If You Chance To Meet A Frown...

"You're STILL here?" Such is the stuff of my Monday morning water-cooler talk at work. Yes, I'm still here. My child has not made an appearance... not that she necessarily should considering I'm not even due until Friday. Yes, I'm still working. I plan on working right up until I physically can't work anymore so I have the absolute maximum amount of time at home... with her... away from YOU and your draconian inquiries. No, I can't do anything about it. Despite what you've heard about taking long walks, spicy foods, funny movies and castor oil these babies demonstrate their free will whilst in the womb and they come when they're darn well ready. No I'm not afraid I'll go into labor at work. See how high she is in my belly? See how she's still gleefully kicking my ribs? That's a good indicator she is not headed south. So yes, still here and thank you for your support. For future reference, a gentle, "How was your weekend?" would have been SO much more apropos.

Now that I think of it, yesterday it didn't even begin at the water cooler. I began on the T when an MBTA employee approached me and asked if I was going to work. When I confirmed his suspicion, his eyes got as big as saucers. There was another such commentator in the lobby. Another in the elevator. Two in the kitchenette. For the morning meeting my fabulous coworkers said nothing, as if my being there were natural (shouldn't it be after all?). But then I visited a client and I had 3 more from the staff at that school. I was starting to see red and considering I weigh another 35 lbs than I did 9 months ago I'm thinking I could do some serious damage just by sitting on someone. When I got back to work there it was, THE question of the day waiting for me in the bathroom, the lunchroom, right outside my cube.

So okay, when life hands you lemons... I had to think quickly how to handle this one because I could feel myself going postal. Then I thought to myself, how would REAGAN handle this? My sister Reagan who could have fun in a white, square room with nothing more than a paper sack. What would SHE do? I sent out an email to the coworkers on my team: The person who most closely guesses how many "You're STILL here?" comments I get by the end of the day wins one WHOLE dollar! You wouldn't think a dollar is much motivation but let me tell you, the emails started pouring in. Perhaps everyone's brackets are totally shot for March Madness and they just wanted something else to wager on.

I called Brent, "I've started gambling." He was typically calm "Okayyyyyy... like on the internet?" When I explained the situation he told me it wasn't gambling since there was no risk on both sides and did his best to give me an "official" definition. Nonetheless, he supported me. The rest of the day flew by like a dream and the comments didn't bother me anymore. A coworker would overhear someone and then run up to me, "Did that one count?" Yes it counts... they ALL count! One unfortunate person tried to give me advice--Just stay glued to your desk; nobody sees you so they don't ask. Well, unless they plan on installing a toilet right here in my cube that's just not physically possible. Anyhoo, the next time I'm ready to rip someone's head off I'll think of Reagan... and what she'd do in a situation like that.

For the record, the final tally was 9 and surprisingly Brent had 5 at his work. Today I had my last pre-natal doctors appointment. If she doesn't come of her own volition, I will be induced in exactly one week. Win, lose or draw come Tuesday night *knock on wood* we should have a beautiful, bouncing, baby girl. And there was much rejoicing...

March Madness

I don't keep much from my husband... come to think of it, I can't think of ANYTHING I keep from him. Yet here I am hunkered down in our bedroom typing furiously to get this post in. I don't even know if he'll allow it to stay up so this is for you fortunates who are able to check in on me before my husband does. March has many meanings for many people. Ides of March, "in like a lion, out like a lamb", St. Patrick's Day, etc.. For me it means a new addition to our family. But for the other Wuehler in this particular household, it means basketball.

Brent becomes a different person when he watches basketball. In saying that, I don't mean I see a new facet of his personality when he watches basketball. He's an entirely different person. He sets up his brackets, tirelessly coaches me on mine, watches as many games as he can and gives me the up-to-date information he thinks I'll be interested in. Not only that, but he starts talking to... well I'm not sure. Oftentimes I'm not in the room so I know it's not me. I THINK it's the tv. It could be his other personality (the non-March Madness one). Usually it's when something has happened he doesn't approve of. Every so often I hear something along the lines of, "Come ON ref, if you didn't call the other one you shouldn't be calling this one" "That guy should NOT have hooked him... that's illegal." If he's really upset its "That's GARBAGE!" If you know Brent, you know this is pretty strong language for him.

