The other day (last Wednesday) I made beef stew with red wine in the broth, but I didn’t plan it well. I was following the recipe and the stew had cooked an hour before I read the part about simmer another hour, do another step, then simmer for a final hour. Shit! It was 6 p.m. and the stew was supposed to be that night’s dinner. Plan B kicked in and we ate something else for dinner that night. I left the stew on the stove …

… with the heat up too high. The stew cooked down too much and nearly burned (see previous post about my pregnant knack for burning up meals: http://sarabellae.livejournal.com/81741.html). Ian came along and added more water and wine to the broth. We went to sleep.

The stew was resurrected for the following night’s meal. It tasted OK, but wasn’t all that I had hoped it would be. The broth was too soupy, not stewy enough. Later that night, Lucas woke up vomiting. He was sick repeatedly throughout the night and even the next morning.

We can’t be sure what caused it, but I suspect that the bottle of red wine that went into the stew pot wasn’t good for our 4-year-old. Too many tannins? Too acidic for him? I don’t think there was a high alcohol content after cooking it, but who knows? Ian and I were fine. Lucas’s only symptoms were a very sad tummy, vomiting, and lethargy the next day. (He took three naps because he’d been up being sick the night before.) Poor baby.

Ex-boyfriend Dream
Ex and ex’s sister in the dream show me their family’s new house, which is built in a very fairy tale style complete with gray stone tower and conical roof. The time is now, so ex is definitely an ex, but in the dream, I’m not pregnant. We converse and catch up on what’s been happening in each other’s lives. There’s a good feeling between us. Then ex tells me he has a present for me–sort of. It’s something he wants me to keep safe for him. He hands me a tall glass cylinder full of murky greenish fluid, some water plants, and a few green frogs. I ask him what this is for and why it’s so important. He tells me it’s his semen that he’s been saving for me, and that he thought I might be able to use it.

Interpretation: I’m glad I married Ian and not this ex. Ian gives me baby boys. Ex-boyfriend gives me frogs.

Birth Dream
I’m pregnant in this dream and go into labor. There’s not a lot of detail here, except that I labor and give birth. Instead of a baby, however, I have three puppies. This surprises me a lot, but I valiantly try to accept what the universe has given me. When they show me their puppy teeth though, my enthusiasm for breastfeeding is greatly diminished.

Interpretation: Sometimes Ian gives me puppies.

Thirty-five weeks, one day, and all is well, per Ruth, my midwife. Today Lucas got to come along to the appointment for the first time. He was jazzed about hearing the baby’s heart beating via the doppler thingy. Ruth says baby is still smallish and that it’s highly unlikley that I’ll end up with a nine-pounder when he’s born. That is soothing music to my … ears.

My favorite paparazzi, the dynamic duo of photos, came over yesterday and took pics of me, my bountifully big belly, and my family. I can’t wait to see ’em. Thank you, oh Flowery Ones.

This editing network I joined is kinda weird.
I get about 1-4 opportunities a week to bid on jobs. If I want the job, I contact the client and provide info about my services and fees. The same client may be contacted by up to two other editors wanting the job. If the client is interested in me, we may then exchange several emails, negotiating, determining the scope of the job, etc. And then, very often, the response is “Sorry; I can’t afford you.” OK. Fine. I’m not so hard-up for work that I’m willing to do freebies or give discounts to struggling authors. So. We’ll see. I’ve completed one network job so far and it was lucrative. There are benefits to doing this type of work beyond the monetary ones, too, provided the work actually lands in my lap. I should get more experience in new areas this way. However, all this bidding and emailing takes time, and so far, it hasn’t landed me much work. At this point, if all the bids I’ve made were to result in signed contracts, I’d have way more work than I could handle. I guess it feels strange because it’s forcing me to do a lot more marketing and client education than I’m used to doing when working for publishers.

Definition: Full-term pregnancy = 37–42 weeks. The average length is 40.

According to my trusty book, baby now weighs about 4.4+ pounds. His crown-to-rump length is about 12 inches and total length is 19.4 inches. From about now and till the end, baby will gain about 1/2 pound per week, which should result in a 7 to 8 pounder. (I’m hoping for 7.)

I now wake up every single hour of the night to pee. I see midnight, 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m., 6 a.m. and 7 a.m. when I rise for the day. I think of this as baby boot camp. Baby is already training me to be awake at all hours every single night without an end in sight.

I have minor physical complaints such as sore ribs, where I am consistently being kicked, and some abdominal muscle pain. I can only sleep on my sides or my entire lower body loses circulation and starts to tingle. It’s tough to bend down to pick stuff up from the floor, which is challenging considering Lucas ensures that there’s always stuff on the floor. I lost my balance the other night and fell down.

However, I still feel pretty good (when people aren’t being mean to me)! I have no weird or scary medical condition to contend with. Everything is proceeding normally, and let’s hope it continues to do so! The list of problems I don’t have is huge: To mention just a few, I don’t have pregnancy-induced diabetes, twins, pregnancy-induced hypertension, IUGR (intrauterine growth retardation), anemia, cancer, or premature labor. So, yay for me!

We still don’t have a name picked out yet. Nor is the baby stuff we’ve been saving since Lucas was tiny (like diapers, clothes, blankets) clean and put away. We have to make it past Christmas before we can do any of that work. Then, it will be a race against baby’s arrival.

I’m on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster these days. Holiday parties are fun, but my reproductive state garners me lots of unwanted attention from strangers. I’ve managed to have mostly a good time at these events, but I’ve cried my eyes out each time, too. I don’t like strangers making comments about my body/shape/size and I don’t like strangers who take liberties and touch my belly before even asking. It makes me feel objectified and vulnerable. I can’t help but wonder why people’s social filters don’t kick in when they interact with me; it’s like all their normal filters vanish. Didn’t their mothers teach them manners? I swear to god, I’m going to ask next stranger who touches my belly without first getting my permission “Would you like to grab my tits, too? They’re also bigger because I’m pregnant.”

EDIT: One woman at a recent party touched me before she even told me her name. I was backed up against a kitchen counter and surrounded by biddies, so I couldn’t even move away from her advance. Then, after she touched me, she said “Do you mind?” I replied, “Yes, I do actually. I prefer it when people ask my permission first.” She looked abashed, hung around me for another moment or two to save face, and then split. I didn’t see her again for the rest of the night.

ANOTHER EDIT: For the record, I am complaining about the behavior of STRANGERS. My friends have been supportive, respectful, loving, and great during this pregnancy (and my first). Being touched with love, kindness, and compassion is tremendously healing and joyful to me. I’m not trying to prevent all people from touching me—just those I don’t know.

Inquiring minds want to know, what are the best novels you’ve read recently? If you can provide a super-brief summary and why you liked it, that would be cool.
Thanks!

A little more than a week ago, Lucas and I made a list of the things he’d like to have for Christmas. I didn’t help him with these ideas. He came up with these things all by himself. [NOTE: This is posted here for posterity’s sake, not as a bid for presents from readers.]

* Real child-size tools (to use when working with Daddy—not to play with)
* Two-wheeled bike with training wheels (Is he really big enough for this? How he’s grown!)
* Badge maker (something he saw in a catalog; makes buttons)
* Stamps/ink pad
* Train mechanic’s suit (for working on Thomas the Tank Engine at the Island of Sodor)
* Big chest of dress-up costumes (from a catalog; comes with race car driver, astronaught, cop, and firefighter costumes and accessories)
* Dolly crib/cradle
* Wooden Thomas trains (recycling cars, gold prospector cars)
* Metal Thomas train
* Space puzzle (around 60-100 pieces, rated for 4- to 6-year-olds)

~~~
Many of these items made it onto the wish list that I gave to his grandparents. Santa Claus will be bringing the bike to our house early, early Christmas morning. Shhh. Don’t tell.

This week’s behavior is brought to you by the letter O.

ornery
obstreperous
obnoxious
obstinate
obdurate
out of order
oblivious

During dinner several days ago, Lucas decided he had to use the bathroom. Ian and I took the opportunity to discuss some current affairs that we wouldn’t normally discuss in front of the boy.

From the throne, Lucas shouted “I AM THE BOSS OF THIS HOUSE! Stop talking!”

Since then, he’s tried repeatedly to convince us with “logic” that the ultimate authority around here rests in him. “Really. For reals. In real life.” Uh-huh.