Prepare to envy me

"When I talk with Sarah,
I could laugh till tomorrow.
She has this sunny face
you can never spray mace
in."

That is the first verse of a love poem someone wrote me in high school, just re-discovered as I went through another box of old papers. Honestly, I am a little evil to be laughing at the poem, since I know the poet meant well and was trying to show genuine appreciation of me. It's just...well, I'd been hoping for something a little sublimer when I unfolded the paper, saw my name at the top, and noticed that the lines were broken down like verse.

On the other hand, I was a very difficult adolescent. I'm sure lots of people wanted to spray mace in my face. I should perhaps feel more touched and honored by the poet's sentiments.

The poet goes on to point out that I have "lots of interests" and that my name spelled backward is "Haras Ssog." God, was there anything about me that could inspire some loftier emotions?

Oh well. At least now, there are 114 posts, rather than 113. Did you know I was superstitious?

Updatey Post

1) On Monday Mark and I are going in to "interview" a potential pediatrician at Kaiser. This is Kaiser's standard practice; my plan was just to have my first appointment with someone they recommended, then switch doctors if something didn't feel right. But when I called, Kaiser told me it was standard to have an interview with the possible pediatrician. That's fine, except...I have no idea what I am supposed to ask her. I don't know very much about pediatricians--or children, really. And it feels kind of strange to be interviewing a pediatrician for a child who doesn't exist yet. My superstitious self doesn't feel quite easy with it. I think I'll just see if I like her.

2) Shouldn't pregnant people be able to drive in the carpool lane? In horrible 101 traffic yesterday, it suddenly occurred to me that it was strange that the law considers this baby a person at this point in some contexts, but not in others. I think I should also be able to go over the Golden Gate Bridge for free (when riding with Mark and the baby) during rush hour, when 3 people are required to skip the toll. I assumed I was just being difficult, but Mark looked on the CHP website for information about carseats and he found another pregnant woman asking this question. The answer, you will not be surprised to hear, is "No."

3) Mom says she's looking forward to playing with the baby's feet.

4) I didn't think it was possible for my heartburn to get any worse, but it has.

Blame it on Michael...

...who gave me the idea of using the "Jumpin' Jack Flash" lyrics.

I mean, what else am I supposed to do? I am the size of a house and I hardly want to practice pelvic rocking all day or dwell on the existential terror of what is about to happen me. Therefore, without further ado, here is "Jumpin' Jack Flash," translated into Chinese by Babelfish (http://babelfish.altavista.com/)and then back into English.

I am possibly the most immature person in the world.

"I was born in exchange fire the hurricane
and I now to howl have called in mine ma in the driving rain,
but it all, in fact, is gas!
But it all is correct.
Im jumpin jack flash, its gas! Gas! Gas!

I do not have the tooth by, has the beard the sorceress has raised,
I am now educated stretched across with the leather belt my behind,
but it all, in fact, is gas! But its all rights,
Im jumpin jack flash, its gas! Gas! Gas!

I was submerged, I and left have been washed am the dead.
I tumbled and I saw them to my foot to bleed.
I have knit the brows in the bread outer covering bread filings.
I am capped to the nail passed my head.

But it now all, in fact, is gas! But its all rights,
Im jumpin jack flash, its gas! Gas! Gas!
Jumps the movement flash,
its gas jumps the movement flash,
its gas jumps the movement flash,
its gas jumps the movement flash,
its gas jumps the movement flash."

The English-Russian-English translation was pretty good, too, but what is "SVO gas"? Anyone?

"I was originated in cross-fire hurricane
and I howled on my ma in governing the rain,
but its all right now, in actuality, SVO gas!
But its entirely right.
Flash of nest jumpin it, its gas! gas! gas!

I was raised toothless, bearded hag,
I was trained with the right of the lath through my tail end,
but its all right now, in actuality, SVO gas!
But its entire right,
the it flash of nest jumpin, its is gas! gas! gas!