Last night he asked what I'd like to do and I told him I could watch a dvd on the laptop in our bedroom so he could catch some games. He was doubtful and for good reason. I have more hormones in me than a teenage boy so my own personality can uh, well, fluctuate a tad. I looked my love in the eyes and told him I was having a sane moment and he'd better take it before I become insane again. That's all he needed. He set me up, kissed me on the cheek and stroked my hair and then ran into the other room. No kidding. We live in an apartment so getting to the other end of the place isn't all that hard but he RAN.

As for me, I'm going to just wait this one out. Watching game after game of (apparently) bad calls and bracket busting upsets is a bit much for me but it makes him inexplicably happy. Someday, my husband will return!

Where Were You When...

One of my coworkers recently approached me and asked how I was feeling. I'm always touched when someone has enough sympathy to see a very pregnant woman and think to ask how she's handling it all. After all, it's not easy. There's a reason the scriptures state that "the days were ACCOMPLISHED that she should be delivered." I think that's got to be the most correct translation we have because it is truly an accomplishment. Time has suddenly slowed down for me and I can take life in about 3 hour increments. Just try to get up and get to work. Now try to make it to lunch. Now make it through lunch. If I've gotten that far without wanting to pass out from exhaustion I'm totally golden. Work is slow right now so I can pretty much leave at 4 or so without too much fanfare. After I get home I'm free to curl up in our soft bed and wait until I feel Brent kissing my cheek indicating he's home and he'll make me dinner. Then I'm free to go back to bed with the sure knowledge I made it through another day. I am woman! Hear me... well, snore :)

But I digress. I always answer these inquiries about my physical well-being honestly: Fine, thanks. A little tired today. Hungry. Hot. Good because I slept really well last night. Like Friday won't come fast enough. Annoyed because Trent smells like mustard. The interesting thing about this conversation is that he followed up his question with, "You know, you might consider bringing a towel to work just in case your water breaks." I was blown away. First of all, this co-worker has no children. Not to mention he's gay so it's highly unlikely he's been with a woman when she goes into labor. I told him from what I understand that usually only happens in 10-15% of women and even then it's often after contractions have begun. I tried to reassure him that for the most part there's a 5-7 hour window when everything gets in gear to when it gets more serious and I have to get to the hospital. He nodded politely and eventually went back to work. Just to make him feel better, I got out the fleece blanket my company gave to all associates last summer and laid it out on my chair.

This got me to thinking that I'm not the only one who's wondering when the "big" event will take place. Naturally I assumed I was the most vested in it, but I started to notice how certain questions keep coming up at work. Like the ones about when am I gonna start my maternity leave? Am I going to start working from home soon? Is today my last day? Am I going to leave work... THAT afternoon because I look a little haggard? It never occurred to me that others might be wondering if they're going to be the unfortunate witnesses of my girl's worldly debut. My joke of "Oh I'm going to work right up until I have this baby. In fact, I'm planning to just have her in a conference room. I figured I could call Tech Support for help." doesn't get much of a laugh these days.

Again, I just assumed this child's birth was only significant to me but I'm beginning to see it would be significant to whomever happens to be around. It would be an event you'd never forget, kind of like when Kennedy was shot, or Princess Diana died, or when 9-11 happened. Everyone knows where they were when these things happened because they were so monumental. Unfortunately I can't predict the timing of when I go into labor. I don't know if it will be long or short. I'm not sure if I can go naturally or if an emergency c-section will be in order. All I know is that like death and taxes, it WILL happen. BTW- did you all know Brent once worked at a mortuary? That absolutely cracks me up because as an accountant he really HAS covered the whole death and taxes thing. He's less amused than I on that point...

Becoming Midge

I'm sure I spent a fair amount of time in my childhood swearing I'd be different than my mother. Although I can't remember these thoughts specifically, I know they must have been there because I'm always surprised when I find myself doing something just like her. This morning as Brent and I rushed out the door he asked if I wanted to drop off the dry cleaning since I was working from home (clearly... I'm getting a lot of work done right now :)). We have a drive-through dry cleaner one block over with THE nicest Asian man and his wife. It only made sense to take care of that so Brent went into the front hall closet and got out the box of shirts that need to be dry cleaned... exactly the same place where my mother put my father's shirts that needed to be dry cleaned. I don't know why, but when Brent and I meshed our things and organized our apartment it only made sense to put a box there for dry cleaning.

Mom always used two pillowcases on her pillows and Brent wondered why I agitated one night when the bedsheets weren't completely dry and we had to sleep on *gasp* pillows with only ONE pillowcase. Speaking of pillows, our bed has a set of soft pillows for sleeping on and firmer ones for reading, just like Mom had for every bed in the house. I didn't MEAN to do it... it just made sense.

