100 Posts, 100 Things

So, yesterday's lame post was my 99th. Which means this is the 100th post on this blog!!!! {Balloons and confetti stream from ceiling}

In honor of this auspicious (?) event, here are 100 things about me:

1. I can’t stand candy that is sticky or chewy. No Jolly Ranchers, suckers, Rolos, or jelly beans for me – all gross.
2. Raisin seems to have inherited this issue, because she constantly wants to wash her hands when they’re dirty or sticky.
3. I love to travel, but I also love coming back home.
4. I have been to about half of the states.
5. I’d like to visit them all someday.
6. I have also been to Canada, Mexico (technically, although I don’t remember it), England, France, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and India.
7. I’d go back to any of those places in a heartbeat.
8. I have a long list of other places I’d like to visit, too.
9. I speak a little German and French.
10. I used to be pretty fluent, but now I’m forgetting everything because I never have a chance to speak them anymore.
11. I have never lived anywhere but Minnesota.
12. I met my husband on a Minneapolis city bus.
13. The official story is that neither of us was stalking the other. (He totally thought I was cute and was following me. Really.)
14. When I was in high school, my friends and I memorized entire movies.
15. I can still quote large sections of our favorites.
16. We also had parties where we’d watch a day’s worth of movies, play movie trivia games, and re-enact our favorite scenes.
17. For example, we once made grilled cheese sandwiches with an iron.
18. “…for grilled cheese, I might’ve used a wool setting.” “That’s what I told him!” Never mind.
19. Raisin’s real name means “grace” in my father-in-law’s native language.
20. He’s from India.
21. He and MIL live in California now, right by Disneyland.
22. Our kids are never going to want to leave their house when they get older.
23. My parents live in a Minneapolis suburb.
24. Right by... golf courses and soccer fields. Fun.
25. When I got bored in class, I used to do “free associations” to keep myself busy. I’d write a word, then write the next thing that came to mind, etc.
26. Writing this list is kind of like that.
27. Yes, I know I’m a nerd. I was also in orchestra and academic club. Got a problem with that!?
28. Every spring, I re-read The Secret Garden.
29. If I had a green thumb, my garden would totally be like that. But I don’t, and it’s not.
30. At the time of this writing, I am pregnant with twins: one boy, and one girl.
31. Heh, that just made me think of this sappy Colin Raye song I love.
32. I don’t have snappy Internet names for them yet, but I’m thinking I’ll need something fruit-related.
33. Fraternal twins can run in families. Identical twins technically do not. Dr. Google just taught me that.
34. Yes, I have a family history of fraternal twins. It skipped several generations, so I thought I was safe.
35. I hate ladders. I can never climb up more than 2 rungs.
36. I just thought of that because there’s a window washer suspended outside my window right now. I hate that too.
37. At least he’s cute.
38. Of course, that only makes it more sad that he might be moments away from plummeting to his death.
39. I love mint and chocolate together.
40. Pineapple is the ideal pizza topping.
41. It’s “duck, duck, gray duck,” not “duck, duck, goose.” If you are not from Minnesota, you most likely say it wrong. It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.
42. May 6, 2006 was my first blogiversary.
43. I kind of missed it because I had just found out THERE ARE TWO BABIES IN MY UTERUS.
44. I had a speech impediment until I was about 15. I had to go to therapy.
45. It never worked. Once a teacher told me I’d never get a job because of how I sounded.
46. Then I got my braces off and the problem went away. Go figure.
47. I have a job. So there, stupid teacher.
48. I’ll probably quit after the babies are born.
49. It feels weird that I know that already, but I can’t say anything for several months.
50. Someday I think I’d like to go back to school.
