Not just march madness

It's almost April and that means I'm going to be a mother soon. I need a couple more months. Let's do the second trimester over, I liked that time. There was no sickness, no protruding belly, minimal panic. I was just getting used to the idea of being pregnant, of a living lentil bean swimming around in my barely-there womb.

I get asked a lot about the nursery, this Shangri-la that I'm supposed to have erected by now. But there is no nursery, folks. There are spaces I'm hoping will be cleared by the time I deliver. I drove out to Sammamish last week to buy a glider and ottoman. I told the woman that I'm due on the 29th and she said in a shocked gasp, "Oh you're so close!" as if by not buying the chair sooner, I had already screwed myself. Why do I have to have a nursery? Couldn't I just construct something out of boxes and dairy crates and hope the boy grows into it? Boys love forts, don't they?

And because it's almost April, it's almost time for my own mother to invade my life. Many have commented that it'll be a good thing to have my mother around. I agree. I'll need the help. However, this is my mother we're talking about. The woman steals menus that have pictures in them (Seriously! There's a drawer on Saipan full of menus from Carrows and Shari's) and she drinks her hot water from a bowl because "cups don't hold enough" for her. She doesn't agree with used clothing, which is why I won't tell her about my midnight dives at the Goodwill donation bin. (That's a joke. I wait till morning).

This pregnancy is really cutting into my "sitting down" time.

ocean shores

Mike and I spent most of the week at a nice little coastal town called Ocean Shores, about 125 miles or so away from Seattle. I titled the excursion our "babymoon" since it's not our honeymoon and I'm knocked up. More on this and why I think God hates the state of Washington in a minute.

Random pregnancy babble:

-Having a baby take up space inside my body hurts, especially when he performs a piledriver on my bladder.

-There are more strange yet magical moments when the baby stirs. Sometimes he rolls like he's in a rotisserie oven, other times he's an extra in a break-dancing movie.

-A lot of people stare at my belly. I want to say, "Hey buddy! My eyes are up here!"

-So here's what I thought would happen to my body but hasn't: my boobs would enlarge to ginormous proportions. I mean, I'm happy with them, but I always imagined that when I became pregnant, they would be knocking up against my knees.

-I'm so fat (how fat are you?, the audience asks), I have to iron my clothes on the side of a hot boat. I also jumped up the other day and got stuck. That's how fat I am.

tummy

I've never had what you would call a six-pack, but now I definitely have what you would call a keg.

I'm still for Team Aniston

I'm still for Team Aniston
Originally uploaded by kirida.

Check out the score: Brad Pitt's in the Big Dance

unbearable fatness of being

Okay, so yesterday at the doctor's office, I weighed in at "really really fat".

I guess this is my fighting weight, that is, if I'm fighting a silverback gorilla.

At five months

haha
Originally uploaded by kirida.

Just when I think I've really matured, I find a photo that negates all that.

Stick a fork in me

Wednesday night was my LAST undergraduate class. Yesterday I turned in my final story to the creative writing director. What does this mean? I'm done, folks. I have a college degree! I'm graduating with honors, too! I get to use as many exclamation marks as I want to because I earned it! Since my unborn son has been around for the past 7 months, he should be at least 20% college-educated, and he's not even out of the womb! Stick that in your pipe, Baby Einstein.

To my unborn son:

I know there's a lot of room in my womb (poet and I know it!), but I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't kick my bladder. It's hard enough to walk two feet without needing to pee.

Thanks.

-Your mother

I like it when you call me big papa

Me: Do you think Nathan will call you dad or papa?

Mike: I want him to call me "Big Poppa the Show Stoppa"

say cheese

I think one of the creepiest things that has ever happened to me was the time I went to a guy friend's house and I found a polaroid of me on his fridge. There were no other pictures in the house and here was this test photo in a magnetic frame. I thought, this is just one step before I'm in that fridge, my body parts divided and sealed in tupperware.

I don't know why I just told you that.

weird science

Mike and I rented a storage unit this weekend to free up some space for the baby. The owner asked when I'm due and I told her April 29th. She shook her head and said, "No. April 23rd." This happens a lot. Whenever I tell someone my due date, I get different predictions.

"I think it'll be April 24th. Eight pounds, three ounces." -- My sister-in-law.

"Make it May 6th and you won't have to get me a birthday gift." -- My husband.

"No, it'll be May 3rd." -- Hobo, down the street, right side of the road.

mama

hot to trot
Originally uploaded by kirida.

Yep, still preggers.

my o face, redux

my o face, redux
Originally uploaded by kirida.

I tried to use a hula hoop today and it got stuck. That's how pregnant I am.

I hate potpourri, anyway

The other night I was indulging myself in my favorite form of retail therapy: grocery shopping. I love walking through aisles and cataloguing various store prices so when I check out and the cashier can scan the receipt and announce, "You've saved forty dollars," and I can say with much hand gestures and sports-arena-level enthusiasm, "You're damn right I saved forty dollars! Who's taking the Safeway now, sucka? In yo' face!" As I waddled my cart toward my car, two blonde teenage girls approached me. Both were dressed in baggy bondage pants and puffy coats. One girl headed toward the passenger window of another car and the other stopped in front of me.

"Excuse me, but my mom lost her job," she rapid-fired, "and I need to sell these potpourri bags so my brother can have some baby formula." She opened a plastic bag with dime-sized mesh bags inside, each tied with a thin ribbon.

I shook my head. "Sorry, I don't have any cash." This was partly true. I'm sure I had a dollar in change lurking in the bowels of my wallet, but it would require me pulling out my wallet and what if she grabbed it? She would have certainly beaten my pregnant ass in a race, why would I risk it? And no, I did not believe her sob story. It was dark, almost seven at night, and somewhere there's a baby in need of formula, depending on his sister to make a dollar from mini-potpourri bags. Was she trying to appeal to my pregnancy, that I would sympathize with her situation? If I bought her story, I would have escorted her inside and purchased the formula myself. But no, I didn't give her anything. I looked back and her friend was tapping on other people's cars. Formula-girl walked off without making any further plea. I emptied the groceries into the trunk and when I looked up to see if they had made any progress, they were gone.

A Catholic pick-up line

Baby, you so fine, I'd give you up for Lent!

Go ahead and use that one, playa. It's on me.

If I were to wear a t-shirt, I'd want it to say:

1. Large and in charge

2. I wear the pants in this family, the maternity pants

3. I have more gas than a Chevron station

--

Today on the bus, I heard this guy talk on his cellphone about how he was depressed that the guys at his work never invite him to lunch. I wanted to tell him to shut up because that's no reason to be depressed. I can't see my feet. That's genuine sadness, my friend. I once watched a show about a woman who was so fat that she broke the scale at her doctor's office and had to be weighed next to the freeway where 18-wheel-trucks go to make sure their load isn't too heavy. I bet you she couldn't see her feet, either.