It's not a costume, I really am this pregnant

Ugh. I am the world's largest woman for Halloween. And my ankles are the world's largest ankles for Halloween.

But apparently my body is doing all kinds of unpleasant yet normal things to prepare for labor. At least, according to the nurse practitioner, that's why I got so sick at 4 this morning.

Yay, body. You keep prepping. You, my body, are the boy scout of labor and childbirth. Go ahead and take that extra week if you need it. Double check your list. Do another practice run or two. I'm not going anywhere.

Earthquake

We had a 5.6 earthquake about 90 minutes ago. Max and I both felt it, and the dogs totally started to bark and run around the house. It was exciting! See, Samson? if you come out now, think of all the fun and exciting things that await you! Earthquakes! Dogs barking! Pizza!

The grandparents-to-be got us an amazing video camera so that we can forever save treasured moments in Samson's life and share on places like blogs. It's also got a pretty kick ass still picture feature--I think this will quell my craving for a digital SLR for a while longer. It takes pretty nice shots of Ozzy.



That's a handsome dog.

Bueller...? Bueller...? Bueller...?

This baby is officially tardy. True, he has another 7 hours and 10 minutes to show up, but let's face it folks, it ain't happening today. Despite my best efforts. Like wearing my lucky underpants.

Guess I'll practice swaddling the cat again tonight.

How to induce labor the happy way, or, Butterfingers till you puke

Thanks everyone for sharing in this anticipation with me. We all want baby Samson to make a safe and speedy entrance. We all want me to be able to breath deeply and eat sashimi again. And we all want to get to know this little bugger and start teaching him early on that VIDEO. GAMES. ARE. BAD.

I've been following everyone's tips and tricks, from spicy foods (oh, the heartburn!) to daily 20 minute walks (oh, the dog poop!) to bouncing on a birthing ball (oh, the...bouncing!). I've heard that rain makes the baby come (good, cause the sky is clouding over as I type), I've heard that heat waves do the trick (it's been warm and muggy the last few days).

I'm trying my own, new method: finishing all of the Halloween candy in the house (again). Maybe the pile up of fun-sized Butterfingers will weigh on Samson's little tuchas and slowly push him out. Or not so slowly.

For somebody as habitually on-time and punctual as me, it pains me to go past my due date. For somebody as habitually over-booked and always-running-a-bit-late as Max (though good natured and well-meaning, of course), we'll be lucky if the baby's here by Thanksgiving.

If only Halloween chocolate went on sale after the holiday the way Valentine's Day and Easter candy does.

No baby yet, unless you're my cousin in Pennsylvania

Congratulations, Good Family! Throw a little of that labor-loving energy over to the West coast, please.

I'm waiting.

Seriously.

You Take it on Faith

As my friend Julie says, "As Tom Petty says, the waiting is the hardest part."

No effing kidding.

My due date is one week away, and I already feel like I'm three weeks overdue. What's it going to feel like next Wednesday when I actually am overdue?

How'm I supposed to carve pumpkins in this frame of mind?

Here's to the one-take video

If I ever got a mass layoff notice from a large corporation, I'd probably spend my last day pilfering office supplies. But the AOL France office had a decidedly more web-friendly idea. (The password is "aollover")


L'amour a la francaise from pyc on Vimeo.

You know I love the one-take video.

Babies, Babies Everywhere

No, not here. But a couple of old high school pals have the cutest little 10 day old boy you ever did see. And today I got to hold him and smell his head. Mmmmmm, baby head. It's like crack.

So between them, my brother and sister in law, and Max's old boss from Dublin, that's 3 in the past few weeks. My cousin is due shortly, and hopefully it'll be my turn soon. My turn for baby head crack.

In da House

I'm loving the Fall TV bonanza. Some of the new shows are just really, really enjoyable (Pushing Daisies, Life), and the return of last season's shows is like seeing old friends again (House--Hugh Laurie, swoon--The Office). And since pretty much all I can do is sit, reclining, on the couch and ask Max to bring me ice cream, massive quantities of Tivo are right up my alley.

And nothing goes better with Tivo than a dog head in your lap. Except two heads. And a kitty.

Can has blog?