51. Not sure how that’s gonna happen with three kids.
52. I never know what people mean when they explain themselves with their astrological sign. “I’m a Leo, so that’s why I’m….”
53. I’m an Aries, if you care.
54. I had to look up Aries to make sure I spelled it right.
55. I love reality TV like “Survivor” and “The Amazing Race,” but I hate it when the contestants are mean to each other.
56. Apparently, reality to me means that everyone should just get along.
57. I re-read my favorite books over and over.
58. This includes, but is not limited to, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and anything by James Herriot.
59. I have many, many allergies.
60. Fortunately none of them are life-threatening.
61. Also, none of them are to food. That would be really bad.
62. I am generally pretty moderate politically, with a definite slant to the left.
63. I believe that one can be a Christian and a liberal, and it drives me nuts when people imply otherwise.
64. I am disproportionately worried about what will happen next year on “Gilmore Girls.”
65. I do not watch “Lost” or “American Idol.”
66. Yes, I am the one.
67. I hate my feet.
68. As a result, I also hate shoe shopping.
69. Someday they’re gonna revoke my girl card for that.
70. I do enjoy pedicures, celebrity gossip, and pretty purses, though. I hope that’s enough to keep me in the club.
71. I don’t usually like sauerkraut, but last weekend I ate some and it was awesome. I’m blaming the pregnancy hormones.
72. I don’t like to write with pencil. Pens only, and they have to be the right kind.
73. My church youth group was once on the news in Ontario because part of our group got lost at Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. I wasn’t one of the lost ones.
74. My other television credits include a two-second glimpse of me when my elementary-school dance group performed at the opening of a bridge, and an interview in my high school’s video yearbook.
75. No autographs, please.
76. I love to go boating, canoeing, and swimming.
77. I don’t like fishing.
78. I am too sensitive.
79. I changed my name when I got married, mostly because I like the idea of my whole family sharing a last name.
80. I do NOT like the idea of being “Mrs. John Smith.” I throw away mail that comes addressed that way, unless it’s from my grandma.
81. She gets a pass because she’s old enough to forget that I dislike that convention.
82. I am already planning to go back on Weight Watchers after giving birth.
83. I refuse to contemplate how much weight I may have to lose (because I refuse to contemplate how much I have left to gain).
84. WW has a nursing mom’s plan – I figure I get extra points for nursing two.
85. I have a hard time admitting I’m wrong.
86. For example, this week a co-worker disagreed with me about the placement of a comma. I looked it up in a grammar guide to prove I was right.
87. I was.
88. I suppose at this point it goes without saying that bad grammar and punctuation bother me.
89. Except, of course, errors that I make.
90. Like “bring” and “take.” I can never get that right without a seriously involved thought process.
91. I hate cigarette smoke. Not just normal hate, but active loathing.
92. I think Minnesota should have a law like that city in California, where smoking isn’t even allowed outside.
93. Usually this would offend my sense of individual liberty, but cigarette smoke is the exception that proves my rule. Plus it smells bad.
94. I have an internal hierarchy to decide who deserves a seat on the bus.
95. I’ll get up for an elderly, pregnant, or disabled person (when I’m not pregnant myself, of course). If you’re relatively young and not carrying anything heavy, you’re out of luck.
96. There are very few people who will give up their seat for an obviously pregnant woman. That really chaps my hide.
97. The list of blogs that I read should really be much longer than what’s on my blogroll, but I am too lazy to make it a separate page.
98. I think “grey” should always be spelled that way, not “gray.”
99. This list has taken me almost 2 weeks to write.
100. My favorite color is blue.