I was sunk, I was washed upward and to the left for the dead persons.
I fell up to my feet and I saw they it bled.
I frowned on the crumbs of korky of bread.
Yeah, yeah, yeah I was crowned with the right of the spike through my head.
But its everything right now, in actuality, SVO gas!
But its entire right, the it flash of nest jumpin, its is gas! gas! gas!

Flash skipping of nest,
its flash skipping of the nest of gas,
its flash skipping of the nest of gas,
its flash skipping of the nest of gas,
its flash skipping of the nest of the gas."

Scorpions lyrics

Why? Because I find them amusing, and I need no other reason. (Well, and Mark sang these lyrics last Saturday at the Littlefox--how did he say them with a straight face?):

"You stand in front of the band
with all those scarves in your hands;
I see you play imaginary guitars.
You people shaking your heads
right till the end of the set,
You really turn me on
wherever we are.

Can't live, can't live without you.

Put your hands in the air
So I can see you are there;
I want to see all your lights shining on.
Want you to stand up and dance,
Gonna leave you no chance,
To take a breath between each single song.

Can't live, can't live without you.

Stand up and shout,
we're ready to rock,
we're ready to roll.
Stand up and shout,
Are you ready?
Are you ready?"

In my spam box today....

From: "ztafwwpwqqu"
Subject: Are you tired of women turninig you down bcause of you micro penis?

Make impotence your worst nightmare, not reality.
http://klpnlr.decayreproach.com/?18862042

=1405C4A504B4B42BC60A5BBB1AEAC64A5949=
Scourgify. A few feathers and droppings vanished.

Meditation on good manners

I am becoming rather cranky. This is because I am extremely uncomfortable and often in outright pain.

Having spent most of my adult life trying very, very hard to be a thoughtful, considerate person, my current state of crankiness is of interest to me. There's no telling where it could take me into the realm of bad manners, but I feel just the slight beginnings of going there. You should have seen how I told off a woman with a Jaguar who falsely accused me of dinging her car door (after watching me try for 10 minutes to heave my huge bulk out of my own old, banged-up car without touching her way-too-far-over-in-its-space fancy-pants car). I should add that she yelled at me first. Mark can testify that I told her off beautifully and that she was quite taken aback, having initially assessed me as a person she could probably easily push around.

As I said, I am feeling rather cranky.

That's what I thought

Took the test again and did (slightly) better when I changed some of my strongly-felt opinions...about Ernest Hemingway, the New Yorker, and math. :-)

English Nerd
You scored 89 erudition!
Not only do you know your subjects from your objects and your definite from your indefinite articles, but you've got quite a handle on the literature and the history of the language as well. Huzzah, and well done! The English snobs of Boston salute you.




My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 94% on erudition


If you liked my test, send it to your friends!
The Are You Truly Erudite? Test
http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=11648818659165032135

Hmmmm

Stolen from Stacy's blog! Have fun with it, but be warned in advance so you don't get pouty and frustrated: there are some right and wrong answers, but some of them are definitely a matter of opinion. Ahem!

True English Nerd
You scored 86 erudition!
Not only do you know your subjects from your objects and your definite from your indefinite articles, but you've got quite a handle on the literature and the history of the language as well. Huzzah, and well done! The English snobs of Boston salute you.




My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 91% on erudition


If you liked my test, send it to your friends!
The Are You Truly Erudite? Test
http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=11648818659165032135

Newborn babies...

...are like ugly-cute little aliens. It's not every day I get to see a 1-week old and some 3-week olds, and I really admired the moms for being willing to bring them in. I anticipate that I'll still be lying around the house, moaning and feeling sorry for myself, one week into it.

I'm glad I saw them, too, because now I have a better idea of what to expect. I really don't mean this to be offensive, because they were cute, but they were definitely kind of weird, too. Their little knees didn't unbend all the way, and their skin was reddish and chafed, and their wee faces were constantly changing into expressions they clearly had no control over. They would squinch up their eyes, and roll their tongues around in their mouths, and open and close their mouths randomly, and their poor little eyes looked all glassy and unfocused, and their limbs would sort of flail about uncontrolledly. Gerber babies definitely do not represent the reality of a newborn.

