Katelyn's Story, Part Three: Delivery

My doctor was amazing. She said she understood that it's not what we had in mind, that although it's a difficult one, the decision to go for a C-Section was for the best. While she prepped for (my first-ever) surgery, I went through so many emotions. Poor Tim - he was the only one in the room with me - no buffer at all, no one to help absorb the crazy (little did I know that both of our moms were in the waiting room, chatting, stressing, and wondering).

At around 9:00, the doctor came back in, ready to wheel me into the OR. Tim asked her to check me just one last time, to see if anything had changed, if by some miracle I had dilated that last half of a centimeter and could start pushing instead of having the surgery. She submitted, saying that if that's what we wanted, and if that's what we wanted, she would do anything. After all, it's better to have all the knowledge available, right? So she checked, and no such luck; actually, that extra half centimeter had swollen to the point that vaginal delivery would NOT be an option.

And so they wheeled me into the OR. Tim was busy packing our stuff from the labor and delivery room to move it to the recovery room, and putting on the disposable scrubs. While the staff in the OR prepped me, I just kept wondering where the bloody hell Tim was. I knew it had to be time, but I could NOT do this without him! Hellooooo, SHOCK! Get. Me. My. Husband!

I remember bright lights overhead. Everything had that sterility-senility look to it. It smelled like the rest of the hospital: bodily functions and extra-strength cleansers. It made me think of Alexander in the ICU a little more than two years ago; but I couldn't dwell on those images. This was a happy occasion. This was such a different situation.

Doctors and nurses quickly got me all set up, with my arms splayed straight out and a curtain cutting off my vision so that I could only see above my neck. There was one of the nurses that had helped so much in the labor room - John - and that was somewhat comforting. At least there was one familiar face. But where in the world was Tim?

One of the doctors, a look-alike of one of the aliens from Men in Black - the tall guy from the restaurant with the pierogis - kept poking me with something a little sharp. "You should feel touch, but not the scratch." Okay, that's what I feel, exactly. Great. Perfect. Let's get this done. Just as soon as Tim shows up. Speaking of which...

FREAKING FINALLY! There he was, after what seemed like an eternity, there was Tim, in some sort of Breaking Bad getup (white scrubs, a surgical hair net, and face mask, the last of which I think was pulled down to his neck).

The whole thing didn't take very long. Except for looking at Tim, I don't remember anything until someone said, "it's a girl!" and I snapped back to reality. My first thought, when I looked at Tim in that moment, was, "oh good - the ultrasound tech was right - we can use all of that pink stuff after all!" Then they whisked her away, weighed and measured her, cleaned and wrapped her up, and showed her to me, just a quick glance, before they called Tim over to check her out up close.

She was born at 9:45 p.m.
She weighed 7 pounds and 13 ounces.
She was 22 1/4 inches long.
She was (and remains) beautiful.

Again, this next part is fuzzy. Even though at the time I thought it was taking forever, they stitched me up quickly and as soon as I knew it, I was in a small, dimly-lit room. Tim was seated about ten feet away, Katelyn in his arms and a huge smile on his face. John stood next to me, typing at a computer. Behind Tim was another nurse, also typing into a computer.

The next thing I remember was baby's bath time, and I pushed Tim to participate in that. He did, taking plenty of cell phone pictures. We were in that room for over an hour, but soon enough, we moved into a recovery room, where we would stay until Monday morning at around 2:00 p.m.

Katelyn's Story, Part Two: Labor

When last we left our duo that would soon become a trio, they had just entered the hospital to a security drill and an adorable triage nurse named Kaitlyn.

We once again got situated into the empty triage room, got dressed in the awkward hospital gown, and attached to monitors. It wasn't long before I was checked, dilated to 3 cm, and 50% effaced. At least there was progress (on Monday, at the false alarm, I was 1.5 cm dilated and 0% effaced)!

Soon, they told us to walk all around, feel free to check out the arboretum, keep walking so labor can progress, etc. We walked and walked, for about an hour and a half, then went back to triage to get checked again. Then, I was 4 cm dilated and 50% effaced.

Somewhere around 3:00 a.m., we were transferred into our own room, a labor and delivery room. I couldn't stop thinking of the line from Titanic: "I believe this ship may sink" (which, in retrospect, takes on another meaning, a new level of understanding that I hadn't realized). I didn't want to admit to myself that this was actually happening. I wanted it to be finished, but I didn't want to go through it. I wanted the prize, but I didn't want to play the game.

After that, things are something of a blur, because I was just laboring, living life in three-minute increments. At one point, a nurse tried setting up my IV; first, she tried the back of my hand, and my vein... exploded?... I don't know the proper word, only that it didn't work, and I still have the bruise.

Someone else came in to talk about pain control options, and I decided to try the first, non-numbing option. It. Was. Blissful. Ever since we found out that baby's due date was so close to my birthday, I said that all I wanted for my birthday was drugs (I'm not very pain tolerant). Unfortunately, that option can only last two hours total (one dose lasts an hour, and the body develops a tolerance to it after the second dose). So, after my second dose, I asked for an epidural (against advice to the contrary, which I wish I'd heeded).

The epidural kicked in, and soon enough, a doctor came in to check me. Again, progress: 4.5 cm and 90%!

At some point during all of this, I just got used to being naked, exposed from the waist down to a room full of people, complete strangers. Whatever. I didn't care anymore.

We kept everyone informed of what was going on, mostly just close family and friends, by text. A friend came to say hi (and, whether he knows it or not, to help me relax). It wasn't surprising when Tim's mom showed up late-morning, and mine showed up in the early afternoon; they must've figured that SURELY baby would have been born by then! Nope. But that didn't stop all five of us from visiting, talking, and laughing. But when doctors kept having to up the pitocin, and time kept moving along, up went the stress levels as well.

Around 1:00 p.m., the doctor once again came in to check me, and her announcement gave me hope that it would all be over soon: 9 cm and 90%! Yes! I could do this. "One step at a time" may have been my most effective mantra of all time! I was almost giddy. Just a centimeter and 10% to go until push-time!

The doctor gave me two hours, increased the pitocin, and we would just see what happened. The next time I was checked (at around 3:00), I was 9.5 and 100%; she gave me another two hours and again increased the pitocin. At 5:00, I was still 9.5 and 100%. Frustrated but not ready to give in just yet, we have it another two hours and another increase in pitocin. At 7:00, there was still no change, and she wanted to talk about "options."

I just remember being so confused. What does that mean - "options"? What are "options"? I didn't understand.

"Well," she said, "we can give it another two hours and increase the pitocin again..." Oh crap. Suddenly, I knew what she was going to say. I understood. "...or we can do a C-Section." While I tried to hold back tears, Tim asked about the process of a C-Section. How long does it take? Risks? Recovery? Scar? etc. His questions helped to distract me, but I was still freaking out.

The doctor and nurses left the room to allow us a chance to discuss... and to let me break down for a few minutes. Eventually, as if it were actually in question, we concluded that a C-Section would be the best, and so we told them our decision: C-Section it would be!

Once again: to be continued...

Katelyn's Story, Part One: Thursday

WARNING:
THIS IS NOT MEANT TO ENTERTAIN. THIS IS MAINLY FOR MY RECORDS. IF IT INTERESTS YOU, GREAT; IF NOT, DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.

Thursday nights, as everyone in our inner circle knows, is date night. It's our time. We never go out. We do a very simple meal, most often bread, cheese, olives, hummus, maybe a salad. We talk at the dining room table, decompressing from the week. There are candles and dim lighting. It's all about us - nobody and nothing else. A very calm environment. We love it, and look forward to it all week. For the past few years, this has been our routine.

Well, Thursday (March 27th) was our last of these... at least for a little while. We had a simple dinner, like normal, at the dining table while we talked and decompressed from the week (it was more him than me, though, since I had started my leave on Monday and didn't have much to discuss other than my contractions).

