned, is a milestone. I get to turn to the next chapter in my copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting. It's a big day.

Names

We already have a boy name, but we're stuck on a girl name, including the spelling of one possibility, so we need help. Vote and let us know what you like. Also, comment here if you have ideas not on the list.

Caffeinated Fetus

I like the occasional coffee drink. Not black Folgers like my mother drinks all day, but a cappuccino or even just a flavored black coffee. I had made it known that I wanted an espresso machine with a frother for Christmas last year, before I knew I was pregnant and couldn't have all the caffeine, and I not only got one from Ryan but I also received a French press from my brother. Yesterday, in the mood for coffee and citing studies which state that a cup or two a day isn't bad enough to do damage to a fetus, I made a pot in the press. Since it's a 14 oz press, it only makes about a cup and a half of the smoothest Swiss almond chocolate coffee I have ever tasted. I made myself two pots, about 3 cups, which isn't that much for most people but for someone who hasn't had caffeine in about 4 months and whose pregnant body metabolizes it slowly, it was enough to leave me bouncing and vibrating all evening. And it got me my first kicks.

Yes, all it took was a massive overdose of caffeine and and what must have felt like an earthquake ridden womb, to get my baby kicking hard enough for me to feel it. All. Damned. Night. Also, unrelated to the kicking but certainly not to the coffee, I had some really strange dreams last night. Tom as a serial killer? I need to quit watching so much Dexter.

"....surrounded by alien milk people."

I suppose an update is in order, although I don't have much to say. I am still waiting to feel any kicking but I probably won't for another couple weeks yet. Sometimes I think there's something going on down there, and it doesn't always turn out to be bubbles, but I'm afraid I'm just trying too hard. Maybe it is fluttering, maybe it's my imagination. Either way, I'll feel kicks soon enough, and then Ryan and Tom can feel them too. On a funny note, I've started lactating and Tom is thoroughly disgusted. He's so cute when he's naive. He thinks he knows how these things happen and then something as silly as a little colostrum pops up and he's floored. I hope we have a boy and he lactates too. Tom will be convinced he's surrounded by alien milk people.

I Caved . . .

. . . and ate the hot dog. Sauerkraut, while still tasting primarily of vinegar and salt, is slightly more palatable if warmed in a frying pan with some garlic. Otherwise, just as disgusting and satisfying as it was the other night. This time, though, I used spicy mustard instead of yellow.

Alien Appetite

I have food cravings. For instance, I hate sauerkraut. Can't stand the stuff. And I don't eat hot dogs. I have no idea what they put in them but I have a friend who works at an Oscar Mayer plant and she tells me to avoid them. A couple nights ago I made Tom buy me hot dogs and sauerkraut in the middle of the night. I had visions of Chicago street vendors in my head and I cooked and ate the hot dog, piled high with kraut. The next day I woke up wondering what the Hell I'd been thinking. Tonight, I fight off the urge to go make myself another one. This baby is strange. Also, I think it looks like either a Roswell alien or the Grateful Dead lightning bolt skull. What do you think?

Hillary In A Different Light

In the beginning I just wondered about her electability. A lot of people still equate the name Clinton with secret blowjobs, and after almost 20 years of Clintons and Bushes I wondered if people didn't want a new name in town. Now, I just think she's kind of pissy.

Some MSNBC anchor accused the Clinton camp of pimping Chelsea out to the phone banks. Seem after months of keeping Chelsea out of the spotlight, she was making phone calls with the best of them trying to claim superdelegates and celebrity endorsements. Well Hillary took offense to the word "pimping" and turned away in a huff. She refuses to participate in any debates on MSNBC and won't even acknowledge an apology from the now-suspended anchor. Basically she took her ball and her bat and went home pouting. Also, she exposed a pretty big weakness to the world. Sure, I guess the guy was over the line, but in this world today, shit happens. And now Al-Qaeda knows that all they have to do is talk bad about her kid and Hillary will throw reason out the window. Fifty bucks says the first Bin Laden tape after the inauguration will, if Hillary's elected, mention Chelsea. And what do you want to bet it'll lead to some sore of military offensive, the likes of which she is campaigning against right now?

