Ooh Baby Baby.

Sore boobs...$65. (the price of a nice new bra to make the tatas feel better)

Constipation...$15. (the price of a giganto bottle of Citracel at Costco)

A 2-pack of Clear Blue Easy both producing PLUS SIGNS one Thursday afternoon in August...

...

...

PRICELESS.

So after all these years, not once had I resorted to buying a pregnancy test. But let me say that when I did, along with it I purchased a bag of Twizzlers, a bag of Dove dark chocolates, and a box of OB tampons cuz SURELY I'd be needing them.

But I was so very wrong and so completely in shock within an hour of thinking I'd be snacking on cherry licorice and washing it down with random bites o' creamy chocolate as self-soothing for that premenstrual time I was SURE I was experiencing.

Cut to December and here I am typing away on Christmas Eve with the laptop taking on a new meaning as more a "bellytop"- at a mere 24 (lunar) weeks pregnant. Here I sit, with what people are calling a glow on my face WHEN ACTUALLY IT'S JUST SWEAT beading up on my head. C'mon, people. Glow, MY ASS.

In all reality, these are the feelings I've had as it relates to having the proverbial bun in my oven:

shock

awe

more shock

amazement

luck

bewilderment

fear

wonderful anticipation

appreciation

greater love

less tolerance

*more tolerance *(possibly not apparent to my very sweet hubby)

joy

understanding

The doctor's appointments, the sonograms, the listening in on baby's heartbeat, the varied sleep positions I have now adopted, the books, the reading of consumer reports on safety of seats and strollers and toys, OH MY.

I'm here to say that I'm truly humbled by what I didn't think I'd ever experience and by what I've far too often been critical of. Being the innocent, kidless bystander who never really knew a damn thing about parenthood, and all. And I'm not claiming to know anything now. It's the sheer respect that comes from opening the door to this arena and peeking in to see the very black, bottomless hole which represents all that you don't know and all that you're leaving behind.

So, these past months of experiencing pregnancy have taken a while to get used to. While I've thought of the many smartass blog entries - I was consumed with running during the hot hot heat of our summer to be followed by an even hotter, hotter heat felt by watching the plus signs pop into the window on the sticks! Ahh, but it's quite a journey, and I've got so much more to say.

For now, I will bid a farewell until next time when I'll start referencing the many things I'd like to put in a book about what this maiden gestation voyage is/has been like.

It's hard to think with a room full of chatter going on in the room next door. And I'm feeling guilty for taking too long with the quiet time I so crave and don't get nearly enough of when it comes to holidays here in the Midwest. fa-la-la-la-laaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Signing off with a wink and a soft-as-a-baby butt smile.

bitten.

so i'm stricken. taken. silly about the fact that i have, for 2 months now, nails. real-over-tops-of-fingertips-kinda-pretty-in-pink-able-to-be-used-as-pointing-devices nails.

and i look at them and feel the ever-growing strength of them in a ceaseless way (except when i sleep, and hell, maybe i do it then too). i scratch with them. i FILE them to keep them even with one another. i am dizzy by the fact that i now can get the mani/pedi combo. seriously, this is a big freakin deal to me. Essie, OPI, Sally Hansen - watch out. your sales will be trending up, bitches!

you see, it's not ever been a luxury of mine. because i've had the incessant habit of biting them since i was a wee one. and a little worry-wart wee one was i. oh sure, i've had a few intermissions in my nailbiting past during which i grew them a bit. but then, it was almost a pressure that built up and i didn't want to get used to something i KNEW i couldn't keep. so i'd bite off every goddamn last one of 'em.

nailbiting has been a constant visual reminder of my stress level. and the way i see it, there's been an assload of stress these past 36 years. i have always been this laid back on the outside, wound up on the inside gal. perfectionist extraordinaire.

i was probably shaving off my nails at the ripe age of 8 during which time i had to be medicated from the stress of Red Cross swimming lessons because i was terrified of water and being plunged into the 10-foot. a time when i was certain i'd be sinking like a 2-ton 8-year-old anchor in that deep end of the pool. oh yes, i was biting my little elementary-school nails in between math and language arts... and it continued, through papers written on sunday nights. thru relationships that taught me what i really didn't want. thru jobs which felt like boot camps led by the devil himself.

there's been a change. not a temporary one. not a fleeting idea of possibly thinking i might stop biting. it is what i'm deeming a nail-growing manifesto.

come nail away with me.

