Living La Vida Loca

It's another exciting day here in the House of Quirk. Today's agenda? Laundry. And return a staticy intercom system to Radioshack. And maybe, if I'm feeling especially adventurous on the way back from Radioshack, stop and buy a gallon of milk.

I know. It's a wonder they haven't made a movie about my life. Maybe several.

The laundry is just laundry: towels, a load or two of darks where I pretend that "hand wash" really means "just toss in on'll be okay", and a special treat of washing the tiny outfits that Baby Girl has already amassed. (For those of you not in the baby clothes washing know, apparently you're supposed to wash all the clothes in an expensive hypoallergenic detergent before allowing them to touch baby's delicate skin. One more thing I was not aware of before this whole pregnancy thing). So our normal Ultra Tide with stain boosting technology is out. Baby Girl requires her own bottle of $16 for-the-small-size detergent with a picture of a smiling baby on the front.

(Which totally reminds me of a problem we read about in our Global Marketing class one time where Gerber was trying to enter the Chinese baby food market and couldn't figure out why sales were so lousy. Turns out that the Chinese have a habit of putting pictures of the ingredients on the labels of their goods, so Chinese mothers were understandably alarmed that the tiny bottles of mystery goo had the giant face of the Gerber baby on the front).

(This really has nothing to do with what I was talking about, but it makes a fun factoid to whip out at parties).

(Well, marketing parties, anyway).

(You're welcome).

Anyhoo, after laundry, we will embark on our next adventure, which is returning some intercoms to Radioshack. See, the other night I was sitting in the living room downstairs and Tony was in the office upstairs, and we were yelling back and forth to each other about something, but all it basically came down to was:

Tony: MURRR-murr-raaah!
Me: What?
Tony: Murrr-murr-rahhh!
Tony: WHAT?
Tony: WHAT?

And I was all, forget this, yelling back and forth is just ridiculous. So I ran out to RadioShack and bought some wireless intercoms. Plug them in, hit the talk button, and viola! No more yelling. Only when I got home and plugged them in, the static was so bad that the only things that came through was "murr-murr-raaaah" and the occasional "what?". So they are going back. I have a feeling that the ol' wireless router may be to blame for some of the static, so I might try exchanging these for the 900mhz ones instead. We shall see.

(Ohhhh! How's that for a cliff hanger? IS the wireless router causing the static?? WILL she exchange the basic intercoms for the 900mhz ones? WHAT did Tony mean by "murrr-murrr-raaaah"? Find out all this and more next time on As the House of Quirk Turns!)

The rights to the movie deal should be rolling in any minute now.

My Deep Dark Secret About Kevin Bacon

I have a confession to make. I've never seen the movie Footloose. Nope. Never. I did once see a little blip of it where Kevin Bacon is stomping around a warehouse being mad and having 80's flashbacks of people with really big hair, but to be honest his dancing kinda looked more like he was having an epileptic fit during a gymnastics routine, so I was not inclined to really see the movie in its entirety.

Call me an uncouth hillbilly rube, but that's the truth. Kevin Bacon does nothing for me.

No, not even when he's flopping around on a dirty warehouse floor, doing backwards rolls to express his anger.

I know, I don't know what's wrong with me either.

Just Breathe

We've been working on breathing and relaxation techniques in our Teddybear U classes. Our instructor told the coaches that they should help us practice the breathing techniques at home because if they waited to pull this out for the first time during the actual labor, it would probably not be well received.

Tony took this advice very seriously.

Scene: Early evening. I am innocently reading a book while Tony watches some sports highlight show on tv.

Me (reading): By the time of the Great Exhibition in 1851, a quarter of a million power looms were in operation in England, and the number grew by an average of-
Tony: hee! hee! hee! who! hee! hee! hee! who!
Tony: hee! hee! hee! who! Hee! hee! hee! WHO!
Me (sighing): Are you in active labor, dear?
Tony (panting): supposed! to be! (who!) (hee! hee!) practicing!
Me: Well congratulations dear, I think you've mastered it.
Tony (glaring at me intently): HEE! HEE! HEE! WHO! HEE! HEE! HEE! WHO!
Me: I'm not doing this now.
Me: Seriously, you're turning a very alarming shade of red.
Me: Fine! Fine! hee. hee. hee. who. There. I did it.
Tony (red-faced and woozy from hyperventilating but having mastered his coaching duties, pats me weakly on the knee): Good job, sweetie!

I may not know anything about how English power looms shaped the Industrial Revolution in the 1850s, but by golly I will learn how to breathe.

Baby Update: 30 Weeks!

Let's do a baby update. I'm at 30 weeks, which if you're following along at home, means that we have t minus 10 weeks to go. (Probably less, although I'm hoping she'll stay put for at least 7 more). We just returned from our first baby shower with my family in Savannah, which was a lot of fun and deserves its own post as soon as I can get the pictures uploaded. (Stayed tuned). Since then, we've just been hanging out, doing our respective "thangs", which for her is growing, and for me is waddling around looking like I'm smuggling an airplane hanger under my shirt.

I keep waiting for this nesting instinct thing to kick in so that I'll clean my entire house from top to bottom. (Heaven knows it needs it). I've heard a million other preggos talk about how they just had an overwhelming desire to clean out all the closets or de-lint the dryer air ducts or whatever, and while I've never been one to feel energized about the prospect of scrubbing base boards myself, I'm game to try it as soon as this mysterious nesting energy shows up. Every morning, I wake up and ask myself, "You feel like scrubbing the bathroom today?" and every morning, my self goes, "HAHAHAHAHA...nope". Sigh.