In Search of Interesting Material

Dear Internet,

Last night I watched "House." It was confusing. Tonight I think I'll do laundry.

My daughter thinks the moral of Five Little Monkeys is that it's fun to jump on the bed while shouting, "NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!"

My brain is numb from doing boring paperwork.

Talk to you again soon.

Love,
Julie

Sometimes the Internet is Mean

I know this has absolutely nothing to do with me. Dooce has never heard of me. But ouch.

Especially when I started to read the comments, including, "this isn't meant to be offensive, so please don't get upset.it is because of people like your sister that i am choosing not to have any children."

Worried

When acquaintances first find out that we are expecting twins, the response is usually, "Congratulations!" Or maybe something like, "It's a double blessing!"

It is. I know that. I know that women everywhere are fighting with their entire beings to conceive a baby, have a baby, keep a baby, adopt a baby. We're unbelievably, undeniably blessed.

Also, if you're gonna have twins, you really couldn't ask for a better set of circumstances than these. Both sets of grandparents have already offered sacrifices of their time and money that absolutely move me to tears. There's no way we WON'T be OK -- our families will make sure of that.

Still, I worry.

I'm worried that I am going to be too tired and careworn to appreciate my children's babyhood.

I'm scared that I'll go into labor prematurely, or that something will happen to one of the babies. (When I thought I was pregnant with just one baby, I could deal. Now, not so much.)

I am so, so afraid that Raisin will spend the rest of her toddler years playing third wheel.

It's this last one that's really keeping me up at night. (Well, it would be, if I could keep my eyes open EVER.) I was fretting about it anyway, as I'm sure any mom does when her precious, first-born, center-of-the-universe child is about to become "baby's big sister." Now, as well-meaning friends and family point out, Raisin's world will be undergoing an even more drastic change. These assvicers pretty much have me convinced that I've spoiled Raisin horribly thus far, and that there is no question but that I will utterly ignore her once the twins arrive.

But hell, I can beat myself up over my awful parenting, and I can vow that I will do everything in my power to get some one-on-one time with Raisin to help her make the transition. The real question is, what do I do about the strangers who will, apparently, be gushing all over the twins while Raisin is shoved aside? (I don't find this scenario hard to imagine. When Raisin was a baby, a stranger at Target asked me if it would be OK for her to lick Raisin's toes. You can't trust people around babies.)

I'm starting to think that I should wear a sandwich board when I'm out with all three kids. It could say:

TALK TO THE TODDLER, THEN TALK TO THE TWINS.

Or,

DOESN'T MY OLDEST HAVE BEAUTIFUL HAIR!?

Or, the less courteous but more honest

YES, THEY ARE TWINS. PLEASE LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE.

Just Watch What You Say To Me

Him: I like your pregnant belly. You know that, right?
Me: Do you like my big, fat pregnant butt, too?
Him, sensing danger: Yes?
[stony silence]
Him: I mean, your butt doesn't look any different than it usually does?
Me: So it's always fat?


Raisin's toy vacuum: Oh, boy! This place is a mess!
Me: Shut your trap, Dusty.

I Look Like a Boy

She said, "Do you want your bangs a little shorter this time?"

I foolishly agreed, "Sure, a little bit."

And then she cut off an inch and a half in one snip.

I've Got Nothin'

But I'm posting anyway because let's talk about something other than the twins for a little while.

For example, why does Nicole Kidman still love Tom Cruise? Seriously? He hasn't killed that feeling for her yet?

Or, how funny is that Bush impersonator guy that's been on "Meet the Press" and "Today" this week? I especially like his opening line, "First, I'd like to welcome you to xxx. Third,...." Comedy gold.

I hate "The View," but I might watch if I'm on bed rest this summer or while I'm nursing babies this fall. I hear that Star Jones and Rosie O'Donnell hate each other, and I would love to see those two scratch each other's eyes out. Funny! And also probably really good for breastmilk quality, don't you think?

How come every time I read Anne of Green Gables, I forget that Matthew dies in the first book? I always think it's the second book, and then it happens, and then I cry. Unfair.

There. Let's discuss.

The Rest of the Story

Or, Blogging as Emotional Outlet and Free Therapy

Part I: In which nobody figures out I'm carrying twins until 18 weeks

In retrospect, the "diagnosis" explains so many things: why the "morning" sickness has been so awful; why I'm so, um, large; why I'm extra tired and emotional; why I felt movement so early (and in places I didn't think such an early fetus should be). But denial, she's a powerful animal, and alternative explanations were so easy to come by. Every pregnancy is different; this is the second time, so you'll "pop" sooner; you already have a toddler to care for; maybe it's gas; blah, blah, blah.

The midwife did say that looking back, my uterus was bigger at 13 weeks than "normal." It was just wasn't enough bigger that she got concerned. Plus, they plunked down the Doppler twice and heard a healthy heartbeat -- nobody thought to maybe wave the thing around a little to see what else was in there. And, since we spaced the visits farther apart (at the midwife's suggestion), there was never another chance for an actual professional to say, "hmmm, something's different."

Oh, well. We could've found out in the delivery room, I suppose.