So I added the I Can Has Cheezburger link to my sidebar last week. I didn't say anything about it because I really can't explain what it is or why I find it so damn hilarious. I'm not sure what an LOLCat is; I mean, I know what a cat is and I know that LOL is internet speak for Laughing Out Loud, so I have the feeling that and LOLCat is a cat that makes one laugh out loud. Duh. But it's more that that. Why does this website and its submission community insist that cats speak with such weirded out accents and strange grammar? And what's the deal with walruses and buckets? And why cheeseburgers? My cats prefer poultry.

Like I said, I don't really get it, but I sure as hell can't get enough. I sit here and LOL at those cats all day long. And their silly dialect. I even found myself telling Milhouse yesterday, "No can has turkey sandwich, iz for me, k thx" as he expertly tried to camouflage himself as part of the table in order to snatch meat out of my lunch.

I don't know what to say. I'm hooked.

Empenadas are the New Cupcakes

Definitely No Tennis

Via Found.

Going Down?

If you've been wondering why I haven't been blogging this week, it's because I want to spare you the monotony of my thoughts. They pretty much consist of "Oof, I'm uncomfortable" and "I hope the baby comes soon because I'm so damn uncomfortable." Also the sleeplessness makes me cranky, so there are usually lots of swear words in there.

I know it's not quite time yet, but it's definitely almost time. The doctor said I most likely wouldn't go past my Halloween due date (as of last Friday, I was 1 cm dilated...TMI?). But I also know that the baby has to drop before he can be born, and I don't think that's happened yet. Not that I would know. But people keep telling me, oh you'll know when it happens.

No, I won't. Other than a few really obvious signs (Huge. Uncomfortable. Peeing every 30 seconds. The medium sized alien trying to bust his way out of my gut.), I only know I'm pregnant because the doctor keeps telling me I'm pregnant. I'm not one of those in-touch-with-my-body, lunar cycle, fasting-for-fun type of women. My body and I don't communicate like that, never have. I mean, I know some of things my body tells me. Like, "I told you not to eat that Taco Bell last night, and now you're gonna pay." But I'm hoping body dearest speaks loudly and clearly when it's time to have this baby. Not that I won't know it when I go into labor, but I'd like some clear direction and maybe a little synchronicity between my body and my mind.

Like it always does

Not the best video ever, but the song is my song today. Because I miss Mir so damn much.



That night lives in infamy. On Mir's car.

Sci-Fi Thursday

We just signed up for this.

So, what if, like, 20-25 years from now, there is a small army of Samsons being trained in Morocco to assassinate foreign dictators? Or maybe there'll be a Samson-cyborg hybrid army, created for covert black ops and other scary military lingo projects? Or maybe I'll be on vacation in Vancouver and a barista at Starbucks who bears an uncanny resemblance to my first born son will say to me, "Maybe you'd like a bear claw with that latte, eh?"

The possibilities are endless. And freaky.

Two against one

Ozzy got tag teamed by two pit bulls at the dog park this morning. He's fine, they're fine, everyone's fine. Now, I'm always the first to admit fault on his behalf when Ozzy instigates some form of K9 skirmish, so please feel the gravity of my statement when I say he was blindsided and attacked by these two other dogs for no apparent reason (there's always a reason in dog land, true, but Ozzy wasn't posturing, protecting Nanna, protecting me, or asserting dominance in any way--he was just minding his own doggie business, sniffing the ground and whatnot.). He never had a chance--they had him on his back before I could say boo and were biting him on the neck, torso, head--it was awful. Luckily, it wasn't the kind of biting that pit bulls are famous for, nor was it even the kind of biting that draws blood. It was more the snarling and snapping kind of biting, the kind that made me run up to the mess and stop just short of sticking my arms in and trying to pull him out. Instead, I poked at all three dogs with my flinger, shouted lots of things like "Hey!" and "Don't do that!" and "Not good!"

The owner of the other two dogs came and pulled them off, and Ozzy stood up looking utterly dazed and confused, but unhurt. Nanna ran up to him and sniffed him all over, and I ran up to him and did the human equivalent of sniffing him all over: petting him and crying, running my hands through his dusty, dirty, slobbery fur, looking for gashes and puncture wounds. Like I said, he's fine.

At least, he was fine, until he learned that those pit bulls were female pit bulls, and he had just gotten his ass kicked by a couple of girls.

Dream a little dream

Last night I dreamed that we got our baby car seats installed at Disneyland. Sigh. I'll be here for the next few hours if anyone needs me.