I had been home all day, trying every natural and old-wives-tale remedy to try to coax baby out: eat pineapple, take a walk, go up and down stairs, eat spicy food, etc. ("etc" of course not including the one method unavailable to me at that point, at least until after 5:30 or 6:00, when Tim would get home). From the beginning, I said there was one thing I absolutely would not do: castor oil. No, they'd have to induce me before I'd do that! But, try as I might, nothing seemed to work.

I settled in on Tim's recliner, feet raised to help reduce swelling in my feet and ankles (almost pointless since week 35, but oh well - it felt good), and I watched my own Netflix "Breaking Amish" marathon (a reality TV show that doesn't necessitate my taking a cold shower at the end? Sign me up!).

Around 3:00, I started getting stronger, take-your-breath-away contractions, and I started taking them. They started at around seven minutes apart, but were irregular. Some seven minutes apart, then three, then twenty. It was like that until around 9:00, when they started getting pretty regular:


"Thursday night" usually starts at 6:00, and ends whenever we get tired and decide to head to bed, but this night was different. Because of the contractions, we decided to chill on the couch for a little bit before we moved the party to a candle-lit bathroom to take a shower and see if the contractions were "real" (which of course they were - I just didn't necessarily want to face my reality of labor and, eventually, delivery).

It was a very long day for me: I really didn't want to go to the hospital. Instead, I thought laboring in my sleep sounded like a pretty good deal. I called the birthing center, told them what was going on, abd that I would let them know when I decided to come in. I set an alarm for 12:15, and we went to bed.

Lucky Tim - he slept for a couple of hours before I woke him up. I, on the other hand, slept in about five-minute increments. At about 11:55, I started feeling really uncomfortable; all I could think was, "15 minutes... 15 minutes... 15 minutes..." (yes, I realize it was really 20 minutes, but I was rounding off, pushing myself to stay home as long as possible, because I've done the hospital thing before, and I hated staying there).

11:58 was another contraction, and I was next to tears with that one. I started trying to get in a different, more relaxed position, reminding myself of the 15 minutes, but that didn't work. I couldn't. I hated that I couldn't, but I just...couldn't. I woke Tim up, probably a little more hastily than necessary, but I want in the mood for a nice, calm, "how ya' doin' there, my Love?" It was more of a "We gotta go! I can't take this anymore! Can we just go, like, NOW? Let's go. Is it okay if we go?"

We couldn't get out the door fast enough. It felt like everything was in slow motion. Everything except the contractions, of course.

Finally, we left. We talked on the drive, but with contractions coming every four to five minutes apart, it wasn't exactly the normal flow of conversation; it was more disjointed and a little on the schizo side. We got to the hospital just after 1:00 a.m., greeted by a birthing center drill and a really nice triage nurse named Kaitlyn. It was a good omen.

To be continued...

What I'm doing around here

I've been off of work for two and a half days now. This is my third day home. Honestly, I thought I'd have NOTHING to do, but it's not that way at all. My days are filled with naps, walks, bouncing on an exercise ball, watching TV and movies, eating, drinking, laundry, doing stuff in the kitchen, writing letters to my favorites, running errands, making dinner... I'm kinda busy!

Yesterday, I went for a walk FOUR times. I had TWO bouncy-ball sessions. And I had a whole mess of jalapenos on my taco salad. And just before bed: some pretty serious pressure and pain. I couldn't fall asleep for the contractions! It was almost exciting, like "this could be the day" type of feeling.

Today, I've walked TWICE (so far, but it's only just past noon); the first time was 1.2-ish miles, and the second was just over a half mile (I had to cut it short because it started raining - what I call "Valley spit," but what almost anyone else that lives around here would call a "downpour"). Anyway, it looked like it was picking up, and I didn't really feel like getting drenched. So there's that.

All six of these walks have been filled with weird and interesting moments. Today, I saw two grown men (both probably around 30 years old) under one of the gazebos at the park; one of them was scream-singing something like, "Dear Lord, take me away to a better place!" I got followed by a cute little boy around four years old. I saw Animal Control taking away a stray. I walked past an elementary school where kids were playing and laughing and squealing. Kids with their parents flying kites. Some kids playing "red rover."

Part of me just wants this whole thing to be over and done with; another part of me wants to never let it happen. I know it's just because I don't know what to expect. So I'm stuck in this dreadful in between place: I want it to be, and not be, at the same time.

I don't think this post has any kind of a point to it. I'm just thinking. And venting. And relaxing. And enjoying the sounds of rain. Maybe the next post will be a baby announcement...? Wish me luck!

What I'm...

Mommy, Run Fast! started it, and I'm answering:

What I'm reading...
Made in America: An Informal History of the English Language in the United States, by Bill Bryson. And I'm loving every minute of it, even if he has a tendency to wander and get lost in tangents a bit. I love it.

What I'm learning...
Patience. Baby's due date is tomorrow. I'm crazy-uncomfortable, nervous, and anxious... but I can't force anything, so... I'm learning patience.

What I'm indulging in...
Not a whole lot, but I did make Tim break out a bag of the Cadbury M&Ms he always gets (and hides so I can't find, per my request) at Christmas and Easter. Ice cream doesn't do for me now what it did in the first trimester, and the creamer ice creams (like vanilla, usually my fave) are just... not my friend.

What I'm lounging in...
Jeans. Even though it's in the low- to mid-80s, I refuse to buy maternity shorts (I have no more than 14 days of this pregnancy thing ahead of me)!

What I'm dreaming of...
So many things, really! Seeing baby for the first time. Holding baby. Living baby. Bringing baby home. Basically everything in my life right now revolves around baby.

What I'm loving...
My Love. Always.

What I'm afraid of...
This has been on my mind a LOT recently, for some reason (or maybe for no reason at all). I can handle spiders, snakes, mice, whatever. I'm not a fan my any stretch of the imagination, but I can HANDLE those things - those things can be killed! The thing that really frightens me right now is the unknown.

What I'm cooking...
Nothing more exciting than tacos or grilled cheese. How lame is that? I think this calls for a batch of blondies (my favorite recipe from a place my mom used to get our bread when we lived in upstate New York). And breakfast cookies (from a recipe I pinned).

What I'm wondering...
When this little babe will decide to make her appearance! Oh, and what justice is there in the world if it can be in the mid-80s in March. Like, for example.

High hopes, dashed

I had high hopes for this afternoon's baby appointment. But, maybe it just want meant to be. Every day, I think, TODAY could be baby's birthday. But that day isn't March 21st. At least, not THIS baby. Maybe tomorrow, but I doubt it. I'm starting to think she'll be even more difficult than me and Tim combined, and she'll wait until April...

So the appointment wasn't what I expected. I expected something that couldn't happen. I expected the something that could've pushed me into labor, but because even the procedure itself couldn't happen, the labor-starting REALLY couldn't happen. Plus, I was only dilated to a one or two, not "at least a two," like I had hoped.

All of this served only to remind me to not have a set of specific expectations. Don't be disappointed because something that I can't control didn't go according to my plans (expectations). I thought I had already learned this lesson years ago, so it's disappointing that I have to learn it all over again. Don't set myself up for failure. Don't try to control what I can't control.

Oh yeah: and don't try to change other people. Women, for example, are an interesting breed. Anyone that knows me will tell you that I'm not exactly the typical chick. So when women turn into spiteful, cruel, vindictive monsters... I just don't know what to say or do. For example: I feel and my doctor has confirmed that baby has dropped, and really, she has no more dropping to do. Despite this, all of these monsters that I work with argue that my doctor and I are wrong, that baby hasn't dropped yet. How can you argue with that?

"Yes she has."
"No, she hasn't."
"Doctor said so."
"She's wrong."
"Well, I feel like she's dropped."
"Well, you're wrong."

...and I'm at a loss. What do you say to that? I just don't know. The same thing happened with waddling, when one of these she-devils said that I waddle, and wouldn't take "no I don't" for an answer.

So I guess, along with feeling really uncomfortable not only at work, but also just in my own skin any time I'm awake, AND being away from these "ladies," I'm glad to start my leave. It's just trying to control things I can't, right? Why does that stress me out as much as it does? It shouldn't, right? I hope I'm not the only one.

Advice?
Words of wisdom?
Any hope?