Part II: In which the Discovery is made

We were late for our ultrasound appointment yesterday. I wrote 7:30 in my planner, but we should have been there at 7:15. The witch at the front desk pointed this out to me three times. I apologized the first two.

I apologized again to the ultrasound tech (after all, she's the one who actually had to wait for us). She, of course, was very nice about it, and she assured us there would still be time before my midwife appointment to do the full scan. HA HA HA HA HA HA.

About 15 seconds after she started moving the wand around, she started making faces. That made me nervous, and it didn't help when she said, "Who's your doctor again?" Then she twitched the wand up to the top of my uterus so we could see both heads at once, and said, "Do you see what I'm seeing here?" And then she had to get out the smelling salts. Almost.

She said she got suspicious because she started on the side of my belly AWAY from the bulge, but found a baby anyway. She sneakily confirmed it for herself before showing us the money shot, hence all the frowny faces.

So, there was not time for a complete check-up on either baby, but she hit the high points (heartbeat, placentas, skull circumference, and the sex of the babies as a bonus for us). The Level 2 u/s tomorrow at the perinatal clinic will be more complete.

Part III: In which we realize that this might maybe sort of be OK a little

There was much crying and panicking yesterday when I first got the news. I never wanted a large family. In fact, I made a big deal about not being outnumbered by our kids (again, HA HA HA HA HA HA HA). It's hard to explain the feeling -- I mean, when you see your child(ren!) for the first time, any expectations become irrelevant anyway, right? I was -- dumbfounded, I guess.

Now that I'm recovering from the shock, I am willing to admit to some cautious optimism. My pregnancy is now higher risk, but I am healthy. I will miss my job, but we will all be less stressed -- and the budget will be less tight -- if I stay home for a while. It will be hard work, but our families and friends have already promised an overwhelming amount of help and support. We will be OK.

Part IV: In which we demonstrate that laughter is truly the best medicine

After Raisin retired for the night, DH and I finally had a chance to discuss yesterday's events, including:

One of DH's first reactions: Well, I'll ask the doctor about a vasectomy.
One of my first reactions: Poor, poor Raisin. What have I done?
My favorite new word I learned yesterday: hyperovulation. My ovaries, they are hyper. Calm down, girls, the party's over.

Take a Deep Breath

Here's what we know so far:
-Each baby has its own placenta and amniotic sac. Good news.
-Best guess is that I'm carrying one boy and one girl.
-Both babies are measuring right on schedule for 18 weeks, and the quick scan the ultrasound tech was able to do looks good.
-I can no longer see the midwives, but I can see an OB in the same office, so hopefully the basic philosophy of care will stay the same.
-I have an ultrasound at a perinatal clinic on Friday so they can do a more thorough check on each baby.

The list of things we don't know is infinite and frightening, but includes:
-Whether I will be able to travel as planned this summer.
-Whether we can afford day care for 3 kids.
-Whether I am going to lose my mind 100% or if parts of it might be salvageable.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

Oh, and OH HOLY CRAP!

Twins.

TWINS.

I am a complete freaking basket case. There are so many decisions to make, and so many things to think about. I'm off to a good start, though, I think. So far today I:

1) Cried
2) Ate
3) Showed up to work 1.5 hours later than expected

So I can scratch those 3 things off the list. Whew.

Birthday Party

I am jealous of my daughter. She's got perfect hair and eyes and a stunning complexion. Not fair. And now, she has better toys than I do.

Seriously. My dad built her an entire miniature kitchen for her birthday. There's a refrigerator, a sink, and a range/oven. There are real working lights in the fridge and oven. The fridge has a crisper drawer, the oven has removable baking racks. The tiny utensils my mother-in-law gave her are in way better shape than my real ones. She has stainless steel cookware, people. And itty-bitty oven mitts. And wooden knives with which to cut up her wooden veggies. (Have you seen those things? The ones with the pieces velcro'd together so you really can cut them open? SO JEALOUS!!!!)

DH and I gave her a tricycle. She can't quite pedal on her own, but the model we picked out has a removable steering handle so an adult can push it from behind. Of course, between the rain we had all weekend and the houseful of grown-ups ready to bow to her every whim, she now believes that this is a prime way to get up and down our hallway.

