In the past, leading up to every election day, I researched candidates and issues and had a pretty good feel for who would get my vote. I did this not only because I’m a big believer in the importance of voting, but because it was part of my job.
Today marked the first election held here since I switched careers. A few days ago, I realized voting day was approaching and I had no idea which races were even on the ballot. I knew about some of the major ones (how could I avoid all the ads!), but wasn’t sure who I would support. And the smaller races were completely unknown to me.
So last night, I spent what felt like an eternity using our local newspaper and the internet to dig through candidates’ websites and platforms. I didn’t like judging a candidate soley on their web content, but how else was I supposed to learn about them? It’s not like there were televised debates for the House District 162 seat. And I didn’t want to rely on TV commercials, because a 30 second spot can barely begin to tell you about a candidate.
Several of the candidates had good websites with a lot of information about important issues. My pet peeve, however, was websites in which the candidate listed important issues, but gave no indication how they’d create change. It’s like:
“I want to represent you in Atlanta. I think poverty is bad, education is good, healthcare is too expensive, and your tax dollars should be spent wisely.”
Duh.
It’s a total cop-out. No one could argue against these things, but I got no better feel for a candidate’s vision or plan for attacking these issues.
There was one candidate who wasn’t afraid to write about the issues, but I found him to be a bit perplexing. He supports a woman’s right to choose, supports gay marriage, but said “We are being invaded by Mexico…” and dove into a tirade about the immigration issue. In one paragraph, he talks about how shameful it is that our country would deny rights to people because of sexual orientation. Then in the next paragraph he advocates for denying rights to Mexicans until they learn to assimilate into our culture. What if it’s a homosexual Mexican? Can he/she have rights or not?
And several candidates just need better copy editors. I liked this line on the website for a Secretary of State candidate, when he described some of his past accomplishments:
“…instituted compliance policies and procedures to ensure easily detectable fraudulent activity.”
I know what he was trying to say, but technically he’s claiming to have instituted policies to ensure fraudulent activity. Granted, the fraudulent activity was at least easily detectable, but the sentence structure still means he ensured fraudulent activity.
So I at least managed to entertain myself a little while doing my research. It felt a bit like last-minute cramming for a test. I made a list of who I liked, and memorized it before walking into the precinct. It may not have been the perfect way to decide my ballot, but I tried. I feel like if I don’t at least try, I forfeit all right to complain about government. Even if my person doesn’t win, at least I was part of the process. It was also baby’s first trip to the polls, and it’s a habit I hope she adopts in 18 years.
For several weeks I’ve been taking it easy so I wouldn’t push myself into premature labor. But now that I’m full term, I’m looking for ways to encourage things along. So tonight, Lee and I took a walk around the neighborhood.
We decided to make the outing a bit of an experiment. Lee has read that it’s a good idea to take a practice walk with the stroller and the dog before baby arrives. This way you can get the dog used to the stroller in the hopes she won’t bark at it incessantly on baby’s first stroll. We pulled the stroller canopy across so that no one could see it was empty (except for one of baby’s stuffed lions).
As soon as we walked out of the door, we were met by other neighbors taking their dog for a walk. Immediately, I felt self-conscious and wanted to offer an explanation. I could imagine what they were thinking, likely assuming we were pushing our new baby in the stroller. “Whoa, biggun’! You really need to work on losing that baby belly!”
I wanted to say that we were just taking a practice stroll, and that midsection of mine is still full of baby. But at the same time, it was a little weird pushing an empty stroller, and I didn’t want to explain that one either. So while I was pondering all this, Millie stopped to sniff at their dog and I ran into the back of her with the stroller.
Great. That’ll really make her comfortable with the contraption. It bit her.
Thankfully, Millie never barked at it, and for the most part, ignored it. However, she didn’t get too close because I think she was afraid it would bite again. This could make it a little difficult for Lee if he’s ever trying to walk the dog and the stroller by himself. But despite my self-consciousness and the stroller-hitting-dog incident, I think the experiment went quite well.
We walked to Millie’s favorite park, and I took a seat on the bench for a bit. It was so nice. We waited until later in the evening to walk, so the air had cooled and a breeze was blowing. I missed taking walks, and didn’t even realize it. We have such a great neighborhood for walking, and it was good to look at all the houses, landscaping, dogs and neighbors again. And I’m looking forward to sharing it all with the baby when we can really have her in the stroller with us.
It’s not easy to type this way, with my butt in the air. But if it makes a difference, it’s worth it.
I’ve been conferring with my sometimes friend, sometimes foe Google lately. For the last several weeks, my baby has been in a posterior position. During most of the pregnancy, I was only concerned about her being head-down as opposed to breech – because breech pretty much guarantees a c-section. So I was pleased when my last several ultrasounds showed that she was head down. She’s also facing foward, with her back against my back. This is called a posterior position, and I remembered hearing that it wasn’t the ideal position.