clean clothes rising.

i've come to the conclusion that i have the most extreme dislike for doing laundry...but now that my hubby-love plays the very famous role of laundry boy, i can't make room fast enough for the clean clothes ascending from our basement. christ, this man can get done in one day what would take me WEEKS to accomplish.

i should be taking notes and learning the techniques of such a diligent master of the machines. observe the habits of running toward it upon beeping call. i've been more a girl who does this sort of task out of necessity. like my ass needs a canopy, so guess it's time to wash a pair o' pants. my cootch needs cloak, better throw in a load by golly.

so did i create the habit of hating laundry because i've always known there's not QUITE enough room for all the shit i buy? or do i keep buying shit because i hate laundry duties & in my many years of being a singleton never got my ass in gear to do laundry fast enough.

these are the just a few of the questions i ponder as i fold, pile, stack, roll, carry, hanger, shove and tuck into the very limited space of our 1930's home which is not meant to contain my new millenium retail needs.

truth is, folks - i don't WANT all the laundry finished. because i'll surely be exposed and the "homeland security" of this cottage will kick up to RED ALERT. sirens will sound. credit cards will self-destruct within 60 seconds. there i'll be with nowhere to turn, a basket full of clothing waiting for its place but alas there will be no room for it.

so i'm convinced that i have to clean out my drawers so my nordstrom lovin'-late night web shoppin'-trend watchin'-retail therapy needin' ass doesn't get busted. yet.

run like hell.

so it's the year of the running bull.

last fall, i got a wild hair after cheering on the Kansas City marathoners. it was so inspiring and very emotional to watch all these folks doing what i once did nearly 5 years ago.

but this time, it's different. i actually have completed one and live to tell about it. even managed a respectable time and all, keeping in mind that i trained by myself, i had never run more than 5 miles at the time i decided to train, and i hated running long distance all my life, really. ahh, but the memories haven't faded of the aftermath either. the limping around, tragically, for weeks after and not having enough sense to a) go see a doc, therapist, chiropractor, accupuncturist, orthopedic surgeon, or christ -ANYONE- who might make sense of the pain/injury...or b) refer back to the options in aforementioned list.

okay back to watching the marathoners whiz by. you see, that was my point of no return. when my innerspeak was hollering: get your lazy, off-the-running-bandwagon-ass back into the groove and sign up. i felt ready. inspired. and i am ready to get into the best shape of my life by age 40. why start slowly?

and along with me, cheering on the corner back on that october chilled day, was my hubby. mind you, he is only a runner when necessary (i.e. annual Trolley Run follies with beer and breakfast to follow) or due to participation in a duathalon or triathalon. no, he's never run for its ability to whip one's ass into cardio shape. he's a cyclist and cares not about watching a mile go by at a mere 5 or 6 mph. he'd prefer to watch them zip by at 17 or 18 mph whilst having his feet clipped in upon pedals in a fashion you'll never see me locking into, thanks. i don't desire to join my bike in a tumbling routine with it still attached to me and my bloodied ass as i roll end-over-end on the pavement. but thanks for asking. i don't give a fuck if lance armstrong makes it cool and hip and all easy looking. (and while we're on the topic of bikes for a minute - because of my reference to lance - did you know he'll be doing the grand and fantastic RAGBRAI '07 - that stands for Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa? now, then, i might consider getting on the bike for a week for RAGBRAI, but i'll do it SANS clipped feet onto pedals and only if lance promises to be my pace leader.)

sorry, digressing. this is about running, not about cycling goddamn it.

okay, so, training officially began for us mid-January with a training group called The Runner's Edge. a fantastic group led by an incredible coach. we are so lucky to have gotten the sense to join (thanks to my hub who demanded we train this way). every saturday we do a group run beginning at the crack o' dawn. and i love it. despite the cursing from mother nature we receive nearly every damn saturday, i still love it. the people we've met. the education we've received. this is a life altering part of my life. and to do it with my hub makes it even more prodigious. what's more - i've convinced him we should run the biggie in chicago this fall as well. because why only do 1 when you can do 2, yeah?

the marathon is a mere 13 days away. nashville, tennessee here we come. then after about a month of slacking, we'll pony up once more for the summer session of our running group and prepare for chicago in october.

sweat takes on a whole new meaning at mile 26.

love & gu from me to you.

EYE of the tiger.

this shit is hilarious. i took a quiz and ironically, i believe it could be exactly right on had i ever been forced to enter the medicinal world, god forbid.