Also, after the Democratic party as a whole decided to penalize Michigan and Florida by not campaigning there and not accepting their delegates to the convention, after Hillary had been the only name on the democratic ballot in Michigan and was way in the lead in Florida, after polls showed Obama gaining on her, she decided to announce that it was patently unfair to ignore the votes of all of the democrats in Florida and Michigan. She asked that their delegates be counted and tried to make it out that Obama didn't care about the people and that only she thought every vote counted. Again, her name was the only one on the ballot in Michigan, and she had agreed to original plan in the beginning.

She's showing desperation, and she's not looking good. She's coming off as pouty and bitchy and even a little under-handed. Why can't she just give up and walk away like Romney did? Why can't she be the sore-loser/quitter like him? I like the idea of a close game, but she's really showing a bad side here. If I had been one of the people to vote for her early on, I'd want to change my vote.

If Only I were LITERALLY A Bitch

It's finally hit me. Two months after I peed on the stick and it told me the news, and then its sister confirmed it, I finally realize that I am having a baby. Maybe it was hearing the heartbeat for the first time or maybe it just took this long to sink in, but either way I have fully embraced my pregnant status. And so naturally, I am ready to get on with it. Where's my toeless view downward? Where's my kicking and my leaky boobs? Where's my false labor and then, at no doubt the worst possible time, my real labor? I'm ready to hurry this show up already!

It only takes 60 days for dogs to gestate. Why does it only take 2 months to make a puppy, or even to make six puppies, and it takes NINE months to make a human baby? Thumbs cannot possibly take seven months to produce! Dogs have better senses of hearing and smell than people and those miraculous systems only take 2 months from start to finish. And yet our inferior senses and our (ideally) far fewer nipples take SOOOOOO much longer to make. It's an inefficient system is what it is. Something should be done about it. I wonder who I file the complaint with.

One Day To Super Tuesday

Maria Shriver endorsed Barack Obama the other day. Her husband endorsed John McCain. Reminds me of my marriage, except that I don't know who Tom's rooting for. Sadly, I think he's so partisan that he doesn't even care until there's a democrat to beat. I don't think he gives a shit who the president is as long as it's a republican. I know he hates Hillary, as all white male republicans do, and I know he dislikes Obama for being a democrat. But I don't know who he favors in a Romney McCain race.

I hate Romney. He's too slick and too flip-floppy. He's a salesman, and a greasy one at that. Plus, I don't care what his religion is but he's too religious. It's probably a natural response to the criticism over the Mormon thing, but he runs too many "I have a deep and abiding faith in Christ" ads. And I think the God-crazy GOP president thing has kind of run its course already, don't you? But McCain I can stand. I mean he's a social nightmare, but he's the only GOP candidate who is against torture. I know, it's sad when being against torture is even note-worthy let alone a breakout position, but Romney mentioned Jack Bauer in a debate once. I've heard McCain say what I've been thinking for years. Stop talking about the other side. Stop comparing our "mild" torture to what they do in Iraq. The fact is, we're supposed to be better than them and the proud history of America was not built on torturing POWs. We are better than that, and we have to remember it.

It used to be that torture was something that the other side did, and that our brave soldiers were strong enough to endure when they could and if they couldn't they were fallen heroes . Torture was an act of unspeakable horror inflicted by an evil enemy. We might make our POWs work, but we did NOT torture them. We had a line that we as Americans were too honorable to cross, and the fact that we didn't sink to their level was a source of pride. Now, with our outsourced torture and the waterboarding, what pride is there left to have? And when you think about the "intense interrogation techniques", why did the government even bother to disavow those guards in Guantanamo Bay? All they did was take pictures and strip people naked and pose them. It's not like they were pretending to drown them, making them fear for their life or anything.

I really really hope Obama wins the nomination and then the presidency. But if we have to get stuck with another GOP president then McCain would be best. At least I won't cry for the future if I hear he won like I did after the last election.

From A Pregnancy Web Board

I found this on a pregnancy board and thought it would be perfect. I'm not posting it here to direct it at anyone, just so people can read it and get a chuckle.

10 things to remember when you are not the pregnant one....

1. The appropriate response to a couple telling you they are having a baby is "Congratulations" with enthusiasm. Any other response makes you a jerk.

2. Through the wonders of science, we now know that babies are made ONLY by the mother and father- not grandparents. Unless the baby is in your uterus, or you are the man who helped put it there, you may not ever use the phrase "my baby"

3. On the same note, unless you made the baby as defined in #2, the pregnancy, birth and the raising of the child are not about you. You do not have input. No one wants to hear your opinion unless they ask for it.

