Reglued

For the first time in a week, I feel like my head is glued onto my shoulders. I am not vomiting or having the runs; I’m not constipated or thirsty and I don’t feel terrified that I’m going to go into labor any minute. Though I could go into labor any minute.

I just had a pedicure and an eyebrow wax for the first time in almost three months and my toes look good. That was great. My friends P and S came over so P could bang down the wayward nails in my apartment and diagnose the hole I have in my floor. They’ll try to come back next weekend so P can fix the hole if he can. They are being so generous with their time and considering that they have a lot on their plate/s right now, I think it’s above and beyond the call of duty.

And I have a maximum of 4 weeks left to work before my maternity leave–I definitely won’t work past my due date.  If everything looks OK, my doc will let me keep the baby in there for 42 weeks, but no way am I going to work in the office in March. I may be breastfeeding every 2 hours, but that’s another story.

And yes, I’m sleeping very well. No sleeping problems at all.  I wish I could eat more and eat more comfortably, but probably sleeping well is more important.

That’s where I am.

Bug

I was sick Saturday night/Sunday morning with this stomach bug that’s apparently going around.  i don’t remember having such a bad bug before and certainly being pregnant does not make it easier. I stayed home today to try to eat and get my strength up. The butcher delivered some chicken and I just ate the first of the soup.  I need to eat, having lost about 3 lbs in water weight, but it’s tough.  Yesterday it took me the whole day to get a quart of Gatorade down.

The bug really started just after midnight on Sunday AM and because of the pregnancy, by 2:30 I was fighting with myself about calling my mom.  I was taking 15 minute naps between trips to the bathroom and saying DO NOT CALL!  do NOT CALL!  I was needing helping with sick-circular thinking.  ER? miscarriage? sign of labor? call OB?  IV?

I managed to wait until 7 to call my mom, who promptly told me to call the OB.  He got back to me in 5 minutes and very sympathetically told me that they have been getting a call almost every day from patients with the stomach flu.  He told me to take Imodium and Gatorade and if that didn’t help that I could come in for IV fluids.  Thankfully, it helped. My neighbor went immediately to pick up the stuff for me. The Imodium took about 4 hours to help and the Gatorade helped right away.

So now I just have to eat and get some strength back.  I have a regularly scheduled doctor appt in a couple of hours…not looking forward to the stair-climbing to get on and off the subway, but otherwise I should be fine–just weak.

But how I love him, even though he’s the garbage man…

Yesterday, I got on the train and got a seat.  I took the outside seat, leaving the inside seat for someone else to squeeze into.  An old, apparently religious Jewish man came along with his cane and tried to stare me into moving into the inside seat, but I didn’t budge.  I did move my legs so he could get past me.

Old Man: I guess you don’t like sitting in the corner.

Me: (thinking “no one puts baby in the corner”) I’m eight months pregnant, so the corner isn’t very comfortable for me.

OM: Oh, congratulations. Let me give you a blessing. (he blesses.)

Me: Thank you.

OM: So…what does your husband do?

Me: I don’t have a husband.

OM: So how did you get pregnant…Immaculate Conception?

Me: (silent) [Thinking: what can I say…that they Fedexed the sperm from California??] 

OM:  Oh…a LOVE CHILD!  He must be a jerk for not marrying you!  You have beauty and brains—he should have married you.  What kind of work do you do?

Me: I work at a non-profit.

Him:  Is your job secure?

Me: yes

Him:  Well, you’re very lucky.

Me: Where do you work?

Him: Can’t you tell with all these questions?  I’ve been a professor at Yeshiva University for 53 years.

What did I do to deserve this? For most of the conversation my face was buried in my scarf to try to discourage him. But those old men are relentless.  A co-worker says that I should have told him that my husband is a garbage man.  I object to having a garbage man for a made-up husband. He should at least be a teacher.

Getting to 34 weeks and they won’t let me sing

I had this weird dream that I was singing with a choir, but for some reason, we were NOT up on a stage, or on risers. They were trying to figure out how to get us all into a choir loft space, but there wasn’t enough room.  So, we kept being encouraged to stand in an area where it was clear that no one would hear us.  So maybe a quarter of the (very large) group would be audible and the rest of us…whatever.  I kept saying to people, “No, I’m NOT going downstairs and standing over there!”  Even in dreams, everything’s a fight.