I don't know what was up with Baby Girl last night! She kicked and punched and generally partied like a rock star ALL. NIGHT. LONG! Normally, she does her little thing from about 10 to midnight and then settles down so I can sleep. But for some reason, she decided last night would be the perfect time to Mambo #5 all night long, to the point that I couldn't get any rest. I even held Tony's hand to my belly because the heat from her Daddy's hand usually soothes her, but this time even that didn't work. It just gave her a convenient target to attack. Punch! Punch! Backwards somersault! Roundhouse kick! Atomic elbow to my kidney! All into the wee hours of the morning. Of course, she's peacefully sleeping now that it's the middle of the day and I'm awake, (which, if I was a mean vindictive Mommy, would make me want to run out and Jazzercize or something to wake her up), but I'm not, so I'm willing to let sleeping babies lie for now (unless this becomes a nightly pattern. Then we'll be having a discussion).

I'm happy to report that all my thank you notes from the baby shower are officially in the mail. And that I'm now an expert in how to do 500 variations of "Thank you for the (insert item). Baby Girl will love it!" (Actually, that's not a lie. Baby Girl got some primo loot from this shower, and enough clothes to dress an army of babies. We could outfit a Paris fashion house in onesies alone). So yes, we are blessed, and I am thankful, which is why it was so easy to write the thank you notes.

Speaking of Baby Girl, I just want to let you know that she does have a real name, but I haven't decided if I'm going to share it with the Interweb or not. I believe very strongly in giving your children a sense of privacy, especially when it comes to strangers on the internet, and I don't want something that I write today to come back to haunt her when her future 6th grade class Google searches her. (If nothing else, she should have that choice if she wants to share her pre-birth kickboxing exploits with the world). On the other hand, I'm not really thrilled with the nickname Baby Girl (it lacks a certain quirkiness, which is important to us around here), but I want to see what her personality is like before giving her a more suitable alias. So heads up. Baby Girl for now, but something better in a couple of months.

I guess that about wraps it up. We go in for our official 31 week ultrasounds on Tuesday to make sure Baby Girl is growing and putting on weight like she's supposed to, and word on the street is that next week's Teddybear U class will feature a video on c-sections (better or worse than hoo-has? You be the judge), so if nothing else, exciting times are ahead. By the way, I've loved reading all of your comments about your birth stories and interactions with THE VIDEO, so I thank you for that. They made me laugh and feel better all at the same time.

Babymama out.

Alan! Alan! Alan! Alan!

You've probably already seen these since they've been floating around youtube for the last month or so, but every time I see it I have to laugh.

This is Just Some Kind of Pregnant Woman Hazing Ritual, Right?

We had our first class of Teddybear University Tuesday tonight. This is the 5 week class that covers birthing and childcare for first time parents. I was actually looking forward to it. Thought it might be reassuring to know what was going to happen.


Don't misunderstand. The instructor is perfectly lovely. She really is. And we have a workbook that is very informative. And we learned lots of helpful things about signs of labor and when to call your doctor and what is a normal feeling and what is not. But she completely lost me when she showed...THE VIDEO.

(You know the one. They've got some poor woman from the 70's in a bed with her feet jacked up to the ceiling and a camera stuck right next to her unmentionable bits. And even though they've cut the sound way down on the final edit, I'm pretty sure she's screaming bloody murder while you get to watch every gruesome moment).

Plus they totally snuck it in too. We were doing a nice little presentation of diagrams and charts and not-to-explicit drawings when BAM! cut to shot of random woman's hoo-ha with a little head sticking out. (And let me tell you, neither the big head or the little head looked very happy about it). Tony and I jerked back like we'd both been hit in the face with a 2x4. (Actually, I think I would have preferred it. As it is, I think the image has been permanently seared onto my retinas).

And the afterbirth thing with the placenta? I didn't even know that had to come out. I thought the baby was the end of it. But they showed that part too! Just as I was beginning to relax because the worst was over, here comes the placenta! That part looked even worse! (I think I yelled HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER! right in the middle of the class). When the lights came back up, Tony turns to me with eyes the size of softballs and goes, "Sweetie, you are soooo screwed".

No kidding, dear. Guess whose fault that is?

Why does it have to be so disgusting? It's like "Let's take the grossest things we can possibly think of and throw them all in together and call it childbirth". (And as the instructor so cheerfully pointed out, you might even poop in front of everyone too!) I mean, would it have been so hard to have maybe a nice piece of jewelry instead of a mucus plug? A bunch of daisies instead of a placenta? (Women could be all, "Whoops! There goes my bouquet! Stick those in a vase for me, will ya?") I could get behind that.

I know, I know, I hear all of you out there. You're all, "This is a natural and beautiful part of life, and you should cherish it!". And to that I say fine. I'll cherish the wetting my pants and the snot plug and the blood and the gooey stuff all over her and growing a hole to my internal organs that, if anywhere else on the body would probably be fatal, but do I really need to see it? I mean, I'm not the one down there on the catching end. That's why I have a doctor. Let him deal with all the messy parts. The less I need to think about it, the better. (In fact, I wouldn't even be in the same room if I could figure out a way for my bottom half to be giving birth while my top half was down the hall, say, flipping through old magazines in the waiting room).

So...yeah. Not a fan of the video. Or the whole idea of labor in general now that I've seen it. (For me or Baby Girl...going through all that can't really be a picnic on her end either). I'm thinking that it's high time we figure out a better way of getting babies out anyway. Is this not the 21st century? Do we not live in an age of medical advancement? The whole pushing and screaming and gushing thing is soooo beginning of time.

You know what it says on my birth plan? "I want the stork option".

Where do I sign up for the stork?