I lost my brand new cell phone

That's right; I lost the new cell phone that I had in my possession for oh, almost a week.

I am having a very, very bad day. Not only have I lost my new cell phone, but before that, I got hit by a car, quite hard, while sitting in our car, parked by the side of the road. The driver drove away without even stopping to see if I or the car was all right. A good samaritan across the street who saw what happened wrote down the model, make, and license number of the car, which was a very kind thing to do, especially given that I was too shaken up to do it myself; but, when we went to the police station, we learned there's nothing we can do unless I prove that I or our car have sustained injuries. Our car was not damaged, at least not visibly so (I maintain he took some of the paint off the bumper and bent the license plate), and it seems *I* am undamaged, but we had to go to the hospital to be sure. When something like this happens they want to monitor you for 6 hours after the impact, and they were particularly keen to keep an eye on me because it turns out I was having small contractions (though these can be caused by dehydration, so it might have nothing to do with the accident).

After the six hours, they said the contractions had stopped, so I was released to go home, but discovered I had lost my cell phone somewhere in the process of getting so flustered by all the stuff that happened today. I am feeling terribly despondent.

Foreman Claude, Kitty Movers

The dear creature sat in every single shelf in our apartment, as soon as it became vacated. He has since pooped in our new apartment; I'm hoping it's just initial adjustment pains.

My cell phone's back

Hey la, hey la... it's gonna save my reputation... if I were you I'd take a permanent vacation... lalalalala.

Actually, I never found my old cell phone, but thanks to Arwen's advice, I inquired at Cingular and found I was eligible for a new free phone, anyway (this is something that never would have occurred to me to ask about, so Arwen needs to be thanked for the idea!!). Phone number and voice mail and everything should be the same, so... you can call me again. If you want to.

I am an idiot

Losing my cell phone during the move is one thing; but I also seem to have pulled a muscle, or done something of that nature, to myself during the move. I have a most dire pain in my side. I'm going to wait and see if it goes away now that the worst of the move is over, and if not I guess I'll have to call my doctor. I have no one to blame but myself, since everyone kept telling me to sit down. Apparently, I am extremely stubborn. I could not bring myself to stop working.

After all the nostalgia I've been feeling for my old apartment, let me tell you what I will not miss: our managers. The man is surly and mean, and the woman is fakey-nice. She came by at around 9 last night to breezily inform me she expected the apartment to be completely clean, in perfect condition for the next tenant, by the next morning, so that she herself wouldn't have to do "any cleaning at all." (Not that the place was that clean when WE moved in, mind you.) She said the painters would touch up the paint job, but the rest should be completely taken care of by me and Mark. Now this woman could SEE me-- I am pretty sure I was visible to her, and not standing in some bizarro science-fiction forcefield that rendered me invisible to the human cornea. There I was, exhausted and sweaty after three days of moving--negotiating three steep flights of stairs at our old place and two at our new--with my big old belly sticking out, and cleaning fluids and towels in my hands, gaping at her as she gave me this lecture. I told her I was doing everything I possibly could to make the place clean, but that at some point physical necessity might compel me to stop, and that would be that. I would have been much ruder to her except that they still have our security deposit, which is large, and we really need it back. I think, despite everything, the place looks great and that we should get back most of it-- IF the managers play fair.

The lesson in all of this is... well, let's see. Number one, Mark and I have TOO MUCH STUFF. It has been hellishly bad, despite the fact that we hired movers-- despite the fact that my mom was helping for four days and four nights-- despite the fact that our kind friends Debbie, Michael, John, Rachel, Dave, and Samantha pitched in to help (thank you so much-- we could not have done it without you and we owe you eternally!). When, with all this assistance, it is STILL hellish, you know you have too much stuff. And the second lesson: please do not move while six months pregnant. We were thinking it would be worse at seven or eight months, or that we'd have to wait and move with a baby, which would be very hard, too-- so I still think we probably picked the best of our options. But I would not recommend it to anyone out there-- better to move well before the six-month mark, if you can!

Dear, dear me. I am proud of myself, because I survived and I think the place now looks pretty darn good, but if anything happens to this pregnancy because of a stupid move, I don't know what I'll do; I'd be devastated, in all honesty. So... hello in there, baby? Are you all right?? Yeah... I don't know. Believe me, I have not been able to keep count on my "kick chart" these last few days. I can't wait till my next appointment, when hopefully I can find out a little bit about how things fare with her!

I lost my cell phone

Yes, I did. During the move. So I can't be contacted that way, just to let everyone know! Home phone should be working, and email of course. If I don't find the cell phone today I'll get another. Not sure when exactly; we have to spend the day cleaning our old apartment. Things are ROUGH. I strained a muscle in my rib area and I think I am getting bronchitis. More soon, when life gets better!