I didn’t give it much thought until I mentioned it to a couple of friends who have babies. The looks on their faces were a bit alarming, so I turned to Google for advice.
What I found wasn’t pretty. Lots of talk about labors that start late, are really painful, progress slowly (or not at all), with lots of back pain and – after all that – often end in a c-section after the baby can’t make it out on her own.
Holy crap.
I asked my doctor about it, and she doesn’t seem too concerned. But Google! Google is very concerned!
I’ve been reading several websites that offer suggestions for encouraging babies to turn into the correct position. The number one suggestion seems to be to spend hours on your hands and knees.
I don’t want to. First of all, it’s just a little wierd. Second of all, we have hardwood floors. Thirdly, I enjoy reclincing on the couch – which the websites say may be one reason baby is turned the way she is.
But at the same time, I want to give baby and myself the best chance at a decent labor experience, so I’m committing myself to trying some of these techniques for a week. Then when I go to the doctor next week, I’ll see if baby has turned at all, and then decide if this campaign is worth continuing. Turn baby turn!
Hello little one! It’s official – as of today, we are considered full-term. That’s wonderful news, because even though I have wanted to see you for a long time, I knew you needed to bake for at least 37 weeks. I didn’t want you to be a preemie, because I want you to have a healthy start.
But when I woke up this morning, it was like someone turned a switch. The timer on my oven has gone off and you’re hanging out on the “warming” setting. Now that we’re full-term, I’M READY. Our due date is still 3 weeks away, and there’s a good chance you’ll be born even a few days later than that. I’ve been told most first babies are late, and my brother and I both hung around past our due dates when your Nana had us. I figure we’ll probably get to meet you sometime in the next 4 weeks, but I want to meet you NOW.
It’s like I know Santa Claus is coming and I’ve been an exceptionally good girl, but no one can tell me when Christmas Eve will happen. It’s also like I know I have to run a marathon, but have no idea when the starting pistol will fire. I’m having a hard time focusing on anything at work except you. I think about you when I go to sleep. I think about you when I wake up. I poke at your elbow to make sure you’re still wiggly. I think every backache is the beginning of back labor. I’m going to drive your daddy insane.
We are definitely looking very pregnant, and it’s funny to see how differently people react now when they see us. We were at church Sunday and I needed to use the restroom (again), but I wasn’t sure where it was. When I asked an usher, he looked me over and said, “Oh dear.”
I stared blankly back. What did “Oh dear” mean?
He informed me the restroom was down the stairs, through the chapel and in the back of the church. I’m not sure if he was afraid I was going to pee on myself or afraid I’d go into labor in the chapel, but we were just fine.
My big belly also seems to be an automatic ice breaker with strangers. People who I imagine wouldn’t normally give me a second glance are quick to start up a conversation. I was getting Chinese take-out yesterday, and walking back to my when car a woman in the parking lot rolled down her window and asked, “How much longer do you have?”
“Three weeks.”
“I bet you’ll be glad when you’re done!” She chuckled. It was a friendly exchange – one that I’m sure wouldn’t have happened if we’d only had the weather to discuss.
The question I get most often now is, “When are you going to have that baby?”
The qusestion hasn’t gotten annoying yet, because it’s the same one I’m asking myself about twice every nanosecond. It might get old 4 weeks from now if you’re still cooking, but for now I just reply, “I don’t know, you tell me! Got any ideas?”
I’m trying not to be too impatient, because I know I’ll miss your little kicks and rolls. But I really want to nibble on your ears and blow raspberries on your belly, so anytime you’d like to come out and say hello, we’re ready and waiting. We love you very much!
We are going to be so rich.
I just created a brand new dish, and quite by accident. Lee and I had a Mexican-themed lunch at Nikki’s house today, and when I was talking to her on the phone last night we agreed some guacamole had to be on the menu. Neither of us had ever made it before, and feeling adventurous, I decided to give it a try. I’ve recently come across a homemade salsa recipe I love, so it seemed only natural to add guacamole to my repertoire.
Except, I only recently found out I like guacamole, and therefore, I don’t know a whole lot about the dish. I know what good salsa looks and tastes like because I practically mainline it at every opportunity. So I scoured my favorite online recipe site for a guac recipe that looked easy and had good reviews.
My guacamole ineptitude first became apparent last night at the grocery store. I’d never bought an avocado, and as I stood in the produce section, I realized I wasn’t entirely sure what one looked like. I’d only seen them after they’d been cut or prepared. Where would I even find them? There were several employees I could’ve asked, but I did NOT want to admit that I had no clue what I was doing.
After circling the veggies for a while, I finally spotted the avocados. The first one I picked up was a little squishy, so I put it back on the pile in disgust. Instead, I found three hard-as-a-rock avocados to add to my cart.
Back home (and feeling proud that I’d found the avocados on my own), I began making the guacamole. The first instruction was to peel and dice the avocado, then mash it. I had a hard time figuring out how to get out the pit, but I managed okay. But when it was time to mash the avocado, I was at a loss. The diced avocado felt more like raw potato, and my potato masher was not getting the job done. My efforts became increasingly violent, but the tough avocado would not yield.