"Mommy turn!" she said to me at one point yesterday.

"Oh, honey, I don't think I'll fit on your bike," I said (NAIVE MOMMY!).

She turned around and gestured impatiently at the handle. "No, Mommy turn push!"

Mm-hmmmm. You're lucky you're so cute, sweets.

Time Flies

Dear Raisin,

Today you are 2 years old. Yes, you really are, even though you told Daddy last week that you're 8, and even though you refused to let us sing "Happy Birthday" to you this morning. The force of your will is mighty, but I'm afraid it's not strong enough yet to actually influence time.

The last 2 years have been nothing like I expected, and everything I ever wanted all at the same time. I am so in love with you. I love seeing the signs of the person you're becoming. As you leave babyhood behind you, you are showing us more and more glimpses of a girl who is bright, funny, fun-loving, caring, and joyful. I am excited to find out what's next for you.

You might be surprised to hear that, since lately things have been kind of difficult at our house. There is an undercurrent of change that is hard on everyone: in a few months, you'll have a new brother or sister. At the same time, you're learning to sleep in a big-girl bed and learning how to use the potty. You're finding out that you have some control over the things that happen to you, and you're trying to figure out what to do with that control. It's a lot to deal with, and I want you to know that I understand when you get frustrated.

You need to know that your Daddy and I want you to be a strong, independent woman someday. It's just that sometimes we also want you to just let us buckle you into the car seat already. That's why we sometimes get frustrated with your experiments in self-determination -- not because you shouldn't express your opinions, but because we are still used to being parents of a baby who can't make choices on her own.

We'll learn together, Squirt. Bear with me.

In the meantime, please don't grow up too fast. Don't stop giving mid-air kisses with that audible "mwah!" sound, or trying to burrow your way into my chest when you're tired or scared. Please still get excited about every puppy that passes our house. Don't become too mature for rides up and down the hallway in a laundry basket, or to run around the house with your Hello Kitty hamper upside-down over your head. You can be a big girl and Mommy's baby at the same time, OK?

Happy birthday, sweet girl. I love you.

Love, Mommy.

Raisinisms

After posting yesterday, I thought of a couple more things I meant to record here. This is more for posterity than anything else, so feel free to move on if you're not interested in the internal workings of my daughter's mind.

Her favorite foods are chicken (meaning nuggets), cheese, juice, "kepup" (ketchup), and "syrpup" (syrup).

She's figured out that in a restaurant, you tell the server what you want, and then they bring it to you. Being a toddler, however, she's not keen on the part where you have to wait between ordering and eating. We're sometimes able to distract her with crackers or crayons, but often she'll crane her neck around constantly, looking for the server. When that hapless employee does pass our table, Raisin yells, "My chicken? MY CHICKEN!"

Once we went to a small family-owned place near our house. They were understaffed and really busy, and the poor waitress kept passing our table with trays for other patrons. She started apologizing every time she walked by us, because she was followed throughout the restaurant by Raisin's indignant cries.

Hmmm. I'm sure there was more, but of course I never think of these things while I can actually post them -- always while I'm driving down the freeway. So there might be another installment to come!

The Power of Positive Thinking

Lately I have often caught myself doing this whole "poor, poor, pitiful me" bit. I flatter myself that I've not inflicted it on anyone beyond my immediate family (and possibly the internet), although there's really no excuse for doing that to Raisin or DH. So, today, we try to move beyond "wah, I'm pregnant and my back hurts and my daughter is so sick and why must God mock me this way?" and try to look at the bright side of life. You know, Pollyanna. Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens. Etc.

Really, things are better. The number of hours since either Raisin or I have vomited is steadily increasing. We're hoping to set a new record. Score!

Also, Raisin is unbearably cute despite her trials. She's graduated to the big-girl bed, which she loves. She even asks to go to bed sometimes, although she really has no intention of staying there. She just wants to visit.

Her favorite phrase, "what doing?" has become a constant in our house. Despite our best efforts, DH and I have not been able to convince her that "sleeping" is an acceptable response to this question. If she's awake enough to ask "what doing?" we had better be awake enough to provide an interesting answer.