I don't want to share!

Confession: I'm not exactly the world's best sharer. Well, that's not true. Let me rephrase: when it comes to things I like, I don't share. I don't even try.

Have some of my broccoli.
Want some of my lemon cookies?
Here - take my chips.

But ice cream? My favorite book (or movie)? Bring leftover Tootsie Rolls to work so I don't eat them all myself? Nah - I'd rather get you your own, because I'M NOT SHARING.

So tonight, on the eve of my birthday, I was thinking one again that I'd better not have baby tomorrow. I know that might sound selfish, but it's as much for her sake as it is for my own. I don't want her to have to share her birthday with me, and I don't want to have to share my birthday with her.

Friends, family, and co-workers have guessed that baby will be born very, very soon (even if some of my more argumentative co-workers refuse to acknowledge that baby has indeed dropped). I'm hoping to put baby off until AT LEAST Saturday, but Sunday works, and Monday (the 17th, St. Patrick's Day) would be my first choice.

You see, we've got plans: A birthday dinner at Ruth's Chris. Corned beef and cabbage at home. Walking with a couple of friends. Lunch with a friend. Plus, we'd like the weekend, so having the baby on Monday would be the best. Clearly, this is how it'll work out, and it'll be perfect, just as planned.

Right? C'mon...someone has to cross their fingers with me!

Is five minutes too much to ask?

It smells like a birthday in here. To me, any time candles are blown out, it smells like someone just finished singing "Happy Birthday." Because right now, it's nobody's birthday around here. At least, not quite yet.

No; it smells like a birthday because that's just what the doctor ordered: a bath by candlelight, a book on the side, and zero technology within reach. This is the prescription whenever I'm irrationally emotional, as I was tonight.

It was a good day. Well, mostly, the day was good. I have been sleeping okay - not great, but not horrible, either. We attended a newborn care class in Fresno this morning (only one moment of offense and annoyance at the teacher); it was okay, some good info, a little preachy, and just that one awkward offensive question, but whatever.

Then was lunch at PF Chang's (to expose baby to some Asian spices), Woodward Park (for a few maternity pictures before we got rained out), Barnes and Noble (to use a gift card from years ago that I'd recently found), Home Goods (where I kicked a puddle, which soaked my shoes and the bottom three inches of my jeans), Sam's Club, and Sprouts.

My back was miserable during the class, and it only got worse the rest of the afternoon. After I kicked the puddle, my shoes and pants felt so uncomfortable that I was just about ready to give up and go home. Because I'm difficult, I insisted on toughing it out. Have I mentioned that baby has dropped (not all the way by any means, but enough to force me to waddle)? That only made everything worse. By the time we got to Sam's, I just wanted to sit. I sat here and there, but always for 30 seconds or less (I've already admitted to being difficult, thank you). Even I have to admit: I shouldn't have walked all through Sprouts. But I did.

And then we started on our way home, which involves driving. On roads. With other drivers. In the rain. And the other drivers don't know what to do in the rain. So they just drive like jerks. Already, I don't enjoy cars or traffic - add rain and inconsiderate drivers? Just kill me now, you know?

Finally, we got home and started discussing what we wanted to do tonight. Movie? TV? Game? Tim said he would play a video game if I just wanted to do my own thing. And then he asked: so, what would you like to do? I let the question hang there for a minute, just as he had when I asked what type of movie sounded good (or was he not paying attention? or did he just not hear me? I'll never know, and it doesn't matter at all).

Then, I felt it coming on. A moment. I started to cry. (I know what you're asking: "Seriously? Over what? Why? Is she some special brand of crazy?" Because that's exactly what I wondered myself at that moment.) I had to pick myself up off of the chair (not an easy task, remember) and haul myself into the bedroom to really start letting the years flow, because I didn't want to freak Tim out.

True to form, the dogs followed me immediately, and Tim was only about five or ten seconds behind them. He found an ugly pregnant crying woman in the master bathroom.

"Okay, I get that it's hormones, but what's wrong? Did I do or say something?"

I started laughing. (If he had any sense, he would've gone running for the hills at that point. Crying. Hormonal. And then laughing. Not good.) I told him the only thing I can think that I really want to do is be comfortable for FIVE FREAKING MINUTES!! Just five minutes - is that too much to ask? Sheesh!

He had to smile (kind of a pathetic, I-always-knew-you-were-crazy kind of smile), then he hugged me. It was my second nutty-as-a-fruitcake pregnancy meltdown (the first was in a hotel room in NYC, and the reason I melted then was because my wardrobe want stylish enough). I think he was just relieved it wasn't anything he'd done; still, he asked what to do to help me: take a bath? relaxing beverage? ice cream? a one-day gym membership to relax/float in the pool? anything? I finally conceded to the bath (obviously), but I really hope this kind of crazy meltdown doesn't happen again. After all, this Sunday marks 37 weeks down, which leaves just three weeks to go, hopefully at the most, because if I feel this miserably uncomfortable at 37 weeks, there's NO WAY I'm letting this get out of control and going to more than 40 weeks.

Oh, no. We're NOT doing that. We're NOT going there. 40 weeks is when she's DUE, and I always stick to my deadlines - isn't a due date just another deadline?

Your daughter's name is 'Beefeater'?

Do you ever have those moments of clarity when you think, "I just LOVE the heck out of that guy"? Moments when you know it's the little things that matter, not the material stuff, but the sweet inside joke moments. Moments when you know you're truly MFEO? That was today, at Costco.

We wandered through the small front section together, spotted a rug display, and decided independently that we both would pick THAT one, and kinda didn't like any of the others. It was indoor/outdoor, but we didn't have a place for it inside, and if we put it outside, Spot would just pee on it. So... didn't need it, didn't get it.

He found a couple of button-up shirts he liked, but again, didn't need it, didn't get it. Maybe next time, because recently we've got other things to buy for someone else (hi, baby - due exactly 30 days from today!).

At that point, we separated, as we always do, him to the electronics, and me to the clothes, books, and movies. I have been looking for books to keep my interest, but recently, nothing really takes hold (any non-fiction suggestions would be welcome). I found no clothes that caught my attention. No books. And no movies. And then, all of a sudden, I was so alone. A quick text ("Panic attack. Where did you go? Need you!"), and there he was. Weird - usually I can't find him that quickly. He asked if I was okay, if we should just leave, and I said no, I was fine, as long as we stuck together for the rest of the time. It was a deal.

We continued to wander, this time to the alcohol, where we found bottles of wine and hard liquor. I spotted Hennessy, and made a comment about how it's not too late to change baby's name to that (a reference to my love of odd/unusual names I've found in my working career). He saw a bottle of Beefeater, and said the same thing - we could change the name to that. "Might be a CPS case at some point, he said. 'Your daughter's name is Beefeater?'"

Then it was on to the fruits and veggies. We got a pineapple, some melon, berries, and he left me by the bananas while he shopped the refrigerated section (fine by me - I didn't want to go in there today). As if all that had happened before wasn't enough to remind me how much I'm head over heels for this guy of mine, then this happened.

You see, we play this game in Costco. Whoever sees someone they know FIRST, that person wins. He ALWAYS wins. It was 12:00 on a Friday (the time that most people that work with him get out of work, which is literally less than a mile down the street). Duh - he was going to win.

So I'm there, trying to pick out the greenest bunch of bananas. I checked the first two boxes in front of me - nothing acceptable. Then this strange woman came up to my left and said, "excuse me... excuuuuse me!" I turned, ready to give her a look and tell her there was plenty of room (I have a general distaste for most people who shop at the Costco near us), but instead, I saw this sweet lady from where I used to work. My first response to her? "I win!"

We chatted for a few minutes while Tim found his way back to me and the bananas. When he came out of the refrigerated section and saw me talking to this woman, his immediate reaction was, "You win!" I introduced them; we chatted for another minute, and then went about our ways. And then she came back to us, just to ask why I won, what did I win? I told her about our game, and how I never win. She smiled, laughed a bit, and moved on.