Beleaguered

Today I got my blood test results back and found out I have anemia (which is apparently pretty common during pregnancy). I have to eat prunes. Mmmmmm. I am also supposed to take an iron supplement and eat leafy spinach, raisins, and red meat, but I don't really like to eat much red meat, which I think is kind of sad, since wouldn't some people love to be given this direction by their doctor? Eat lots of steaks and hamburgers? I think Mark would be enjoying this anemia more than I am.

Maybe this explains why I have been feeling kind of weak and lethargic lately, and not being as effective as I need to be in organizing this move. The movers come tomorrow!

I am also in pain in my ribs and in my back, I presume from all the new weight that my muscles are unaccustomed to. The muscles on either side of my ribcage, above my big belly, hurt me terribly every night. Poor me!

And poor Kerouac. He is at the new apartment now. He climbed out of the cat carrier and ran from room to room, meowing loudly. Then he went into a closet and refused to come out. I don't think he's eaten or used the litter box all day. We will go over and visit him tonight and deliver his nemesis, Claude, to him. Maybe they will actually find each other comforting?

Kitty Moving Company

Cats try to be very helpful when you move.

My Latest

Update style…

1)Last Saturday, my mom, my aunt Sally, and I went to a 7 pm showing of Arwen’s movie Hog Island at the Sonoma Film Festival. It had a prime spot at the very cool, old-fashioned Sebastiani Theatre. I won’t give any details of the film away, but it was a treat to see Arwen, and the event itself was very exciting. The theatre was packed and the room was full of buzz-y energy. I wore my new black maternity dress. I felt quite snazzy for such a large, ungainly, hippo-ish version of myself. It was also a pleasure to see Arwen’s mom, Ann. Her photo is even featured in the film! (Maybe I am a dork to find this exciting, but I do.) Arwen’s definitely got it good in the mom department! It was a memorable day of my life. I was so excited that I forgot to keep my eyes peeled for Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, and, er, Peter Krause (my cousin Megan saw him at a pizza place in Sebastopol—apparently he lives around here). I would love to see the film again on DVD and show Mark, who didn’t get to come because he was playing in a show in Sebastopol with my cousin Jason.

2) I want to like our new place, though I’m under no illusions that it’s as pretty as our current one. However, it’s sunny and cheerful with a big window in the living room and a view from the kitchen of the Marin Headlands. The baby will be able to see the Golden Gate Bridge towers from her room--and everyone knows how important a view is to a baby. We’re within easier walking distance of more businesses than we were; there are nearby playgrounds that are easy to walk to; the Presidio with all its wondrous trees is right around the corner, Baker Beach is right there, and Mountain Lake Park is close, too. So in short, it's got more urban life AND more beautiful natural stuff to see, too (though we were closer to Golden Gate Park here).

But we’ve been a bit demoralized by some problems with the new place. Our parking space is so tight as to be almost impossible to navigate. If all the cars are in the garage at once, I don’t think we’re getting out without hitting either the wall or another car. It’s really bad. Then, we found water in our storage space—a lot of water. Seems like it could be a recurring problem. Next, no screens in the windows. The living room window is extremely low, almost to the floor, and the fall is steep. A kid or a cat could easily fall out. The managers won’t put in screens, though they said they’d consider reimbursing me for at least part of the expenses if I put them in. And finally, no fire escape, which my paranoid self craves. We have two doors, and the idea is that we’d escape through the second door to a fire escape at the end of the breezeway. I tried it out and discovered that the door is wedged shut. Arnold Schwarzenegger couldn’t open it. I’ve made a list of all these problems for the managers, but I’m not sure what they’re going to do. They have been pretty curt with me, so I’m not extremely hopeful-—and it’s not fun to move into a new place with a long list of complaints.

3) Had a doctor’s appointment yesterday. The doctor gave me something called a “kick chart.” Starting in week 28, I’m supposed to pick a time of day and make note, every day, of how long it takes the baby to kick (or move) ten times. If it takes longer than two hours, I am supposed to go into a complete meltdown (well, that's my loose interpretation of what the doctor said) and call Kaiser. I am sure my neurotic self is going to have a field day with this kick chart. The counting thing taps right into my pre-existing OCD-ish condition. I also learned that I should not be lifting heavy boxes: oops. It’s going to be hard for me to stop myself. And I have to go back to the lab for a diabetes and anemia test. Since I fainted on my first blood test, I’ve been very nervous about this. I also have to have another urinalysis due to some evidence on my last one that I might have a bladder infection. Dear me.

I now need to focus on being helpful with this move without lifting heavy boxes. Squatting to pack things and then standing up is becoming more challenging, too. I am a graceless, earthbound creature now. I am the dodo bird. The *fat* dodo bird.

