swollen fingers, toes
the cankles have got to go
party is over

I think I’m over this whole "being pregnant" thing. My body feels like one of those Las Vegas hotels looks just seconds before its implosion – the quakey girders, the unstable foundation, the rippling roof. My bones feel like they’re about to just collapse in on each other. And I’ve gained 20 pounds LESS than when I was preggers with the Wee One.

In a really fun new development, all of the joints in my hands hurt like crazy. I don’t know if it’s carpal tunnel or something more insidious. But, dammit, waking up in the middle of the night with creaky, painful old lady hands sucks farts. Plus, my feet have stopped working, as they have turned into little cannonballs of pain. And my crotch bones are giving out on me. I don’t even know what crotch bones are (public bone?), but holy geez, my crotch is going to snap in two any second now.

Other than that, I’m excellent. I just hope someone, somewhere doesn’t find a mysterious t-shaped dynamite blower-upper box thing and give a countdown. The ensuing dust cloud of my implosion will block out the sun and probably cause a new ice age.

6 weeks to go. Or thereabouts.

And this post has nothing to do with the fact that my friend gave birth to her son on Monday and I got to go hold him yesterday and he mewed at me.

consumerism
made of colorful plastic
and deranged children

Every now and then I pretend that I’m a hippy. Well, maybe not a hippy, but crunchy at least. I’ve always enjoyed going bra-less and barefoot. I like hummus and soft natural fibers. I might even start up a rainwater collection system for my yard when I have enough money. But today any sense of crunchy was abandoned.

Today was Disney’s Incredibles on Ice.

That’s right. $75 for mid-section seats (that’s 75 total, not for each seat!). Plus popcorn and a Coke – so that’s almost a hundred dollars we paid to sit through a two-hour long commercial for Disney World.

Oh, but the Wee One loved it. He got a free "incrediband" (a little plastic armband with a laser pointer type light on it) that he is currently wearing while he sleeps. He shouted and clapped and audience-participated and hid his eyes at the scary parts. He didn’t notice that his mouth was hanging open at the exciting parts. He covered his ears when the fireworks went off (inside!) and when Syndrome shot his fireball shooting weapon thing (real fireballs! Inside!). It was a great afternoon. And because it was Mother’s Day I got a pretty carnation at the door. Score.

Yes, we got totally sucked in. But we didn’t get sucked in enough to buy a $10 Dash head filled with a sno cone. And we didn’t buy any of the billions of light up toys or Incredibles dolls or t-shirts or coloring books. It was hard for the Wee One to understand that just because you’re excited and there’s tons of crap and everyone else is freaking out to buy it – that doesn’t mean you have to freak out, too. But happily he was content with his free incrediband and the indoor pyrotechnics, and we managed to escape the place without a) investing in a five-day, four-night Disney World trip (which will do one day, just not yet) or b) buying a disturbing Jack-Jack half-head mask thing.

It was so fun to watch the Wee One watch the show. It’s the first spectacle like that that he’s been to. It made me remember going to the circus when I was around his age and just being completely overwhelmed by everything there was to see. I actually got weepy at Disney’s Incredibles on Ice, can you believe that? I guess I am still a little bit crunchy.

Oh – and for mother’s day I not only got my traditional Krispy Kremes – I got a showerhead that doesn’t jump out of the wall and try to attack me!

‘Twas a fun day. Now I just have to get this albuterol out of my system so I can sleep. (Too much excitement from Disney, I’m afraid… 3 hours of contractions every 6 minutes followed our fun afternoon. They seemed to have stopped thanks to the drugs, but dang. The albuterol jitters are craaaaaazy.)

Anyway, happy Mother’s Day to all, and to all a good night. I’m going to go smell my free Disney carnation and have a donut and maybe, possibly, even go to sleep.

organization
not really an affliction
like I used to think

I am nesting. It’s official. I stand helplessly in every room of my house and imagine what can be done to clean it, organize it, and make it generally a nicer place to be. Then I go sit on my butt and listen to the Wee One tell me jokes (ex: Why was the cyclops such a good teacher? Because he had only one eyebrow! The actual answer is "because he had only one pupil" but the Wee One’s version is much better, I think).

My brains seem to be energized and enthused about this whole nesting phenomenon. But my body is all, "Riiight. You want ME to bend down and pick up 17,000 magazines from the bathroom floor? HAHAHAHAHA." So I’m in a level of Hell. I WANT to organize and clean my house from top to bottom. But when your crotch joints (whatever those are) hurt when you move, it kind of hampers getting into the whole nesting thing.

So I make lists.

And I bought this stuff – Floradix, I think it’s called. It’s an iron supplement. And I have high hopes it will give me the energy of ten Wee Ones. Except it tastes like that brief second before you throw up and I don’t think I’ll be able to take any more of it even thought it cost me $20.99 at Whole Foods. Also, I bought it four weeks ago and I think that after four weeks it ferments because it’s au naturale. Alas.

Anyway, I’m impotently nesting.

"Impotently Nesting" now THAT’S a good title for something.