I just love those moments. I love my guy. Our inside jokes. Our quirks. But mostly, I love him. I hope that we'll continue to have those moments for the rest of forever, no matter what. It really IS the little things that matter. Free things. Priceless moments. I wouldn't trade those things for anything!

Best. Shower. Ever. Not just BABY shower. Best SHOWER ever.

So, yesterday was the big baby shower. The one with all the friends and family. I have to admit: I was nervous. I couldn't stop thinking about all of the things that COULD go wrong. People saying things. Thinking things. Doing things. Nobody would show up. Not getting there on time. Not enough food. Gross food. Me, being stupid. Awkward moments. I was kinda miserable.

But - wonder of wonders - NOTHING went wrong. Seriously. Actually, everything went perfectly. And I mean that. My mental stress was all for naught! Thanks to the person who organized and planned and did EVERYTHING for us. She's just awesome and amazing, and we love her dearly. Now to convince her to watch baby for us once in a while (I don't think she'll take much convincing)!

Sure, some things were said, but they didn't bug me. Nobody heard them. Nobody cared. If they were shouted from rooftops, maybe then we'd have a problem, but they weren't, so we don't. 

People showed up. Early! On time! At the right place! The place was easy to find (fortunately I wasn't driving, because I wasn't wearing glasses and didn't see the sign until we were literally walking in, and I'm not even kidding)! People that I figured wouldn't show up actually did, but a couple of people that said they'd be there, weren't. "It'll all even out in the end," right Xander?

The food was really great! I had never eaten at this place before - The Lunch Box in downtown Visalia - but it was awesome. Tim and I chose the sandwiches and wraps, which were awesome, but the thing that really stole the show: the brownies. Oh, yum. Anyone who was there that DIDN'T try the brownies, I pity you. You should've tried those. I need the recipe for those, like, yesterday.

I think the part I was most nervous about was opening gifts. I thought it would be redundant ("and repetitive"), but I don't think it was. There was such a wide variety of things, that no specific words or phrases got overused. There were some silent moments when wrapping simply could not be undone, and I (jokingly) attempted to bite the packaging. Fortunately, it wasn't awkward - it was just me, being me. Which I think (or maybe I guess I hope) people understood.

At the end of the gift part, Tim gave this amazing "thank you" speech to everyone that came to the shower, and especially to the person who made it all happen. And after his maybe five-minute spiel, he looked over to me, as if to say, "anything to add"? What the heck am I supposed to add now that he just said it all and more? Apparently I indicated that I had nothing to add, but I did it totally me-fashion. Silly, but not awkward. At least, so I'm told. People laughed, but not AT me. At least, so I'm told.

So now, all of the baby stuff is being washed and made ready for baby's grand arrival. Which, I suppose, is the final step in this whole process: giving birth. I'm NOT looking forward to it, but there's no other way to get her out, is there. I guess, here we go. The last step.

34 weeks, and I'm doing kinda great!

Today marks 34 weeks down, which leaves just six to go. Or, according to my countdown app, 42 days until baby's due date (assuming that she comes on her due date, which I'm assuming she won't).

I feel very pregnant. My feet and/or ankles occasionally swell; I feel uncomfortable almost all the time; I'm tired, but unable to sleep for long periods at a time. And this is baby #1, so I'm starting to get more and more nervous about labor and delivery. (I assume these things are all very normal. Correct me if I'm wrong.)

I plan to work until my doctor order me to stop working, or until I have baby, which (despite what everyone says) I think - and HOPE - that she'll come just a little early.

My big baby shower is a week away, and I'm both nervous and excited. I guess maybe I'm a control freak, but I just like knowing what to expect (if that makes me a control freak, then so be it) - in this situation, I know that's impossible. More than 30 people said they would be at this shower, and while most of them don't worry me, there are a handful of big question marks.

I'm trying so hard to relax, to go with the flow. To remind myself that people will do what they're going to do, regardless of whether I approve. I'm trying to be less of a control freak. I know: it'll be fine. "Everything will even out in the end," as my little brother once screamed in frustration at me (and I'd kill to hear him remind me again and again these days).

I also wonder what I should wear to the shower. A dress? A nice top with a skirt/jeans? I don't know. I'm leaning towards a nice top with nice (long) pants, because my legs are too unpredictably swollen these days - a fact I don't really wish to have documented in tagged pictures on Facebook.

Baby has jags of kicking and moving, and although there are certain moments and locations that I wish she wouldn't kick, I really have learned to appreciate them. I love knowing that she's happy and healthy in there. I've had a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions (most of which I've learned to ignore, but others, depending on location and intensity, really take my breath away). But overall, I'm doing okay - actually, I think I'm doing kinda great. I wish I could be one of those crazy women that ran all the way through her pregnancy, but I'm just not. Plain as that.

I've given myself permission to do nothing for at least the first two weeks after baby is born. I told this to a friend who has a six-month-old, and she said that it'll be the busiest "nothing" I've ever done, abd I understand that. I'm actually looking forward to late-night feedings and messy diapers and all of that, because at least she'll be here. Well finally be able to see what she looks like (hopefully not an alien patio baby)! After those first weeks, though, I want to train and do another 5K or 10K. I already have so many Couch to 5K plans pinned and ready to go! I'm excited!

Eight to go!

32 weeks down, which leaves right around eight weeks to go (hopefully not much, if any, more than that).

This past Thursday was baby shower #1, held at work during lunch time. I was nervous because I don't really know these people very well, but it turned out really nice: cake, punch, a few gifts... nothing too scary.

...And shower #2 (the bigger one, with family and friends) is just three weeks from now. "Worlds are colliding!" Isn't it always kinda nerve-wracking to have his side, her side, and both work sides coming together, even if it's just for a few hours?

Next weekend, we have another kiddo class, but this is when it kicks into high gear: a childbirth class. Childbirth? Certainly I don't need that yet!

It's crazy how time has flown... sort of. It seems like yesterday I was so excited for the end of the first trimester, and now... a childbirth class? It sounds crazy. But, at the same time, this "not sleeping" thing, this "feeling sooo freaking uncomfortable" thing - makes time screech to a halt.

I bought this... this... this thing... the other day. It's a supportive thing, designed to lift baby up a little, just out of my pelvis, thereby making that area less crowded and more comfortable. I tried it out when we went to a movie ("Anchorman 2" - pretty funny!), and decided that it may have worked for my NP (who recommended it so highly) because she was on her feet all day. But for me, who works seated at a desk all day, it just made the kicks that much more up-close and personal. Fail. At least I didn't pay full price ($50-ish?)!

Biggest complaints right now are:
1. I'm pretty much constantly uncomfortable, and
2. Insomnia.

Still, I haven't had any real cravings other than chocolate and ice cream (but I always want those things, no matter if I'm pregnant, hormonal, or none of the above). Fortunately, my Love indulges me once in a while, but without overdoing it (since I really don't want to gain some extraordinary amount with baby - especially if it's non-nutritious stuff like that).

It's also funny to me that everyone has (seemingly) suddenly changed their tunes, from, "Omigosh - you're so big! And it looks like you're getting bigger every day!" (Gee, thanks) to "Wow, you're tiny. You're all baby! It doesn't even look like the rest of your body has changed at all" (oh, bless you - you're my new favorite person). Weirdness. So I guess I grew a lot early on, but since then I've really slowed down, size-wise. Good deal.

So, with just eight-ish weeks to go, there's a lot happening, and still a lot left to be done (hospital bag might be tied with pre-registering at the hospital for #1 on that list), but hey - it's just eight weeks. I can do this. I hope.

30 week meltdown

Tomorrow marks 30 weeks down, which leaves just ten (max, hopefully) to go. I find myself looking forward to the end so much that it's become nearly unbearable. Fortunately, there's a lot to look forward to - a lot that breaks the big "10 weeks" chunk into smaller, more bite-size chunks. I can do this. Maybe.

This weekend, we have lunch with a couple of friends, and possibly dinner and a movie with another. Next weekend, we're painting the nursery (actually, I have nothing to do with it, other than picking out colors - my sister-in-law and a couple of her daughters are coming over to paint; I'll be banished from the immediate area).

