Discombobulation Station

The Other Late

I'm late. 

How late?

...Late.

Oy. That one little word: LATE. Do not you have visions of gobsmacked boyfriends, sticks peed upon in bar bathrooms, panicked/overjoyed calls to girlfriends?

So very many plotlines start with those very words, those very actions. Grown women lose their shit and/or get married to variously suitable or unsuitable suitors, snarky teens grow big bellies in their high school hallways, etc. etc. 

Then you get to the other end of those exciting, screen-worthy 9 months and what do you have? In the movies, you have the drama of water-breaking in the grocery store, or at the office. A rush to the hospital, where the mom glowingly pushes four or five times and out pops an unwrinkled, unconeheaded wee babe. Or you have the comic OMG BIRTH IS SOOO GROSS CAN YOU BELIEVE VAGINAS etc thing.

Anyone who knows anyone who has had a baby or who has had one themselves knows that ending is make-believe. But little did I know until now how BORING the whole thing could be.

I'm late.

How late?

...Late.

Or rather, she's late. My precious lil womb-dweller has decided that her cozy spot is, well, super cozy.  We had a pretty good snowstorm last week, just before Thanksgiving (just before my due date). All that day I was crampy and contraction-y and grumpy and overall I felt like a ticking time bomb with a baby about to POP. Thanksgiving was basically the same drill but with turkey. And then...nothing. Everything stopped. No cramps, no contractions. Nothing. Just a happy, wiggly baby girl camped out in my belly.

My fabulous plan to stop working one week before my due date - just so I might have some spare time to do those-last minute projects? BACKFIRE.  Now I am almost two weeks into my "maternity leave" with nothing to show for it but an organized pantry. And freezer. And linen closet. Does anyone have a linen closet I can organize? I will organize the shit out of your linen closet.

Also I made a pretty good chocolate cream pie. And biscuits. And beef stew. And gingerbread bars.  And turkey chili. And pasta with sausage and broccoli.

...And she wonders why she is growing out of her maternity shirts.

Seriously, the only outfits that "work" are cracked-out dress-over-pants deals. Unless I care to treat the world to a glimpse of the bottom few inches of my belly. Blessedly, it's not scary ugly with stretch marks, but it is RIDICULOUS BIG.

So. Yeah. The other Late? Can go suck it.

At first the waiting was sortof thrilling; everytime we left the house over the holiday break we would pack all of our bags into the car and alert the media. 6 days into BabyWatch 2011 and I can barely remember to bring my phone as I venture out, solo (Little A. is at daycare, the FYD's at work), for my little stupid time-wasting errands.  I am so BORED.

So, who wants to come to Target with me? Anyone? I promise my water will not break in the store. And, later, I am going to rake a bunch of leaves. Maybe I will give birth on my front lawn.

Wouldn't THAT be exciting??

xoxo, A

p.s. OK, officially, thank you for indulging the complaints. Overall I am a lucky pregnant lady, and totally get that at this stage of the game, boredom is a luxury. But this pregnancy has been juuuuust annoying enough to convince me that I will never house another fetus again.  Never. Mark my words. NEVER.

(And then, she got pregnant with TWINS! Har har.)

Loud Quiet (and Not too) Loud

Have you heard that I love me some Pixies? This blog loves Pixies. And indeed, I love the Pixies. A lot. I might have memorized every song and every line of chatter from their every album in the years between middle school and college. I might have seen them 3 times on their reunion tour. Yeah, I might be a CRAZY HUGE FAN.

Last week, I was able to physically embody my huge fan-ness at a show right here in my fair town. My enormous belly and I (and the FYD) took in the Lost Cities tour, to hear the seminal album Doolittle performed front-to-back (along with some B-sides and two encores).

So because I love this band so,  I've no critical capacity to go blah-de-blah, the mix was good and they were off during La-La Love You or whatever - and can only say that it was a treat. A treat to be in the same space as these four musicians, who seem to truly enjoy each other and performing to people who enjoy them, and a sold-out auditorium of loyal fans, all with ear-to-ear grins on our faces (and no small number of pregnant ladies!).  There was no veneer of cool, no posturing, just fun. Which is odd for a performance that begins with a showing of Un Chien Andalou.

I will say that the visuals behind the band were beautiful. And while I thought I might be banished to the balcony by the LOUD, the mix was so balanced that I was able to keep my ass down on the floor (the venue handily provides seats on the same plane as the sound guy, so I was able to sit and stand and sit and stand and sit and very very gently dance during some of my most favoritest parts).  So I got some OK photos,  but here are some from a pro. Gorgeous happy-making celebrate good times, come on!

xoxo, A

p.s. I am having a baby in two weeks. HOLY FUCKING SHIT.