I've taken Mom's philosophy when it comes to cooking as well. Just learn how to make a few dishes really well and from there just do what's easy but tasty. To this day Mom worries she's ruined me because cooking to me is like going to a dental appointment... where the dentist does all the work with his feet. Mom also prefers to do other things than stand at a stove in the kitchen. Like quilt for example... I like to quilt too.

Earlier this week I was drafting an email to the Managing Director of our division as well as Finance and I had my manager standing over my shoulder. He'd roughly state what we were trying to convey while I typed madly to form them into my own phraseology. When he'd draw a blank I'd throw out a word until he found one he liked... exactly the way Mom did when she helped me with a paper for school. I'd finish a sentence and read it back to him and he'd get excited with how the message was sounding... much like I did when Mom worked her PhD in English magic on my oh so rough rough drafts.

That's not all! I pick up all the garbage I see before getting out of the car so it's perpetually clean. I don't wake up with an alarm because I don't like to be blared at first thing in the morning. I avoid the grocery store like the plague because it feels like money down the drain. When Brent shows me a possible outfit for our girl that I hate, I lightly say, "It's not what I would have chosen." The Scott in me from my mother's side prefers plaids to florals and when I consider buying a piece of clothing it had better be well-made. When I come across something of value I DO something with it like frame it, scrapbook it, make some sort of practical use of it because I cannot stand tchotchki things that just "sit around and collect dust" as Mom used to say. When faced with something I don't know how to do, something in the back of my mind says, "This can't be THAT hard" and I figure out a way to do it. Just. Like. MOM!!!

Lately I've spent a lot of time on the phone calling Arizona. We've had the house inspected and we're trying to address all those things from the report so we can tell potential buyers that it's been inspected AND repairs have been made. Monday on the T Brent was quiet and pensive so I asked what was bothering him. He'd made a list of all the things that needed to get done and some of the house items were worrying him the most. Since work is slow for me (obviously, I'm getting SO much work done right now!) I told him I'd take care of a couple of things that were nagging him.

It was no small job, believe me but again I felt my mother's influence. She is just as comfortable in a hardware store as a quilt shop and knows how to dish with the workmen and just TALK to people in a way that was respectful while getting what she wanted at the same time. As I made these myriad phone calls and coordinated what needed to be done, I thought of my mother and how she would handle all this. She raised me right, so I don't think it's really all that different. Thanks Mom, you taught me well. I'll try to pass it along to my bambino. Perhaps one day she'll take her husband's dress shirts out of a box in the front hall closet to be dry cleaned... and think of me :)

The Best %#^$& Baby Shower. Period.

I'm loath to confess this, but I truly dreaded it. Long ago I had even swore off attending baby showers; choosing instead to mail a gift card to Babies R Us and silently bow out, happy to remain in absentia. Something about the games, the labor and delivery chatter, the cutesy gifts, and the few but distinct gift grubbing mothers-to-be turned me off. Not to mention sitting in the middle of a circle while everyone intently watched me open gifts is a bit too much attention for me. I know, shhhhhhhhocker. So when my visiting teachers offered to throw me a shower, it was a classic Catch 22. If I dug in my heels and refused, they'd lose out on a service opportunity they so clearly wanted to provide. If I said yes, I'd have to endure the event and possibly be scarred forever. As Robert Lee Frost once put it:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a woods.

And I-- I took the one less traveled by

And that has made all the difference.

I knew the question of what we wanted and/or needed would come up. I told my visiting teachers to encourage anyone crazy enough to attend this shindig just to bring their favorite children's book. If there were a game, to do the one where everyone has a paper clip and if someone says key words like "sweet", "cute" or "adorable" their paper clip was forfeit to the fastest person. That would at least cut out the cutesy talk I thought.

Shamefully, I have to admit they blew me away. No games. No sappy decorations. Just simple and classy, the way I like it. When it came time to open gifts everyone was chatting happily in their own corner and barely noticed me. Ahhhhh, it was wonderful. Almost everyone brought books and even those who didn't brought something handmade that had special significance to it. I got board books (the ones made on thick cardboard-like pages) and hard-back books. Books for babies and books for toddlers. Books about colors and ABC's. Animal books and fanciful books. Books old enough to practically be out of print and brand-new what's-hot-now books. I got books I'd never even heard of like The Dot and Goodnight Boston. The most amazing thing? With all of those women and all those books, not one book was duplicated! Everyone brought something different.