Because my mom was here last w/e, I feel like I’ve really over-scheduled my 3 day weekend.  Saturday is just brunch and Pilates, but Sunday I offered to sit for a 9 month old so her mom can run and and Monday I have the dentist, a visit to a friend with a small baby and maybe help with router installation.  Pilates should be interesting–there will be a photographer there taking photos for the studio’s new website.  They are giving me a free class and seem really interested to have me there for the pre-natal class.  I guess my belly is a good prop.  I just hope they’ll blur my face.

Sweet and diplomatic

Yesterday I had to go before our Instituti0nal Review Board (IRB), which protects human subjects from our research. I know that it was possible that I would have to make an appearance, but I was hoping that I would not.  But around 4:15, one of my colleagues came to get me.  We agreed that I would waddle into the room in order to gain the sympathy factor.

So I went in, clutching the arm of my colleague and sat near the head of the IRB, a retured professor with lots of time on his hands. Oy.  There were probably 10 IRB members there, some with excellent questions (“why have you excluded women under 18?”, and some with idiot questions “Can’t you replace “how old are you” with “how old will you be on your next birthday?”  But as I sat there answering questions and agreeing to minor changes, I remembered that I can be good at seeming smart and helpful.

I met one of the IRB members in the bathroom and she said that I was quite “nimble,” which sounded very nice to me.  And today my colleague said to me (and in front of my boss) “I didn’t even recognize you—I was wondering who this sweet diplomatic person was!”

I said, “Yeah, I forgot that I could do that until I was in the middle of explaining something.”

My boss laughed.  She knows how I am and it very rarely bothers her. A great and unusual quality.

***

Meanwhile, this happened near here.  I just can’t imagine being the wife/mother.

GET UP, RIGHT NOW!!

I am not a very visual person, but lately I have been imagining cards.  I can’t decide if there would be a series of three cards (polite to “you’re a jerk) or whether or not I would consolidate my idea into one card.  It would be the size of an index card (unlined) and be a pretty color.  There would be a nice border design on the card. 

These cards are intended for distribution on the subway.

Here are some possible slogans:

GET UP FUCKTARD! (pale red card)

Hi, you may not have noticed my advanced state of pregnancy. Could you please give me you seat? (green card)

I see you there pretending not to see my belly. Get up!

I actually did say to a young woman, who stepped in front of me for a seat on Monday, “How is it that I’m the pregnant one and YOU need to sit down?”

She looked mystified.  I know that part of the problem is that in my winter coat, it is really hard to tell.  The other part of the problem is that people suck.

I was just talking to my boss about this issue and she jokingly offered to mention it to a friend of hers who works in policy for the MTA.

Do any of you writerly types have suggestions for me?

Truly terrible

I really wanted to stay in bed until 10. Even though Frannie had me up to feed her at 7, I wanted to get some more rest.

9AM came–Frannie jumped into my bed, wedged herself next to my pillow, next to my faceand started rubbing against me with her flank and butt. This didn’t so much good for my allergies. She was relentless. I got up.

10AM came–I was defrosting the fridge and about to make my breakfast.  Here’s what Frannie was doing:

I’m glad my guest bed goes to such good use.

The MTA sucks and we all know it

My commute this morning was sucky.  The F trains weren’t running because of a frozen switch. They let us wait for quite a while before they announced that we should take the bus to another train.

So I walked upstairs and there was a bus there.  The bus was really full and the driver wanted people to get off because we weren’t behind the white line.  Several people who had been in front of me got off, but I didn’t. 

Driver: Ma’am you have to get off–it isn’t safe to stand where you are. There are other buses coming.

Me: Like the F train came?

Driver: You have to get off and wait.

Me: [Silent--trying to make myself small. Small is not equal to pregnant.]

Guy outside bus: How come SHE gets to stay on the bus–I was ahead of her and I got off.

Driver: She is not staying on the bus.

Me: [Silent, but thinking, "no one forced you off the bus."]