Next week, we have a doctor's appointment (just a baby checkup), and what Kaiser calls a "stork tour" - basically a tour of the maternity area. Exciting but nerve-wracking, just like every other baby-related thing.

Coming up within the next month is my baby shower (also nerve-wracking, because I'm not a big fan of having everyone's attention centered on me). Fortunately, we're registered, ready and rarin' to go.

Then comes the organizing of the baby stuff, the packing of the hospital bag, the freaking out... and then, horror of horrors: L&D (don't make me say it)!

I just hope everything goes as planned, but I'm not naive enough to think that it always does, so I'm trying to come to grips with that.

What if I have baby way earlier than expected? Later than expected? What if baby decides to make her grand appearance at home? What if I'm in L for, like, 57 hours? What if I have to have a c-section? What if I go into L at the most inopportune time of day or week? What if we don't make it to the hospital on time (we live a little more than an hour away from the hospital)? I'm trying to prepare for these possibilities.

Any advice? Calming words? Horror stories? I love them all!

Changing my mindset

Is it really supposed to be this hard? I'm not in PAIN, exactly - I'm just uncomfortable almost ALL the time!

I sleep better with the help of Unisom (thanks to permission from my NP, and not my Ob), but I wake up, and my hips are just killing me! --> Fortunately, I was able to order something that MIGHT help with this issue.

My back hurts almost constantly, and try as I might, I can never find a comfortable seated position (again, the thing I ordered MIGHT help).

We talked about all these things the other day, and basically I was reminded of how lucky I am. For so much. I can carry a baby. She seems to be happy and healthy (if a little water-logged and eager to move and kick all of her waking hours), and I'm happy and healthy. We're good!

So we think it's a mindset thing. I need to change my mindset, which always does wonders for me - it already has! I don't ENJOY the rib-kicks, but I LOVE knowing that that means she's probably fine. I love that I get to be with her 24 hours a day (for now) - once she's outta there, I don't know how thrilled I'll be to hear the crying and respond to all of the other demands of a newborn.

I had a great, long talk with a friend about her natural labor and delivery (I'm definitely NOT doing that - I want drugs, drugs, and more drugs! If I feel so much as a pinch, I want someone to take care of that!). It was a great discussion, though, and it made me feel so much more relaxed about that part.

Just eleven weeks to go until due date!

Quick and dirty recap of the holidays

It's over. Finally, it's over, The holiday season is one of those times of year that I dread. Every year it's the same: what do I get for this person, that person, the other person? So much unnecessary pressure.

This year, though, it was at least a little busier, especially toward the end of the year. We spent Christmas Eve at home with a nice dinner with the in-laws (and shouting at the table, very classy) and a couple of movies. Christmas Day, we drove north to my parents' house. Presents didn't start until 2:30 p.m., not entirely unusual. And then we drove even farther north, to my sister-in-law's to see my niece get married.


(The niece that got married was on her honeymoon by the time this picture was taken, but trust me: she's beautiful, too.) Actually, maybe I did manage to get get just a silhouette:


But now, it's back to normality, abd I couldn't be happier. About that. But other things have started to bug me now. I don't think I'm usually a negative, complaining person, but I really don't feel good. I haven't felt great for... oh, about six months now. And there's still three to go!


I feel funky, definitely not like myself. I feel big and fat. (Notice my actual words here, please: "FEEL." I said "feel.") It doesn't feel good, abd I can't wait to have my new, altered, ruined body back, so I can start working on un-ruining it... and then ruining it again (we want two kids, pretty close together). Maybe I'll do a 10K or - better yet - a half marathon before #2 comes along.

Coming to grips with the obvious

It's official: bump is here. I'm not the only one that can tell. Tim and I aren't the only ones that can tell.


I ran into an old co-worker this past week, someone who changes his work locations frequently, on an as-needed basis. Okay, fine: he's a security guard. He was called in to work at my new location, so we had a chance to catch up. It's been at least a year since I've seen him.

He's a runner. I'm a runner (don't laugh; I AM when I'm not 20+ weeks pregnant!). Actually, I think the last time I saw him, he was volunteering at the Hell of a Half Marathon in Exeter (August 2012). So I asked him about his running; he updated me, and said, "you're probably not doing too much running these days, with baby."

"Huh? How did you...?" And he gestured toward my belly. "It's pretty easy to tell." Oh, yeah, huh.

It's getting bigger every day. It's not so incredibly scary (actually, I thought I'd have a harder time with that aspect than I'm having), but it's just something to get used to. It's kind of like those pre-teen and teenage years where everything grows, you don't fit into your clothes, you trip over your own feet... you swipe your car door against your belly... It's just a new experience for me. I haven't had to worry about that kind of crap since middle school? high school? ish?

A trip to ye olde neighborhood market

Have you ever heard ONLY GOOD THINGS about a place, and then when you finally go there for yourself, IT SUCKS OUT LOUD? Well, that happened to me. I've been hearing about this place - a grocery chain in the area where I live - from a friend-that-was (she's no longer a "friend," really). She said that she loves this place for produce. Just for produce. She goes to another grocery store for EVERYTHING ELSE, and THIS PLACE just for their produce.

So last night, when we wanted to do a caprese salad for our Thursday night dinner (it's a special night for us), and because this new-to-us, "amazing produce" grocery store is on my way home, I stopped there.

I should have known it would suck, just from the parking lot: it looked like a scene out of CSI. Not that I watch that show. It just looks like the perfect place for a mass killing / murder/suicide / shooting spree. Plus, shopping carts were everywhere (one of my pet peeves). Certain types of "music" blared and bumped from 1970s-era Cadillacs, and 2000s Hondas, many with fuzzy dice hanging from the rear views.

I managed to find a parking spot not occupied by a shopping cart (at least, at that time), park, and walk in. The whole place smelled like my grandparents' house - I'm still trying to figure that part out. I only needed tomatoes (heirloom), basil (fresh, not dried), a hunk of mozzarella (fresh), and a loaf of some kind of yummy bread. Four items. Not too much to ask, right? Tomatoes. Basil. Cheese. Bread. Easy.

First up: heirloom tomatoes and a bunch of basil. But it was difficult enough to find the produce section in this place, and all of a sudden - because of the overall feel of this place - dank, musty, old - I just wanted to run screaming out of there. Tomatoes. Basil. Focus. Don't panic. Eventually, I found the produce section (small, as it was), and the tomatoes. Some in the middle section, some on one end, some on the other (why? why would anyone spread tomatoes here, there, and everywhere? ugh). But no HEIRLOOM tomatoes. None. Okay, backup would be the "plain old regular" tomatoes. None of them looked outstanding. Just normal - the same quality as the grocery store where I normally shop. But there I was, so I got a couple.

Next: basil. Almost every single bundled bunch looked like it had been run over by a tractor. I managed to go through them and find one that only looked like it had had a few worms eat at it. Bagged that sucker, and headed toward the cheese.

Not surprisingly, the FRESH mozzarella I was looking for did. not. exist. There was only the dry, string-cheese-in-a-big-ol'-ball. Hello, disappointment.

One more item: the bread. The LOAF of bread. There were PLENTY of tortillas - packs of 25, 50, or 100. Tortas. Fried tortillas (what are those called? I forget). There were bags and bags of pre-sliced, very-processed loaves. That's definitely NOT what I was looking for. There were a few bags of prepared garlic-butter bread. Nothing like what I was looking for. I would have to go somewhere else. Somewhere like my regular grocery store, that had better tomatoes, basil, and cheese than what I had in my hands.

So, at the end of a very long week, at the end of a long day, I went to two - TWO - grocery stores. When I could've just gone to ONE. Ugh. And THAT is why I tend to stick to the tried-and-true, time-tested, run-of-the-mill, reliable grocery stores.

20 weeks

As of TODAY, I'm halfway there. Twenty weeks. A little over four and a half months. It's crazy - everything was slow at first, and then all of a sudden, March 23rd (my due date) is tomorrow, and we don't have anything ready, just a few outfits and a crib that isn't assembled yet. There's an issue with the TWO showers that people are doing for me (one up north, and the other one here in town):

There's no registry. Yet.

No research has been done. Yet.

Child proofing.

Strollers.

High chair.

Car seats.

Baby monitors.

Classes.

Beds and bedding.

New York.

Did I mention we're going to New York? We planned the trip waaaay back in...March (ish), thinking and hoping that I'd probably be pregnant by now, but never realizing just HOW pregnant I'd be. It doesn't matter, though - hell or high water, I AM running in Central Park. Nothing's gonna stop me, even if it's only for a quarter mile, I'm runnin'. I, for one, never considered what all would be happening at this point.

I'm tired.

I'm out of breath.

I can't sleep.

I have a belly.

I'm always hungry.

My feet hurt.

My back hurts.

I get leg cramps at night.

I have to pee.

Besides ALL that - as if all of that weren't enough - it's coming up on my least favorite time of year: the holidays. I hate the forced time together. The "whose parents are we seeing on X actual day this year" and the "what do I get for X this year" and the "what do you want for Christmas" (because heaven forbid you say the truth, that you don't really need/want anything, and would just prefer to chill out with people you don't see throughout the year, just talking, maybe taking walks and hanging out)? Not that I have an opinion one way or the other.

Also in December: our niece is getting married (way, way, way up north), and we have a few nights reserved at an awesome timeshare in downtown San Francisco (and I REALLY don't want to miss out on THAT, but who knows how I'll feel at that point, six months pregnant). I'm pretty sure I'll still be in the mood for Ghirardelli Square. San Fran has GOT to be a 'GO' - that's all there is to it.

What's your excuse?

Practically everyone has an opinion on this picture.

So I decided I'd throw in my own two cents.

I'm pregnant right now. I'm also an oft-times runner, and someone who's concerned about health and fitness, I worry about how fast my body can and will bounce back in March after baby gets here.

I saw this picture, and immediately thought, "there's hope - if she can do it with three kids in three years, maybe I can do it, too!" I saw it as a positive picture, not just one designed to rub her skinny-ness into other people's faces, people who don't have the willpower and energy to go through all that, AND take care of her three kids, AND exercise enough to look like that.

Celebrities are always bragging about abd shoving their bikini-clad, 90-pound bodies in everyone's faces, but there are some that just have naturally thin bodies, with naturally high metabolism.


You never know who's lying about their "miracle diet" and who's in fact anorexic, for example.


One thing that has ALWAYS bothered me is when people say, "once you have kids, you can say goodbye to [making meals every night/going out ever again/having any alone time]." I refuse to give up anything and everything I enjoy just because I'm going to have a kid...or anything else. Who knows, maybe this three-kids chick just eats super healthy. After all...

Lots shakin' around here!

Lots going on around here recently:

15 weeks, take two!
When I had to go to Valley Children's Hospital two or three weeks ago (which was truly a great experience!), the tech and doctor there told me that baby measured exactly one week big, and that it would change my due date, from March 23rd to the 16th. I emailed MY doctor to confirm the changed due date, and she said no, it doesn't change anything, because I measured right on at my first ultrasound. So baby is big. My due date would remain March 23rd. Sounds kinda weird to me. I can't wait for my next ultrasound, in just a little over a week! I always get nervous before the next one, worried about anything and everything that could go wrong (but I have a feeling I'm not the only one that has those worries).

The Festival
This weekend was a local County event, and because of Tim's position, he's pretty much obligated to make an appearance. Actually, it's one of my favorite events of the year, because it's pretty casual, and involves a walk to promote Suicide Awareness, and I get to hang out and talk with some of Tim's coworkers that I've come to know over the years. After the walk, there's a Festival that includes chalk art, clowns, magic, a kids' area...all sorts of fun stuff (plus, it's at an outlet mall, so we always do a little shopping, too).

BB
Is anyone else into "Breaking Bad"? We got into it a couple of years ago, and the series finale is tonight. I loved that show from the very beginning. Who doesn't love a story about an average Joe who turns to cooking meth to provide for his family? I like Bryan Cranston, but for me, Aaron Paul really steals the show - is it just me?

I ran this morning!
Well, sort of. I really need to get back into running shape. Today, we did about 2 1/2 miles, but I had to walk a good part of it, and I know I was slowing Tim down (poor guy could seriously have run the whole thing, I think, but he kept walking with me even though I told him to keep going). My goal is to be able to run, even if just for a little while, in Central Park when we visit this fall. The "big plan" is to run the Christmas Tree Lane 5K, hopefully with Tim's sister and her kids. It was fun last year, and we're really looking forward to it this year.

Any events or races you look forward to every year? 
My favorite half marathon is the Shamrock'n Half in Sacramento; it's the only race I've repeated, because I love it so much, but I'm not doing it in 2014 because it happens mid-March, the same time I should be writhing in pain (or, hopefully, numb from the waist down).

Do you watch "Breaking Bad"?

12 weeks

Today marks 12 weeks. It seems like forever ago that I found out, and to be honest, so far I'm not loving pregnancy. Weeks five to ten, I was sick as a dog, or so I thought. At ten weeks, I just got worse. Worse to the point of puking at my desk at work. That week at work, I lasted two hours on Tuesday, and precisely five minutes on Wednesday (which prompted me to call in a prescription that turned out to be my saving grace).

Now, at 12 weeks, I still feel drained and tired, but because I'm just barely starting to notice a teeny tiny bump (only Tim and I can notice at this point) - which kinda looks like I've just been over-eating - I also feel fat. I've had people tell me I'm not fat, but that's not what I said: I said I FEEL fat. That's just what it feels like.

I'm really looking forward to getting back into running, but right now I"m pretty nauseous from the moment I wake up until the time I leave for work. It gets better starting fifteen or twenty minutes after I take that magical pill, but still...I just feel weird. My tummy is revolting against doing anything before 6:00-ish. Which should make for an interesting return-to-4x10s week this week.

So...when does the second trimester "return of energy" officially begin? Please don't let me be one of those that stays sick for the full nine months!

So guess what...

Let's get real, mmkay?


I did about half of the Runner's World running streak. I've run a couple of 5Ks, a couple of 10Ks, and four half marathons. And I've almost completely stopped running recently. It's not entirely due to the heat.


I'm kinda pregnant. More than kinda. Actually, a little over ten weeks now. So it's a thing, officially. And I've been riding wave after wave of nausea since about week #5.

Pregnancy: awesome, amazing, blah blah...
Interminable nausea: complete suckfest.

So, in order to document my crappy-feeling days, I'm recording my stuff here. I'm trying to fight the day-and-night nausea with protein and carbs, but I just haven't felt like myself in...over five weeks. It's miserable, actually.


I've been craving almost nothing healthy (or even semi-healthy): I want chips and salsa, ice cream, pasta, and bread. And occasionally, a pickle.

Hormones are okay, I'm not too overly emotional or anything, just little blips here and there.

So far, I'd rate my "morning sickness" about a 9.5 on a scale of one to ten. I even went home early (as in eight hours early) from work today. I was fighting it from 6 until 9 a.m., which is when I left.
So...anyone have any advice for a first-timer? Anything?

And a little running mixed in

I haven't posted on here in way too long. It's sad, because some stuff has been going on, and I wish I had documented it.


This day was a highlight, for sure. We were both in really good moods (that I'll get to explain later this week).


We went on a close-to-home vacation; we visited the San Francisco, Napa, and Monterey areas.

We walked ALL OVER San Francisco; we climbed up to Coit Tower (but not up IN the tower itself, because two of us were tired enough to fall asleep at any moment), we walked Lombard Street, and all over the Wharf, Pier 1 to Ghirardelli.


It was a lovely escape from the oppressive heat of the Central Valley (and as usual, when we weren't there, it rained).


The Napa and Healdsburg areas we're really fun; I got to taste sample a ton of different flavors of olive oils and vinegars, some of which were definitely better flavors than others.


There was food everywhere on this trip ('this trip,' I say as if it weren't the norm)! Tiramisu in Little Italy. Best burgers I've had in a long timed. Candy. Soup. So. Much. Stuff!! I came home and never wanted to eat again (don't worry, it only lasted a couple of hours at most).