The best part was the explanations that followed. "This book is how Leslie learned her ABC's." "We had to buy this book 3 times because Kay loved it so much she wore them out." "This was such a great excuse to take my kids to the bookstore and THEY helped pick these out!" "My daughter literally has this book memorized." "That book is technically meant for a Grandpa to read to his grandchild but the first time I read it I found myself bawling and HAD to get it for you." "This is a great bed-time book, works every time." Each book was not just a gift but a story behind the story. The point of this shower wasn't for me to check things off my registry, it was a wonderful gathering of women and their recommendation on children's literature... everyone had something to say. I loved it.

I was blown away by every one's generosity and found the evening to be a much-needed foray into the world of estrogen. Don't get me wrong, I love Brent but women just NEED each other in a different way. When I eventually came home to Brent and he glanced through our newly acquired library he just kept nodding and smiling. Really, it was the shiz.

Whenever I tell anyone about my baby shower their eyes practically pop out of their head and they say something to the effect of, "That is SUCH a good idea!!!" Don't I know it :) However, I can't take credit for this one... that goes to my wonderfully insistent visiting teachers.

End of the Road

I'm definitely nearing the end of my pregnancy. Today is March 1 (I got rabbits this morning!) and more likely than not, our girl will make her debut in the next few weeks. I'll no longer be telling people I'm due "next month" but rather, "later this month." My girl doesn't kick me anymore so much as nudge me. My doctor tells me that's normal since space is getting tight for her in the womb. The myriad baby websites I check on a weekly basis tell me she's pretty much done cooking--all her systems are developed and she's ready to go. I keep a stash of at least $40 with me at all times just in case I have to take a cab and Brent never turns off his cell phone. It's time for me to face the music. My entire life is going to revolve around a brand new daughter...SOON.

There are outward signs this is all coming to an end too. A few months ago strangers on the T would look at me like, "Oh how cute, a pregnant woman!" Now they eye me warily and I can almost hear them thinking, "Don't you DARE go into labor in front of me. I'm having a bad day and just can't handle that right now." When my train stalls for a minute or two I get more than one sidelong glance as if to say, "Is she all right? Or is she going to deliver right here while we're stuck between stations?" When that happens I like to stare at one spot and breathe in and out very slowly just out to mess with their minds. LOL, I'm so evil.

Then there's the constant barrage of comments like the typical "You look like you're ready to POP!" and "WOW you're huge!!!" The less conspicuous "When are you due again?" comes up often as well. Lately I've found myself getting defensive for my girl. Yes I'm larger than I've ever been and I never, EVER thought I would have any body part bigger than my butt. My back hurts, I can't sleep well, my hips ache so I can barely walk, I can't sit, stand or find any position that's truly comfortable. My hormones have me crying at the most random things, I spend more time on the toilet with the constant peeing and regular constipation than I do watching TV and I find myself grunting to make even the slightest move with my body.

However, the world is a scary place and if my girl wants to hang out with Mom for just a little longer, I'm okay with that. I'm not going to push her. Well, eventually I'll have to push her but for the most part, I think she'll come when she's ready. I've heard so many mothers-to-be who are so sick of being pregnant they just want that baby out at all costs. That's completely understandable, but as for me I'll tolerate the aches and pains for her sake. Even in the best circumstances she'll experience lots of pain during her lifetime here on earth. "She's not ready yet" I say when asked if I just want it all to be over.

I was craving steak last night and everyone tells us to go out as much as possible now because it will be too hard once we have the baby. Brent picked me up from work and we headed to the ultra-Irish South Boston where there are plenty of pubs that offer excellent steak and potatoes fare. Over my filet mignon I asked Brent to rank each trimester of my pregnancy from 1 to 10 with 1 being the sweet girl he's always known and loved and 10 being who is this psycho I married? It was interesting. First trimester I got a 5.5, second I got a 2.1 and third a 5.3 but he qualified that one. Apparently if you take out about 4 days insanity from my third trimester I'd be down to a 2 or 3.

As for me, I remember the first trimester being the absolute worst since I was feeling sick ALL the time. I would have given myself rankings of 9, 3, and 6 (I'm not the accountant hence no decimals). That first trimester was definitely rough but I swear Brent magically became much more annoying so it wasn't ALL me either. I don't think I was terribly hormonal yet, I just cried a lot from feeling like I was buried under 50 feet of manure and having to put on a brave face at work since no one knew. Perhaps this last trimester has been better because he learned his lessons from the first?

So anyway, it was funny to look back now that we are nearing the end of this journey and starting another one. I can't even begin to imagine what it will be like...