Dumb Brunettes

I like this anecdote, because Mark and I will look equally dumb in it. I think.

The other day, I got lost driving home from the East Bay. I got on the wrong freeway, not hard to do with all those intersecting lanes and freeways going here there and everywhere, and all these blasted pushy drivers not letting you get over. I, of course, panicked. I have no natural sense of direction, and my only hope of ever getting home is to stay EXACTLY on the course as mapped out for me ahead of time by Mark or by Yahoo Directions; it’s not as though I could somehow feel and improvise my way home using my God-given common sense. Duhh.

So, I pulled over at the first exit I could find, fumbled for my cell phone, and with sweaty and trembling hands of panic, called Mark to tell him what had happened. “Please help me,” I panted, “I am lost and need you to talk me every step of the way home.”

He was calm, of course, and felt he could help me find my way home, but he said he couldn’t stay on the phone very long, because he was expecting a very important phone call. “What,” I screamed, “could be more important than helping your lost wife find her way home? I am going to DIE out here, DIE!!”

There was a long pause, and then he changed the subject. He stayed on the phone with me the whole time and helped me find my way back to the right freeway. But I later discovered, by means of a thorough browbeating, that the person whose "very important" call he was waiting for was ME. Before I got lost, we had planned that I’d call him and pick him up outside work. So the dear man couldn’t stay on the phone and help me find my way home, because he was expecting a call from ME at around 4:30.

Hopefully this illustrates that we are both dumb brunettes… if not, I may have to share The Fork Story.

Sigh

You could see the trees of Golden Gate Park from our living room and dining room windows...





...okay, we were a little sloppy sometimes, but it always felt cozy.

Moving is sad

That says it all. I hate moving, but it only makes sense for us to move into a 2-bedroom, since there is a baby coming. So we are moving. I am soooooo sad. This is the only time in my life I ever felt motivated to photograph my apartment. I even photographed the BATHROOM-- that is love.

Bill dared to bet me the other day...

...but you want to be careful with that.

When I was 12 and she was 11, and we were in the captive space of the bed of my dad’s Mazda pickup, traveling across the country, my sister dared me that I couldn’t-—or perhaps simply wouldn’t-—sing “The Greatest Love of All (I Believe the Children Are Our Future),” by Whitney Houston, one hundred times in a row.

She was wrong.

The moral: Don’t mess with me. I *will* sing “The Greatest Love of All” one hundred times in a row, in a closed space where you can't get away, and you will have no one to blame but yourself. (PS--I know ALL THE WORDS. Every last one.)

Rainy, cold-stricken visit

My friends Amy and David were here last week with their incredibly smart, charming, funny daughter Adele. It was delightful to see them and I feel like I learned a lot about kids and parenting in a short span of time; if we can be a tenth as good in the parenting department as Amy and David, I think we’ll be pretty darn good. It was wonderful for me to spend time with them, but I felt bad for them because it rained on every single day of their visit except--I think--for the day they arrived and the day they left. These were some tough circumstances for a vacation with a one-and-a-half-year-old. Because it was raining, they had to stay inside with Adele, meaning she couldn’t run around and expend energy and often needed to be in the stroller, which was frustrating for her. She's got a lot of energy and curiosity, and I don't blame her for not wanting to be cooped up. Plus, everyone got sick (including me). It’s got to be challenging enough to be away from home with a young child, but when the circumstances get exacerbated in this way, how tough… I felt bad for them.

But selfishly, I am so glad I saw them. Amy helped me immeasurably with some of my preparations. We visited Babies R Us (my first time there) and I was able to scope out some of the things I might need, with Amy’s guidance. All I could think was how I would have keeled over and died from overwhelmed senses if Amy hadn’t been there to help me make sense of the aisles and aisles and aisles of things. I cannot believe how much baby merchandise there is, and all the different options! The stroller/carseat dilemma alone would have sent my peabrain somersaulting through outer space without Amy’s help.

It was also just fun to hang out with them and talk and interact with Adele. I can’t tell you how sweet and funny she is (and the possessor of a huge vocabulary for a toddler). Oh, and she decided *I* was funny, which is the ultimate compliment. Even when I wasn’t doing anything in particular to try to amuse her, she would look at me and start laughing! And point at me and say, “Funny.” Could a child pay me a better compliment? I really think it was insightfulness on her part, that she saw right through to my innermost core, where being found funny is extremely important to me. She also pronounced my name “Tawa,” which could not be cuter. Sometimes I was “Mawk.” I think she saw me and Mark as one joint entity of “Tawa Mawk” or “Mawk Tawa.” But *I* was funnier, people.

Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to convince Amy and David to come back after the crappy weather and illness that went with this visit, so it’s time to start planning a trip to Fullerton to see them!