The medical specialty for you is.... Ophthalmology

Ophthalmology is the best of all specialties. As an ophthalmologist, you will be unable to spell the name of the field you went into. You will loudly assert the difference between your field and optometry, but eventually, you will be making too much money to care.

To find out what specialty best fits your unique personality, go to:

What Medical Specialty Is For You?

vexing queries

why does every person over 75 years of age eat butter pecan ice cream?

if i were Italian, would i also have a self-starter on my car?

why must my hair be curly when i want straight..and straight when i desire ringlets?

if i'm tired, why must i become a night owl with no apparent desire to sleep when it's really necessary.

and why the hell is waking up to an alarm so fucking hard?

why does our dog feel as though it's okay to lounge on new furniture in our absence?

at what age am i going to let the gray hair win?

why do people say they just need 5 minutes of my time when they really mean they will actually waste 15 minutes telling me what they'll discuss once they get me to commit to those 5 minutes later that day?

did all the crooks, bastards, sheisters, fuckheads, et al. ALL decide to get involved in real estate in my city during MY lifetime?

how many days can pass before i'll actually remember to pick up my dry cleaning? but when i took it in several days prior, it seemed as though i'd have nothing to wear if more than one day passed?

where IS the beef?

and most importantly where have all the cowboys gone?


...that's all.

Itchin' bitch.

2006 seems to be wrapping up with real humdinger. Or humscratcher, shall we say.

The culprit - a gourd. A goddamn, sweet little pumpkin. What I used to consider a tasty flavoring to a latte, or baked into a nice loaf of bread, or the ultimate at Thanksgiving & Christmas in pie form. All shot to hell. No more of it.

And may I launch into a short tirade here? Because I am bringing up the rear (in more ways than you'll know) on Day 3 of this godforsaken hive session. What a fucking pain in the ass this is. Literally. Figuratively. And all senses in between.

My thighs have welts that look like I participated in a beehive-squeezing contest to see how long I could hold before their attacked was launched. My back, all the torso and yes, my friends, even my buttocks which does NOT need anything swelling upon it, looks like a connect-the-dots game waiting to commence. Hand over one of those markers the plastic surgeons play with and we could have a ball and create some type of human art, for fuck's sake. This morning I was searching the house far & wide for a tool with which to scratch the piss out of my poor, swollen tootsies..then about the time I would know my limit...the palms of my hands would start in. Oh, and then there was my seemingly-gradual-swollen mouth, lips and tongue. Elmer Fudd's had nothin' on me with his little lispy chatter. My hub just giggled when he saw the form my tongue had taken. From its once slim, pointy, elongated nature to now a version of "puffer tongue." Holy fuckness.

Was this how I would die? From having a pumpkin cheesecake the size of a 50-cent piece on Thursday night...and now to death's door (if only it was a bristle door, I could have at least scratched myself to pleasure until leaving the Earth).

Onto the ER for our Sunday morning brunch. Wheee. Just us, the drug addict, the potential gang-banging brother of a couple with child, and the nurse dressed all in fiery red KC CHIEFS attire to signify her support of the local team. Bless her.

Not a shot of epinephrine..not admittance to the room where I might lay until death. Instead a doctor and nurse who seemed annoyingly amused that I was probably their little break in the morning's craze. "Yep, looks like you've had an allergic reaction." REALLY? SERIOUSLY? Gee, I wasn't sure and was hoping you'd enlighten me because I perhaps misunderstood the FULL-BODY-ALIEN-LIKE ATTACK OF MOUNTAINOUS ITCHING MOTHERFUCKING CONTUSIONS covering my body mighta just been a little rash that I got from sitting in the grass. GIMME SOME ANTI-ITCH MEDS, CLOWN! And by the way, I'm really glad to help with your amusement Dr. and Ms. Nurse. Okay, when off my rant, I'll admit that actually I'm relieved that no needles or uncontrollable highs were on my list of things accomplished for this second weekend in December. And I'm even more relieved that my escapade with some shellfish whilst in wine country last weekend didn't land my ass into this swollen state because that woulda been really goddamn hard to taste wine & take notes with only one free hand because the other would have been too busy scratching.

So, going back to that thankful post during Thanksgiving...I will give thanks for the aforementioned PLUS the fact that I know now how important it will be to schedule my itchin' ass for a thorough allergy panel test fucking IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner.