June 30, 2005

June 30, 2005

    I’ve realized with dismay that it’s been an entire
week since I last posted on here.   I’m on the verge of never
posting again (“never” probably means something closer to “A very long
time).  I’m also on the verge of a complete funk, which I’m told
by people, (in a very patronizing tone) it’s just me being a hormonal
pregnant woman.  I want to slap them or at least let forth a
string of very un-lady like vocabulary.  Hopefully it would shock
them into silence, but then I really would be a hormonal pregnant woman, so I settle for the most withering, disdainful stare I can muster up and retreat to my trailer.
     I went shopping
with my mom today.  I just needed a few things but Jim wouldn’t
let me go without someone to help me (or spy on me to make sure I don’t
do anything remotely interesting) so Mom volunteered and ended up
shopping
for what seemed like hours while I sat at Starbucks and waited for her
.
Aghh…it’s frustrating, although there were a few funny moments.
My belly is
starting to pop out a little bit and even though all my pants still
fit, my shirts don’t cover my tummy so it kind of sticks out.  I think
it looks cute, and I’ve just been letting it hang out. There are no
stretch marks (yet), my tummy’s tan and Jim totally think it looks
adorable,
so I see no reason to buy maternity clothes (yet).  My
wonderful-but-rather-conservative parents haven’t
said anything, but today while we were shopping my mom suggested we
look in a maternity shop. Sounded fun to me (I can be naive sometimes
and I had no idea what she was really trying to imply). I didn’t really
see anything I wanted.  I tried on a few things but even the extra small’s
were
huge in the belly so nothing fit.  My mom however, had a different
agenda. She said she wanted to buy me something.  I graciously
declined,
but she persisted. We finally found something that “fit” by her
standards, but it made me feel like I was wearing a big sack over my
head.  I was still trying to talk her out of it when she clarified and said she felt
really bad that Jim couldn’t afford to buy me maternity clothes,
forcing me to let my tummy stick out of my normal clothes.  It caught me
completely off guard.  I didn’t tell her we have plenty of money to buy maternity clothes,
I just don’t like them.  In a moment of impulsiveness, I swept up the
shirt in question, marched up to the counter and bought it.
Now I’m home, staring at this stupid shirt trying to figure out what
to do with it.  Which reminds me of another
predicament.   I spent Tuesday at the beach for my
cousin’s birthday “picnic”.   Much to my dismay, none of my
swimsuits fit, so like it or not I was left with a two
piece as my only option  (not being concerned enough with modesty
to resort to something like a t-shirt and shorts).   I
dubiously wondered whether or not it’s acceptable to wear a bikini when
your pregnant.  I know it’s supposedly the latest chic thing, but I’m
not sure how many normal people actually read Vogue and think it’s ok for people other than Reese Witherspoon to sport a bare pregnant belly.
  
So I’m still wondering, is it disgusting, defrauding or cute to see a pregnant woman with her tummy showing?

June 22, 2005

June 22, 2005

It’s a beautiful thing when you can sit on the beach in La
Jolla and be on the internet at the same time (compliments of UCSD’s wireless
network) .  Of course it’s not so nice
when it’s six thirty in the morning and you’d much rather be surfing, but life
could be much harder than sitting in a lounge chair on the beach so I shall
shut my lips lest I jinx my fate and thwart God’s will for my life.

Proverbs says, “Even a fool when he shutteth his mouth is
considered wise” (or something like that). 
As a certified, talkative person, I have gone great lengths to prove
this true…sometimes I succeed more than other times.   However Solomon isn’t quite as wise as I thought (of course I’m
not even positive he wrote that particular proverb) as I’m pretty sure I’ve managed
foolishness without even opening my mouth. 
Of course wisdom and foolishness are entirely relative.   If you asked my Mom what wisdom was, and
then posed the same question to my husband you would get vastly different
answers (Juan would say the one with the Holy Spirit is obviously right…but both
of them claim to know Him so that doesn’t help me much). So whether or not you
want to equate criticism (or gossip) with wisdom or foolishness would determine
your reaction to me.  Although beware,
if you decide I’m too critical I hope you’re comfortable with the title
yourself.

I was introduced recently to a guy named Bob, and if it were
possible to put a Jr. High girl in a 45 year old male body, then you’d know
exactly what this guy’s like.   I’ve
been around my fair share of gushing females (they’re normally found in the
general proximity of Mr. Gothard) but it’s a little more astonishing when it’s
not accompanied by soft curls gently framing the face, but rather graying hair
and a pot belly (I was going to say beer belly but I don’t think he
drinks).   I thought my dad held the
uncontested title for most-long-winded-person (I can’t even come close
to matching his skill) but this dude took the cake.   With surprising agility he managed to interrupt every conversation
in the room (there were three or four going at once), change the subject to
some story about himself and then look utterly hurt and offended when you tried
to politely finish the exchange you were previously having, making everybody
else feel rude and uncomfortable.   That
takes some mad skill…but being particularly annoying can come in handy, so I’ll
have to tuck it away for future reference.

And yes, my life is really so incredibly boring I’ve been
reduced to writing about annoying people in my blog.   Of course I was supposed to be surfing with my husband right
now, but I had some unconfessed sin in my life which led to my becoming sick,
which resulted in imposed bed-rest by my OB, so technically I’m being punished
by God right now.  Open theism looks
brighter everyday…

June 11, 2005

June 11, 2005

Ok so I lied…

It isn’t Campylobacter or any other kind of food poisoning.  The full results came back from the lab and apparently it’s some kind of parasite causing a bacterial infection in my intestines, colon and stomach… I won’t even pretend to be able to spell it or pronounce it, but it was caused by an allergic reaction to antibiotics.  The problem now is I need antibiotics to stop the UTI, to stop the pre-term labor, but the pre term labor is caused by being so sick which is caused by the antibiotics. bleh…it’s a vicious circle. 

I had to be admitted to the hospital yesterday for pre-term labor which turned out to be pre-term contractions (I guess there’s a big difference).  I was having contractions every five minutes and that apparently is not acceptable.   Good news is I wasn’t in labor, but they didn’t want the contractions to start labor so they gave me this super powerful medication that felt like I just had five shots of espresso. Wow…that was some potent stuff.   Jamie thought so too, he was bouncing around like a pinball for hours, and my highly irritated insides were not amused.  Thankfully they don’t think I’m predisposed to a pre term delivery. (I’d really like to keep Jamie in me for a little longer) so they didn’t put me on bed rest.  Just told me to take it easy for the next couple of weeks.  What do they think I’ve been doing for the last week?

When we were leaving the hospital  the nurses said “See you in ten to twelve weeks”…holy crap! is it really that soon?

I want a hamburger and strawberry milkshake so bad I really don’t care if it kills me. 

June 10, 2005

June 10, 2005

Warning: not for weak stomachs or drama-queen-haters.

For some people writing is an effortless show of brilliance, I unfortunately am not one of those people, nor can I be depended on for the more hair-pulling, pencil chewing, intelligent narratives. My writing either consists of awkward “real” sentences or rambling diatribes about myself.  (My self being the only subject I can coherently expound upon)  If the usage of the word “I” were any indication of a persons vanity, I would currently have to be living out the rest of my days studying Confucius to make up for a life-long ego binge.   Instead I’m sitting here on the floor of my miniscule bathroom, praying Jim never saw the mass of spiderwebs behind the toilet, and wildly hoping that writing will distract me from the demon in my stomach and intestines.   I’ve been avoiding my blog for days, because a person who only writes about herself can’t say much when all she does is lay in bed planning her funeral.  My need to whine however has overcome my dignity…  

       What started out as a mild case of stomach indigestion last Thursday, quickly turned into a night spent in the bathroom expelling unmentionable fluids, accompanied with a raging fever, and chills.  No problem, I pride myself on a high pain tolerance, which is a good thing considering you can’t have anything but Tylenol when you’re pregnant.  I put in my twenty-four hours of living hell (as everybody knows that’s how long the typical flu is supposed to last) and thus felt utterly betrayed by life when Saturday found me sicker than ever.   Of course I would never portray any wimpish behavior by calling the doctor, but my husband’s concern for his wife and unborn son won out over my stubbornness (that, and my growing desire for drugs…anything but Tylenol).   No luck though, the doctor assured me we would both be fine, it was probably just a virus, drink lots of fluids…yadda, yadda, yadda.  Gee thanks…

     Somehow I survived the weekend, and Monday I succeeded in convincing my doctor that my writhing in bed doubled over in pain was not just a cute act, but a desperate attempt to stay alive…and another plea for drugs.   The great medical minds in charge of Jamie and me discovered (a little late) that I had a raging bacterial infection caused by food poisoning better known as Salmonella or its close cousin Campylobacter.   Not that naming it helped any.   Mr. Gothard always said people will treat you with more respect if you show attentiveness and learn their name, but no matter how many times I say “Campylobacter” I couldn’t get him to leave me alone for even five minutes, I tried murdering him with massive doses of Tylenol but he just laughed (with that super-villain-evil-laugh).