I really and truly don't mean these comments to be insulting. This is just what it looks like to be a newborn, I learned. You are kind of out of control and you haven't developed your eye contact or limb coordination skills yet. It's not your fault--you'll get there! They were funny little guys. I thought their screams were sort of cute and funny, too, though maybe I won't think that in the middle of the night, three weeks into it. They would wake up and immediately start screaming, even though there wasn't any reason to scream; they had no sense of the larger picture. No perspective. For some reason that seemed funny.

I swear I'm not making this up

We had our last childbirth preparation class today, and midway through it, the class that had met before ours came back for their reunion and to show us their babies; two babies were 3 weeks old, and one was 1 week.

There's a lot I could say about this class, but I'm tired so will limit myself to telling you about one of the fathers. He graphically described his wife's C-section to us, freely tossing about phrases like "sawing through layers and layers of lasagna" and "blood everywhere." It was all delivered in a very charming British accent, but...is it possible to have a faultier sense of audience? He said, in his wonderful British accent, "I had no idea how many LAYERS there were to SAW through!" I kept waiting for the teacher to take out the hook and pull him off the stage, but this never happened.

His, uh, hideously ill-timed candor was only partially compensated for by the fact that he referred to himself as a "bloke" and the operating room as the operating "theatre."

It may take a lifetime to eradicate some of the images he created in my head tonight. Sigh.

Unhungry...

...and other updates.

My appetite suddenly took a big slide down the hill. Did this happen to anyone else in the third trimester? I could barely eat in the first trimester; was hungry all the time and liking everything in the second; and now, I seem to have slipped back a little bit into the way I felt the first trimester. Thank God it's not nearly as severe, but I do feel some loss of appetite and a sense that if I eat too much, or if I eat food with too much taste, I'm going to be sick. I theorize that it's because my stomach is now being crushed to a minuscule size and it just can't hold that much in it. Not to be gross, but sometimes I suddenly barf a little in my mouth.

This is a tough one, the third trimester. I am tired. When I try to go for a nice vigorous walk, I get tired and winded easily (and I can't walk very fast, so even a short walk takes forever). I have shortness of breath more often and I'm having insomnia, partly because I'm uncomfortable and have to pee all the time and partly because I'm afraid of what's coming. I stare into the darkness and see all my fears there, fears related to pain and mortality and my fitness to be a parent; then, by the time I've gotten to sleep, it's usually time to get up and pee.

My skin is on fire right over my ribcage. I have to sit with a pack of frozen mixed vegetables over it in the evening. I have shooting pains in my bladder, especially when I'm vertical--as with my diminishing stomach, I think it's related to my increasingly large uterus, which is pressuring my bladder. Sometimes the baby's movements send the shooting pains into my bladder, too.

But it's hard not to be cheerful when you have a dresserful of very, very small clothes.

Ahhhh....

...this Tiger Balm is making my ribs feel so outrageously good that it just *can't* be safe for use in pregnancy. The bottle says to check with my doctor if pregnant, but my doctor didn't know, and all the information we found online was inconclusive. (The consensus seemed to be, "Use, but in moderation." But, you know, that's the internet--who knows if reliable?) Does anyone out there in blogging land know if it's safe for pregnancy? (Please say yes... pleeeeeeease.... pleeeeeeease...).

Relaxing words

My Kaiser class gave me a list of relaxing words to think about. Okay, so I can understand how "comfy, cozy, warm, cool, and floating" might be relaxing words, but "limp, flaccid, droopy, weak, and flabby"? These words are a straight shot of anxiety into the hearts of most Californians, I would have to say.

I may have to create another post about "Phrases to Relax with" and "Positive Affirmations."

I knew it!