She loves to play pretend, and she's quite the little housekeeper. She cooks excellent pretend snacks (Grandma and Grandpa are making a mini kitchen for her birthday next week), and she'll stand on a stool at our kitchen sink "washing dishes" quite happily -- sometimes for minutes at a time.

Our family's love affair with ducks continues. There are at least two pairs nesting on the pond near our house, and Raisin loves to visit them. Unfortunately, the path around the pond is designed so that you can't get really close, which leads to a lot of disappointment. She makes up for it by shouting, "HI DUCKIES! QUACK QUACK QUACK! WHAT DOING, DUCKIES?" I'm sure the neighbors love that.

She knows her colors really well, which is a big hit with the grandmas. She's also learning letters, although I think her biggest joy in the alphabet right now is just that she thinks the song is funny. Maybe not, though -- a couple of weeks ago she handed me one of the letters from her bathtub alphabet set, and said, "i!" "My kid's a genius!" I thought. She's reading letters, and she's not even two! Of course, then I handed her an "e," and she called that an "i," too. But still.

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I'm definitely feeling movement from Baby, usually at night. I had a sneezing fit the other day, and the kid most decidedly did not appreciate being jostled. The responsive kicks were as strong as some I remember from Raisin's third trimester.

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And, as a final random thought: At our big family Easter/April birthdaypalooza this weekend, my grandmother (age 79, or thereabouts) showed up with a bright pink frisbee for my uncle's dog. When we arrived, my uncle wrestled it away from the dog to show my mom. "Our mother will not tell me where she got this," he said. We all gathered around to take a closer look; it was decorated with the logo of a Minneapolis nightspot where "girls! girls! girls!" are the primary source of entertainment. We still don't know how my grandparents obtained the frisbee of questionable morality, or why such an establishment would be giving away frisbees.

I feel better now. How about you?

The Trouble With Faith

Or, How Raisin's Mommy Lost the Last Shreds of Her Sanity in Just 5 Days.

Saturday: urgent care. Diagnosis: pinkeye. Could be viral, could be bacterial. No problem, I can handle this. Either the drops will help, or it will clear up on it's own. I believed.

Sunday: emergency room. Diagnosis: croup. This means the pinkeye is viral. Slightly scary, but doctor says we caught it early, and they give steroids that will hopefully prevent a more serious attack. Should clear up on its own after that. I believed.

Monday: at home. No new problems, so Raisin must be recovering, right? Sure.

Tuesday: at home, fever is 103. No appointments available with regular doctor, so back to urgent care. Diagnosis: secondary bacterial infection because immune system was weakened by the virus. (It seems she has a double ear infection, bronchitis, a new round of bacterial pinkeye, and possibly strep throat. $%&#.) Still, I believed in the power of the antibiotics, and it was a relief to be able to do something more concrete.

Wednesday: at home, still. Again, hoping for a day of rest so Raisin can recover. She starts throwing up, her mommy throws a tantrum. I'm running out of faith, calling the clinic in tears, moments away from insisting that SOMEONE in the medical profession had better $%&#ing FIX my child RIGHT NOW. Diagnosis: it could be a reaction to the antibiotic, but it's too soon to tell.

Then, Raisin looks over at me and says, "Mommy, what doing? I hungry." So she eats some grapes. All of a sudden, she's almost 100% back to normal. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. This parenting thing is, like, hard, dude.

Four Years

Today marks four years that DH and I have been married. By the numbers: four years, 1.33333333 kids. We're in our 2nd house and our 2nd and 3rd cars. We've travelled halfway around the world together, and had adventures in our own backyard.

Some people think it's romantic to say that they can't imagine their life without someone. I think that just shows a lack of imagination. I can imagine my life without my husband, and that's why I stay. No matter how furious I am that he has left his towel in a sodden heap on the bed AGAIN, I would never choose another life but this one.

DH, happy anniversary! I love you. Thank you for being so good at loving me.

Search Strings!

I had nothing to write about until... I checked my recent search strings. I'm a real, live blogger now, kids -- I actually have some interesting ones!

life skills class mn: I'm pretty sure I specifically said I have no skills. At all.

playb0y Brooke Shields: I don't even want to think about the kind of traffic that's gonna bring me.