4. The body of a pregnant woman should be treated the same as any other body. You would not randomly touch someones stomach if they were not pregnant, nor would you inquire into the condition of their uterus, cervix or how they plan to use their breasts. Pregnancy does not remove all traces of privacy from a woman.

5. Likewise, no woman wants to hear comments on her weight- ever. A pregnant woman does not find it flattering that you think she is about to pop, must be having twins, looks swollen or has gained weight in her face. Telling her she looks too small only makes her worry that she is somehow starving her baby. Making such comments invite her to critique your physical appearance and you may not act offended. The only acceptable comment on appearance is "You look fabulous!"

6. By the time we are 20-30 years old, most of us have picked up on the fact that summer is hot. We are hot every summer when we are not pregnant. We don't need you to point out that we will be miserably bot before the baby comes.

7. There is a reason that tickets to labor and delivery are not yet sold on ticketmaster. Childbirth is actually not a public event. It may sound crazy, but some women really do not relish the idea of their mother,mother in law, or a host of other family members seeing their bare butt or genitals. Also, some people simply feel like the birth of their child is a private and emotional moment to be shared only by the parents.

8. Like everything else in life, unless you receive an invitation you are not invited. This includes doctor appointments, ultrasounds, labor, delivery, the hospital and the parents' home. You do not decide if you will be there for the birth or if you will move in with the new parents to "help out". If your assistance is desired, rest assured that you will be asked for it.

9. If you are asked to help after the birth, this means you should clean up the house, help with cooking meals, and generally stay out of the way. Holding the baby more than the parents, interfering with breastfeeding and sleeping schedules and making a woman who is still leaking fluid from various locations lift a finger in housework is not helping.

10. The only people entitled to time with the baby are the parents. Whether they choose to have you at the hospital for the birth or ask you to wait 3 weeks to visit, appreciate that you are being given the privilege of seeing their child. Complaining or showing disappointment only encourages the parents to include you less.

Why Tom's Not Invited To Lamaze

Tomorrow is my first obstetrician appointment. If I remember from 10 years ago, I will sit in a waiting room for forty-five minutes and then spend 10 minutes in a room with a desk talking to a nursing student named Tiffany about what to expect and how to take my vitamins. Oddly enough, I would prefer an introductory pelvic exam from the doctor I'm going to be charged for seeing anyway.

It occurred to me today that when this child goes off to college Tom and I will be, respectively, 58 and 50. Midlife crisis time. Tom will want to leave me for an eighteen year old woman. This means that I could conceivably walk into the doctor's office tomorrow and sit down next to my husband's future mother-in-law. If Tom, like more and more men before him, decides to leave his ageing wife for a woman the age of his own child, there is a women somewhere right now pregnant with my replacement. I will never be able to look at other women in the diaper aisle the same way again.

Oh look, I'm carrying his baby and I'm already hating my gestational replacement. Are there no limits to the depth of my insecurity?

A Really Crappy Weight Loss Plan

Ahhh, the nausea is gone. Almost three months along, my first ob appointment in less than a week, and I can finally eat without puking. Sadly, though, I can't eat.

I had forgotten this little pregnancy joy, or at least the severity of it. I have no appetite. None. Like, you know when you're not hungry and you look at food, how nothing looks good? Well I can be all shaky and have low blood sugar and stuff, and I know I need to eat, but nothing looks good. And then if I eat more than a few bites I get queasy. Not nauseous, but just really really turned off from eating any more. I'm supposed to gain a pound a month, and I can't even eat as much as I was eating on my diet! Prepare for more doctor lectures. How can I lose my entire appetite? Is it hormonal? Is it pressure against my stomach from a tipped and swelling uterus? Is it a manifestation of a deep-seated fear of weight gain? And if it's the last one, why didn't it help with the dieting three months ago?

The Ex Files

Imagine Britney Spears just keeps doing stupid shit, just making the same mistakes over and over again. Imagine it's crotch-shots and bad driving and head shaving for the next five years. Muffin tops and car accidents and rehab and hospital stays and non-stop visitation hearings. And then imagine that she calls you, and asks for help. She doesn't know why people don't like her, what's she doing wrong? But she says she doesn't drink too much, and it's no one's business what she wears or how she drives, and people just don't understand her, and she gets defensive. And imagine that every time she calls you she is drunk and you are busy.

That's why I don't talk to my latest ex-boyfriend. And yes, I am aware that that makes me a bitch.