     Here I am a week later, no change except I’ve now had the pleasure of reading Reader’s Digest advertisements in the middle of the night (Viagra can do some seriously weird things to guys, and a ten-hour woody isn’t the worst of it).   I also discovered Jim’s car magazine so I now know the new Porsche Cayman is neither a 911 nor a boxter…even if it looks like a cross between the two.   The 05 Mustang can stop faster and accelerate faster than the RSX and the Eclipse is more expensive than them both…apparently you have to pay extra for the bubble butt.   

   I went to the doctor’s today for blood tests and what not, and left with four collapsed veins and a various array of band-aids on both arms, I took a picture in the desperate hope that maybe with photographic proof, the next time somebody tries to give me an IV they’ll actually believe me when I tell them I have really small veins that roll.   They did deliver more wonderful news.  The infection spread to my bladder giving me an obnoxious UTI, and they also gave me a bottle of pills (which I gleefully and naively thought were pain meds) to stop pre-term labor. (what!?!?)  I patiently explained I knew the difference between my uterus and my stomach and my uterus definitely wasn’t causing all the problems.  Nonetheless, I went in for another round of tests that proved my son is indeed perfectly fine, and I left with stern orders to admit myself to the hospital if the braxton-hicks I’d been having got any closer together, and to please get better because the stress isn’t good for the baby…thanks, I didn’t know, and yes I’m working on getting better, but my new body-mate Campylobacter doesn’t seem too keen on leaving.

So that’s it, all this melodrama, and I’m not sure any of it sounded even halfway cognitive…It must be the Tylenol cuz they still won’t give me drugs.

June 1, 2005

June 1, 2005

Surreptitiously…

     The word rolls around in my head like a broken record.  My brain has taken a break from the normal “two-lines-of-song” that changes periodically (but is always stuck in my head), it has instead found great pleasure in repeating “surreptitiously” over and over.  For the most part it hasn’t escaped, but this morning the receptionist at the mechanic asked me how many miles were on my car and out-slipped “Surreptitiously” before I could stop it.  She gave me one of those polite but confused looks and I was supremely grateful that my one demonstration of Tourette’s syndrome features a word like “Surreptitiously” instead of …something else.  

     I’m not really sure of its meaning or definition.  I associate it closely to secrecy, but it’s somehow more vague and deep at the same time….It’s sneakier.   I rarely use words correctly, so I try to steer clear of actually using them in a sentence (unless of course I’m trying to amuse somebody).    I don’t know which is more pathetic, to have a fairly large vocabulary which you’re too stupid to use (nor inspired to improve) or have no vocabulary to begin with.   I shall vote for the former as it provides the small comfort of being surreptitiously more elite.  (hmmm…I don’t think that works, I’ll try again)  I surreptitiously use books to avoid arguments.    It’s my secret weapon. (and I sincerely hope nobody I actually need to use this on ever sees this)

     One would hope that I would get something far more valuable from reading: Typical things like, knowledge, wisdom…or vocabulary. Instead I find myself using it to hide behind when someone is vehemently trying to prove rock music has the same effects on my brain as heroin (don’t let them read the first paragraph…although I’m pretty sure heroin can’t cause Tourette’s, that’s some other drug of which I will claim ignorance of). For some reason people ignorantly assume they can “convert” me if they give me propaganda…I mean literature  “…if you’ll just read this book ” they earnestly plead.  I’m more than happy to oblige. They have no way of knowing that I can consume it in less time than it takes them to drink a cup of coffee (ok, ok…gross exaggeration) and the poor book has more hope of convincing a gecko (hey gecko’s are pretty smart) than me.  Good thing too, otherwise I’d have been a Buddhist by twelve and an Atheist by fifteen.

        As a kid, people would severely underestimate my reading capability and when they discovered I was fairly adept at consuming the written word, they’d promptly launch into a narrative like  “this one time, at band camp….I knew this kid who could read faster than you”   It probably would have insulted my pride more than it did, if it weren’t for the fact I was already acclimated to that sort of thing via my curly hair (and I definitely had no control over that).  I don’t know why people felt obligated to exclaim how curly my hair was while assuring me they knew somebody else with curlier hair.   My five-year-old self thought it must be a grown-up thing, but my twenty-one-year-old self is still clueless.   Maybe I have an exalted ego that is so obviously absurd people think they are doing me a favor by assuring me I’m less spectacular than I allegedly think I am.   It’s not working.    

The good news is, I currently have books on Dispensationalism, Quantum physics and Christian Science that I would not otherwise have thought to read.  The people who so faithfully believe I will read them and “turn from the error of my ways,” are content with the knowledge they’ve done all they can…and I’ve happily fed my addiction and avoided confrontation at the same time…It’s a beautiful system.