Julie loves Kirby: I just said I admired the guy, OK?

raisin picture: If you're looking for pictures of my daughter, I'm very sorry that I lied to the whole internet. I'll never do it again. If you're looking for pictures of dried grapes, I'm gonna need to know why.

jamba juice pregnancy: Rock on! Just watch out for the "femme boost" -- a snotty Jamba Juice lady lectured me about ordering that one while pregnant.

Things Are... Different This Time

If it weren't for the physical symptoms of pregnancy, I would not feel pregnant this time around. I mean, it's kind of hard to ignore the puking and the growing belly (they weren't kidding when they said I'd "pop" earlier the second time!) and the constant need to eat -- post-puking, obviously. I could even swear I'd felt movement, if it didn't seem so ridiculously early.

Even mentally, I think it's sinking in that we are having another baby. I keep making lists of things we need to do. I am looking forward to the fall, and worrying about how we'll manage the needs of two kids. I keep telling people I have a "boy" vibe this time (I was right about Raisin, so we'll see....).

Emotionally, though, I'm just not getting it. I'm not experiencing the kind of connection to this baby that I felt with Raisin. Truthfully, I'm not even sure I remember how I felt with Raisin -- maybe I'm projecting the connection I feel with her now back onto the pregnancy? Either way, it's bothering me a little, when I'm not too tired to think about it at all.

I mentioned the feeling to the midwife, and she thinks it's normal. "I wouldn't say a pregnancy can take care of itself, exactly," she said, "but it almost can. Your focus needs to be on your daughter, and that's OK."

Reassuring words, but I could use some more. Did anyone else experience something like this with a second (or later) pregnancy?

13 Weeks

Dear Used-To-Be-Not-My-Favorite-Midwife, I am heartily sorry for every bad thing I ever thought or said about you. You are wonderful and compassionate, and I think you must've been having a bad day the last time we met. If, in future, you could avoid having a bad day when I am in the middle of a major pregnancy freak-out? That would be much appreciated. Thanks ever so much.

Here are what I thought were the highlights of our time together today:

Episode 1:

UTBNMFM enters the exam room, joking with the "Mid-Husband." (I was positive I had written something about him before, but I can't find it. Anyway, 2 years ago he was the only male Certified Nurse-Midwife in Minnesota. I'm guessing that's still true. I'm sure he totally thinks the mid-husband thing is funny, and he never hears it. We love him immensely, as he is the CNM who took part in Raisin's birth.)

UTBNMFM: Hi, Grape. I was just commenting that I didn't understand why you'd chosen to see this guy in the hallway. [referring to my panic visit a few weeks ago]
Mid-Husband: Well, she was desperate. She was puking. How're you doing now?
Me: OK. Better, I guess.
Mid-Husband: You're still looking kind of pale.
Etc., etc., etc. -- much caring banter and sympathetic suggestions from both CNMs. Grape feels all warm and tingly and loved.

Episode 2

UTBNMFM: I don't like my patients to worry too much about weight gain during pregnancy. Try not to take it too seriously, ok?
Me: Will you marry me?

Episode 3

UTBNMFM: Unless you feel it's necessary, I just don't think we need to do a pelvic exam today.
Me: Seriously, I think I love you.

Also, since this is pregnancy #2, she said it's fine if we spread out the early visits a little more. In other words, no more exams until the ultrasound May 3! (Unless I freak out about something, which we all know will NEVER happen.)

Just Overheard in the Office....

Person 1 is asking Person 2 about an impending tonsil surgery.

Person 1: Well, just don't end up like my dad. When he was about 12, he went in to the hospital expecting to get a tonsillectomy, but when he woke up, his wee-wee hurt instead! They'd given him a vasectomy too!

Person 2: (confused silence)

Person 1: His mom and dad told the doctors, "While he's out, do the vasectomy too!" He was 12!

Person 2: (more confused silence)

Person 1: Oh, no! Not a vasectomy! A Caesarean! No! I mean, a circumcision.

Everyone in earshot: OHHHHHH.