Driver: Ma’am you have to get off the bus.

Me: [Silent]

Another person scrambled on the bus–a tiny young woman.

Driver: Ma’am, you have to get off the bus–it’s a question of safety.

Her: But it’s SO cold…and I’m small.

Me: [thinking...no way am I getting off the bus now]

Driver to me: just push yourself back a little.

Note to self: As they said on my elementary school report cards, “She needs improvement playing well with others.”

Later in the bus ride, which was short because the driver was only stopping to let passengers off, someone got off and this crazy woman shoved herself on. When the driver asked her to get off she screamed, “I NEED TO GET TO WORK AND I HAVE JUST AS MUCH RIGHT AS ANYONE ELSE TO BE HERE.”

She pushed past me so hard that she woke FetusX.  A young woman pleaded with her, “Please be gentle–I’m 8 months pregnant.”

A man asked her to move aside at the next stop.  She shrieked, “JUST GO HOME.”

Yes, commuting to work is a joy.  But at least I’m not yet as hateful as Crazy Woman.  And when the wind is gusting up to 50 MPH, no one wants to walk a mile to the train.

Deli!

I enjoyed my Christmas. I watched episodes from the 1st season of ER, I saw Crazy Heart, which I enjoyed but my friends did not (sorry!) and then had a really fun time at Katz’s Deli.  In talking to my friend D at T-giving, I discovered that though she has lived here for 50 years she had never been to Katz’s. I like to go there at Christmas and we went.

I had warned D about the surliness of Katz’s but they brought out the best in each other. It didn’t take 30 minutes for the server to take our order, they didn’t spill anything on us and the pickles were lovely.  D was also charmed by the size of the place and the UN feel to it, especially since there was a Muslim woman in a headscarf behind us.

I discovered that D and I both like half-sour pickles and was concerned that I might not get my fill of pickle perfection.  But D identified a college kid, who seemed to be working. I was doubtful that he could help because I have never seen a young white kid working there but he joked around with us about our poor taste in pickles–(him: you like HALF SOUR pickles?!, me: well, we’re the black sheep of our families) and wandered off to get us what turned out to be a huge plate of half-sours.

We asked our server about the kid and he turned out to be the owner’s son, who’s supposed to be headed to med school, but he needs to learn to business “just in case his father needs him.”

D’s only disappointment was that the tongue in the pastrami and tongue sandwich was cold.  I don’t eat cow’s tongue (or anyone else’s), but in my family they eat cold tongue, not HOT tongue.  I think hot tongue would be too much like eating a tongue from someone’s mouth. Ick. I happily ate my hot pastrami and corned beef and my dr brown’s cherry soda.

For me, there’s no better place on Christmas then Katz’s.  My mom’s bday is coming up in 2 weeks and she has expressed interest in going to Katz’s for her b-day dinner.  OK…if she insists, we might have to go eat hot pastrami–AGAIN!

I’ll know…

I had shelves put on my walls yesterday.  The guy, who had been highly recommended by co-workers, showed up early, did a thorough job and left by noon.  I was totally relieved because after we negotiated I agreed to give him half the money in cash in order to get a better price.  He gave me a receipt, but I was still nervous.  But it worked out perfectly and now I have birch shelves in my living room, hallway and office/bedroom.  He also secured my 7+ foot high bookcase to the wall. I still have a few bookcases I need to get rid of. Before I do that I need to donate most of the books in them to the library.

I am now finished with my childbirth prep class. I’m glad I took it, glad my doula/friend/birth support person was able to come to all four sessions and glad that it is over.  I want to read a birth prep book I bought in the next few weeks—we’ll see how that goes. 

Another rude “friend” story: a college friend of mine, who I email once every few years emailed me on Tuesday (or I guess Monday night for her) because an ex-boyfriend of hers from about 20 years ago had contacted her and she was all in a tizzy.  She thinks (based on an e-mail) that he is unhappy in his marriage and what do I think?  I emailed back that he sounds like a dick and by the way I am 29 weeks pregnant.  No response.  Maybe the proper response was that her prince is coming to get her. Good luck with that, sweetie.