Feel bad for this guy, though. Tim made him test the car, here, there, and everywhere. You see, Tim's car "Linc" has a rattle. So far, he's taken it to the dealership maybe three times specifically for the rattle, and nobody ever hears it, and can't do anything about it. But it's there. He'll tell you: it's THERE!!


We found love on the beach. Unfortunately, we weren't exactly prepared for the beach, so we didn't stay long. Just took a couple of pictures and drove on.


When we came back from our escape, we had a visit from this girl, so we look her to the water park in Fresno for a few hours (which was all any of us could handle).


Through it all, we made some pretty silly faces. We had fun. These past few weeks (month?) has been a whirlwind, but I think this week will be even more so. It'll fly by.

I hope I can keep up!

I'm a runner. It's official.

I had a horrible customer service experience at my local Starbucks this morning. Even though we had fun catching up with friends, I came home shaky and feeling funky. Went to Target for some retail therapy. Upstairs for some solitary chill time. Downstairs for more chill time. Uno time. Nothing felt good, really.

Then it hit me: I missed my run. I mean, I MISSED my run.

You know what that means? I've had running highs, and today, for the first time in a long time, I experienced withdrawal.

I'm a runner!!!

The story of Tuesday

Tuesday. It wasn't good. There were so many things wrong with Tuesday!

The morning was okay: good run with my Love, refreshing shower, ready and out the door on time. I felt good. And then, as I started driving to work, you know how the car doors lock as soon as you hit 15 or 20 mph? Most of mine locked, but the driver side door clicked maybe three times, and oh yeah, didn't lock. I had to figure out a way to lock it without using the key clicker thing. And I had to drive from Tulare to Visalia that day, to a sketchy part of town; I needed my door lock to work!

Ugh. I got to work, and - because my life revolves around food and when I'm going to eat next - I started thinking about lunch. I thought a Costco Polish dog sounded cheap, quick, and easy...and on my way from the meeting in Visalia back to my home office in Tulare. Perfect. Wait: do I have my Costco card? A quick check in my wallet showed that no, I don't have my Costco card. Or my AmEx. Or my work ID badge, that I needed in order to get into that meeting!

Now I couldn't think about anything else BUT where my cards were, and how I could get them in time. Driving from Tulare to Visalia takes about 25 minutes on a normal day; I was allotted 30 minutes to get there, and 30 minutes to get back. The cards HAD to be somewhere at my house, which is on the way, so I decided to make a quick stop. It would have to be quick. Aha!! The cards! They had to be in a pocket. What I wore yesterday (definitely a skirt) and whatever I wore last week to Costco.

11:00 I bolted out the door, zoomed off to my house.

11:06 I was home, and rooting around through hanging skirts and folded pants in drawers.

11:08 Found all three cards, and ran out the door.
* * * I got behind about a million little old ladies, slow cars, and red lights. Or moving vans. Or there was a cop  (honestly, I don't usually speed; actually, my Love sometimes wishes I would go faster, but I'm a scared driver, and don't want to go more than three to five mph over the speed limit).* * *

11:32 I was late. LATE. (Not that kind of "late." At least, yet.) I hate being late. So embarrassing! And, I had to do the funky lock dance with my driver side door. And I chose today - of ALL days! - to wear 4" stilettos. Smart.

11:33 Picture me, RUNNING, in the heels, to the door, sweaty and lugging a bulky, coin-jangly purse. Verrrrry professional, I know.

11:34 I walked into the meeting LATE, trying to calm my breathing, and saw that the person speaking was someone that my Love works with. Pretty closely. And who is also my boss's boss's boss's boss's boss (no, I'm not kidding: five levels). Ugh, embarrassing.

12:30 I decided to apologize to this person, and decided to kind of tease her, saying we should go out for dinner-n-drinks again, and then I started saying things that I have NO idea...! WHY was I...? Who was this talking? It was an out-of-body thing, a moment in time that I wish I could've just stopped myself, but I just kept on...! Fortunately, she just nodded, smiled, gave me a hug and said goodbye. Oh please, just let me crawl under a rock! I wanna go back to bed, start all over.

12:45 Called my Love. No answer. Started considering skipping the Polish dog and going straight for the froyo instead. At least it wouldn't be the real ice cream.

12:55 My Love called me back, and said it would be good if I wanted to stop by his office (which, conveniently enough, was on my way back to my home office). I parked and as I reached the top of the stairs in the building, I saw a security guard that used to work where I used to work. He asked if I'd heard, and then he told me the story of an old coworker that had recently been arrested and is currently serving time for a very serious crime, for which he'll have to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life.

1:00 Deflated and defeated, and wanting more than ever to just go home and crawl under the covers, I walked to my Love's office. I verbally vomited for a few minutes, breathed, and relaxed just a bit. Nervous I was keeping him from work (busy guy!), I headed back home to get lunch, then back to my home office, where the rest of the day was - fortunately - dull and uneventful.

That day, I posted a picture on Instagram - one of me and my Love in his office. Patient man, nodding and smiling with the crazy chick. I wondered what else could've gone wrong, and was scolded for saying that, because "famous last words!"

So Wednesday, I decided I'd had enough junk this week, and wanted to try the Sonic PB & bacon milkshake. I don't usually go to Sonic; actually, it's been YEARS - maybe seven? - since I last ate at Sonic. And that time, I walked up. I've literally NEVER driven through a Sonic. I am NOT familiar with the drive-in drive-thru crap. Plus, I felt guilty even being there. Oh yeah, and because my car was in the shop, I was driving my Love's car, and I'm not used to driving it.

So I pulled up to an empty drive-in spot. Wait, there was no one on that side of the lot. Backed out, pulled to the other side. I couldn't reach the card slider thing. Wait: I didn't really want to do this. Did I? Oh...it's just once. Backed out, tried the drive-thru.

"What can I get for you today?"
"Can I get a small PB & bacon shake please?"
"Huh?"
"Umm... umm... never mind."

And I drove away, but in the process, my foot slipped from the gas pedal, and in my rush to hit it again, the top of my foot SMACKED the back of the brake pedal. It stung, though. It REALLY hurt. Like, REALLY really!

Ugh. My own stupid clumsiness knows no bounds.

Alarms, smoothies, ducks, and risks

The alarm rang at 4:15-ish, as always, but the variable here (during weekdays) is my Love. This morning, even though I started cuddling him and nudging him awake, he just didn't wanna. And so we didn't. I hit my snooze, and he hit his.

A little later, while he got ready for his day (including making our green smoothies), I got ready for my run. I had five miles in mind, with a Starbucks at the finish line (if and only if I actually did the full five); but it wasn't meant to be. I was short on time, and did only half that: 2.5 miles.


But I saw a duck, I tried a (kind of) new (to me) app, and kinda sorta wanted to die in the heat.

At lunch (an hour-long break in the middle of the day is was too long for me), I was trying to figure out what to do with my time. Productive, but nothing too sweaty. Nothing too productive. Yadda yadda, I dared myself to do something, to put myself out there, to take a risk. I did it, and now I'm kind of just waiting for something to happen. If it does, it'll make me really excited and happy, and eager to put myself out there again and again!!


Speaking of "out there," here's what my wet hair looks like after a sweaty run, but before a shower. Good times.

When was the last time you took a risk, and/others put yourself "out there"? Isn't that feeling exhilarating?

Me, in short - and TAG!

I saw this on Skinny Chick Blog the other day, and really liked it, so here goes nothing.

A)  Attached or single?
Attached. Married to my best friend, my Love, Tim. We'll be married seven years this month! Just love the heck outta him.

B)  Best friend?
My Love, Tim. I can't get enough of him. I love the time we spend together, the adventures and even boring daily junk we do together, but also I love that we can have our separate times. We understand each other, and I love it!

C)  Cake or pie?
Yes, please. Both. I don't discriminate. Cake, pie, cookies, brownies, ice cream. Everything. I'll take it all. As long as it doesn't have too much food coloring, like maybe it's not dark blue...or green...or red, or orange, or purple, or yellow, or black.