The baby seems to be musical, like her dad. I visited a playgroup today, with our friend Will and his son Gus, and during the music-and-singing-circle, she started jumping up and down, wiggling and kicking and (I imagine) doing a little jig in the womb. She sat still again whenever the music stopped, and then started up her jigs when the music came back. So, I am convinced: she's musical.

In other news: OW. OWWWWWW. The newest form of pain is a most acute burning sensation on my skin, right along the ribs that have been bothering me. There is absolutely no sign of it on the surface of my skin--no redness or anything--but it feels like it is burning up. I think maybe the muscles are so inflamed that it's starting to hurt all the way through.

I can't wait to see my doctor tomorrow. I hope she kills me. Maybe I can inspire a homicidal rage in her?

Baby kicks

For some time now, I have been plagued by the concern that this baby is not kicking me hard enough. I must affectionately blame other mothers who told me that when their babies kicked them, the kicking at some point became so strident that it actually hurt. And they used extravagant verbs and adjectives, like "pounded" and "pummeled" and "whaled on me" and "feisty" and "ferocious" and "vigorous." Although I was given a little modest glee when a nurse told me the baby was "feisty" once, I would not say I have felt the need to use any of those words for this baby yet (and I am 35 weeks along). That's not to say she's not hurting me--her foot is wedged in a pain-stricken place in my left ribs and it feels like someone is prodding a wound. But I can't honestly say I have felt pain from a kick yet. Is there something wrong with her, or am I just a much more cautious and conservative diction-selector??

Words of maternal comfort

This morning, on the phone, my mother said to me in a warm, loving, reassuring voice: "Now, honey, I know that having a newborn is going to make you feel worried or anxious sometimes, so if you ever have ANY questions or concerns, I don't want you to hesitate to pick up the phone and call your friend Amy."

Sorting through boxes and boxes and boxes....

Boy, do I love going through old papers. To those who don’t know, I meant that sarcastically. I end up going sloooowly, because I have to stop and read everything. And then I get into great epistemological questions, like what did I mean when I wrote at the top of a list, “Drunken graveyard Tag!!"?

I found a brilliant translation of the Old English verse “The Wife’s Lament,” by me, back when I was taking Old English in 1990-something. Here is an excerpt:

“I this word utter about me, very sad of my self fate.
I that say, tell am able, what I of hardships experienced.
I up grew, recently or long ago, no more than now.
Forever I punishment suffered of my miseries.”

Hmmm…something poetic was lost in translation there, I think.

Oh good, my “Dream of the Rood” translation:

“Hwaet! I best of dreams will relate
Which me dreamed at midnight
When speech-bearers dwelled at rest.
It seemed to me that I saw a wondrous tree
In air as in light enveloped,
Of crosses the brightest.”

See, this is where I get into trouble. I say to myself, “Do I really want to throw this out? Well, what if one day I really need to know how I translated these Old English poems? I might be VERY sorry I got rid of this notebook, and feel bereft.” So I end up saving it.

And that is how I came to possess 1,000,000,000,000,000,000 useless piles and boxes of papers and notebooks, all of which I have to move every single bloody time we move.

Newborn Care Class

We had a class in infant care at Kaiser. All I can say is...poor Baby Goss-Meritt to be. I could not follow the cloth diapering techique to save my life; my swaddling was sub-standard; my ideas of how to give a bath were utterly up-ended and undermined. Who ever heard of giving someone a bath while they are wrapped in a blanket? My eyes popped out of my head at every turn. Can't picture doing all this stuff remotely like the nurse did it. Couldn't understand much of what she said, either. Took copious notes, though.

And I don't HAVE a dishwasher, so I can't park the baby in front of it to recreate womblike white noise. What a classist piece of advice! :-)

Verbal Rorschach Test

Cryptic note discovered today, in my handwriting on a Post-It, while I was going through piles and piles of old papers:

"The arthritic rat bakes cheesecake in a fedora."

Substantial reward offered to anyone who can help me understand what the hell I meant by that.

The only other clue is that under that sentence, it says, "Wednesday: Call Mita."