D)  Day of the week?
Saturday and Sunday for now, until I get back on my alternate work schedule (Mon-Thu, 7 am-5:30 pm); then, it'll be Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I'm a homebody, for the most part. I love relaxing at home.

E)  Essential item?
Nail clippers and Burt's Bee's honey lip balm.

F)  Favorite color?
Blue. Every shade. Always has been my favorite color. Also, purple.

G)  Gummy bears or worms?
No, thanks; I'll pass.

H)  Hometown?
Nowhere, USA. I was born in Crawley (near Lafayette), Louisiana; I spent eight years in Saudi Arabia, four in upstate New York, a year or two here and there in Utah, and almost 20 years in different places in California. Home is where you make it - I don't like thinking of anywhere in California as my "hometown."

I)  Indulgence?
Chocolate. Milk, not dark or white. Crappy reality TV shows that make you want a cold shower. Ice cream. Baked goods. Candy. Running. Hiking. Biking. Talking. Writing. Sleeping. Reading. Eating. Doodling. People watching. In short: too many to mention.

J)  January or July?
January. I love bundling up. You can always add clothing, but when it's 100* outside, what can you do? Nothing!

K)  Kids?
Not yet... Just a couple of doggies (a border collie and a chihuahua/terrier mix).

L)  Life isn't complete without...?
Baked goods. Family and friends. Sappy stuff. And books. Lots and lots of books.

M)  Marriage date?
07/20/2006. Told ya': seven years. 

N)  Number of siblings?
Two, both brothers: Dave is ten years older, and Xander was three years younger (he passed away a little more than a year and a half ago from complications of a seizure).

O)  Oranges or apples?
Apples, for sure. Oranges are way more difficult to peel, and can squirt in your eye. I'm a big fan of fruit in general, though. I love watermelon, honeydew, cantaloupe, blueberries, strawberries, mango, persimmons...the list goes on.

P)  Phobias?
Spiders and heights, mainly.

Q)  Quote?
"Whether you think you can, or you think you can't, you're probably right."

R)  Reason to smile?
     1)  Trying new things
     2)  Visiting new (and old) places
     3)  Running
     4)  Living and loving my life
     5)  Baked goods

S)  Season of choice?
Autumn. Fresh air, great flavors and scents. Halloween and everything pumpkin. A respite from the oppressive heat of Central Valley summers. Corn mazes.

T)  Tag three people.
No thanks. Anyone who reads this, tag yourself. Do it - fun stuff!

U)  Unknown fact about me:
I can say the alphabet backwards! My dad wanted to figure it out when I was maybe five or six years old, and we worked on it before bed one night, but couldn't work it all out that night. Yadda yadda, I woke up and knew the alphabet backward. Maybe my dad whispered it into my ear a few times while I was asleep; maybe not. I can still do it.

V)  Vegetable?
All of 'em, except for uncooked onions. I love to eat, and I really don't discriminate. I love practically all foods. Fruits, veggies, everything. I really love cut tomatoes sprinkled with sea salt.

W)  Worst habit?
I plead the fifth. No, let's get serious: my worst habit ever, is picking at and peeling the skin off of my fingers. Yes, seriously.

X)  X-ray or ultrasound?
I don't understand the question.

Y)  Your favorite food?
I love it all. Italian. Thai. Anything spicy. Mexican. Salsa. Soups.

Z)  Zodiac sign?
Pisces, but I don't really buy into that kind of thing. To each his own.

What does "strong" mean?

I've been accused of being a "strong woman."

"'Accused'?"

"Yes. 'Accused.'"

I think of "strong women" as tough. Determined. Won't budge. Strong-willed. Hard-hearted. Most of those things I'll admit I can be.

But it's the context, right? I should probably admit, I wasn't there. It was a second-hand story. The person who said it, mildly intimidates me, and is herself, a VERY strong woman. But it was said as a compliment.

I might be a little...? (I don't know the word.) But I wonder if it was just meant as a passing comment, something you say but don't really mean.

Paranoid! That's the word. Am I being paranoid?

Why are we friends?

I can't be the only one to question people's motives. Why are we friends? What's the purpose? Is there a purpose? What do you want? What do I want? Are we dragging each other down, or bringing each other up? Making each other better (or worse) people than we were yesterday?

Sometimes, it's a mystery. And it makes it more difficult to truly let people in. I'm just doing my best, living my life and working to be the best person I can be.

He shoots, he scores!

I didn't start running until an hour or two later than I had intended, because I didn't go to bed until after midnight. It was already warm when I headed out the door, and from the word 'go,' my legs felt heavy and I was tired. Still, I had done the bare minimum for the past few days, and I was determined to pull out at least the two-and-a-half mile loop. Even in the heat.

I ran it. I ran most of it, only walking a few times, for about fifteen seconds at a time. I felt tired, deflated (after my awesome-fast one-miler the other day), and I just wanted to be done. It was a bad run, but it was almost over.

I turned onto the street leading home, and I saw a young guy, probably high school age, shooting hoops there in the street. I hate having to walk when people can see me, so I determined to keep running. He kept shooting and missing. Shoot, miss; shoot, miss; shoot, miss.

"Good morning," he said.

"C'mon...'he shoots, he scores!' Let's see it!"

He laughed and kept shooting as I passed him, and I kept hearing the shoot, thud (missed again); shoot, thud; shoot, thud. Just before I had to turn onto my street, I turned around to check on him, and it was perfect: I caught him just as the ball flew into the air, and watched the nothing-but-net swish.

I shouted back at him, "there ya' go!" He laughed again, and I ran the last tenth of a mile back home, smiling the whole way. I don't even think he'll ever know how just being out there changed my day. It's that kind of thing that can change any run for me. Just saying 'good morning' or waving to someone else one the road - a biker, a walker, or a fellow runner - changes everything.

What can change your run around?
How was your last run?

Random phone dump, catching up

I may have eaten way too much bad stuff recently; I'm become anorexic, two or three hours at a time. I never get Starbucks, because whenever I do, I end up regretting it. This last time was no exception. I got a caramel frappuccino, non-fat, but with whipped (because a frapp isn't a frapp without the whipped, I'm sorry, I just can't). Regretted it from sip #2. Swear I'll never do it again, but give it a month or two, and I'll do it again. Never fail.


But, at least I had some decent runs. I've increased my mileage total, and I've SERIOUSLY upped the number of days I run. So far, my streak has lasted 19 days. When I told my hubby about the #rwrunstreak, he thought I was crazy for running naked. Umm...no. That was a silly conversation.

I look so old in the picture below, but I was prepared for an awesome night that would sap my energy and weaken my patience. Still, it was incredibly fun, but I learned a lot about people who get so drunk that they won't remember anything the next morning. It was a learning experience.

Do you ever notice - or does it ever happen to you? - that when you wear THAT race shirt, the race that you're so proud of, that your run seems that much better? You feel that much stronger? Maybe it's just me.

I love this neighborhood. One morning, I came across this bird (what is it, anyway?). I love the little fishing pond where everyone hangs out, especially on Sunday mornings, in tents and sleeping bags in the winter, and under shady trees and at the picnic tables in the summer.

I hadn't worn this shirt in at least a year, but when I found it in my closet this past week, I decided to give it a go, because - why did I stop wearing this, anyway? Oh yeah, that's why. Fortunately, the rip didn't show anything.

I can put some of my hair in a hair tie now! I can't believe my hair is growing so fast recently (well, I can, but y'know...it's something to say)! I guess a haircut is in order.

Yummy! I love food (who doesn't, right?). Tim made these awesome yummy stuffed zucchinis the other day, and they were so awesome. Yummy awesomeness that I almost immediately spilled on the couch. (Yes, we eat dinner while watching tosh.0 most nights.) I've been clumsy all week.

When I ran this morning, I didn't have much time, so I cut it down to just a mile (+ .28 or so), but I managed to pull out a 9:22 average pace. I'm still not sure where that came from! It was amazing.


And this is my Love. My cheer squad when I return from my run. I love this guy.