Surely I was doing something wrong. So I googled “avocado mash,” “how to mash avocado,” “avocado mash tips,” but got NOTHING. No help. No advice. All the websites just stated, “mash the avocado” and gave no detailed instructions about how that should be done. This only served to frustrate me and make me feel utterly incompetent. It’s like google was telling me mashing an avocado was as simple as stirring a bowl of soup. You didn’t need to tell someone how to do it, because even a newborn kitten could figure it out. But I couldn’t.
So I decided I’d show the avocado who was boss, and got out my monster 9-cup food processor. I put the diced avocado in the machine, and turned it on. And it diced the avocado smaller. And smaller. And smaller. But it never formed a consistency anything like mashed avocado.
Undaunted, I added the other ingredients, thinking I needed the lime juice and tomatoes to add some liquid so I could get a better texture. I was wrong.
Finally, I gave up, realizing I had been defeated by the guacamole recipe. All the comments on the website had claimed how startlingly easy the recipe was for first-time guacamole-makers, but apparently my skills were far below the average chef on allrecipes.com.
But I couldn’t throw it out without at least tasting it. So I dipped my chip in the diced guacamole, and it tasted good. Really good. Which only made me more aggravated, because I knew the ingredients were tasty but the preparation had been the problem.
So I googled one more thing. I googled for video of someone making guacamole, so I could see what they did differently. I found a video podcast, and watched as the woman described choosing the right avocado. “You want an avocado that is a little soft, and gives under the pressure of your thumb.” Oh. So maybe picking the three hardest avocados I could find was where I went wrong. In the video, she scooped the avocado from the peel like ice cream. Oh yeah, that was my problem. My avocados looked nothing like that.
This made me feel a little better, because I can deal with being a novice avocado purchaser more easily than I can a failed food preparer.
But when I showed my guacamole creation to Lee, I loved his take on the dish. He said it looked like the dippin’ dots ice cream of guacamole. “Dippin’guacs,” he called it.
It’s true! Guacamole is supposed to look like this (which I bought at Fresh Market on my way to Nikki’s house):
But my guacamole looks like this:
So it may not look like normal guacamole, but I think it’s tastier, and made without potassium sorbate and metabisulfite. Also, it looks a little less like boogers, which had been one of my previous hang-ups about guacamole.
Now, if only I could convince the world that Dippin’guacs are superior – I’d have little guac carts in malls and stadiums across America…
Hello little one, and Happy Fourth of July! Or, more importantly to me, Happy Week 36! Today we are officially 9 months pregnant, and that is a huge reason to celebrate. Your daddy and I lit sparklers in the backyard a few minutes ago, and the first thing I did was draw your name with the bright light.
It still seems like we have a lot to do to get ready for your arrival, but we made gigantic strides on your nursery over the weekend. Your Grammy came to visit, which was a big help. Your daddy and I have been working on the nursery for so long, and needed some fresh energy and ideas to help us finish all the details. We’re still waiting on a couple of valances we ordered, and we need to get you a laundry hamper and a bookcase – but other than that, I think it’s ready. And those things could wait a little while. If you were born today, we could bring you home to your nursery and be very proud.
What used to be my least favorite room in the house is now my absolute favorite. When your nursery was your daddy’s office, we never put a lot of effort into fixing it up. It was partly his office, and partly a repository for things we didn’t know where else to put. But now, it feels all at once calming, beautiful, delicate and sweet.
I’m very happy with your bedding, and I hope you will be too. The little animals are precious, and I think they bring an element of fun and whimsy to the room. After much debate, your daddy finally found the perfect curtain solution, and just installed these curtains to help block light while still complimenting the embroidered trees on your valances.
Grammy and I spent ages sorting through all your clothes and arranging them according to style and size, and it was so much fun. We loaded your armoire, and even hung your pink bathrobe on the back of the door.
We also used pink ribbons to add some “girly” touches to the room.
Your changing area is ready too, stocked with newborn diapers that are so tiny I can hardly believe you could be that small.
Your daddy and I love to go into your nursery now, even if we just stick our heads in the door to look around. It’s still hard to believe all these baby things are in our house – but I’m so grateful. Sleep well (I hope the fireworks aren’t scaring you as much as they are scaring the dog), and know I can’t wait to see you soon. You are loved!
I won’t give in.
They’re circling all around me, but I won’t fall victim to their death rolls. They are plastic, they are loud, they are ugly, and – worst of all – they’re so popular they can’t possibly be novel anymore.
They’re called Crocs, and they’re the jelly shoes of 2006.
I remember jelly shoes. I had them in several colors with bracelets to match. I was in 3rd grade, so I forgive myself. I didn’t know better.
Several months ago, Lee and I were walking downtown and passed a Birkenstock store. “What are those?” I gasped. Row after row of crocs of all colors were lined along the wall, and I thought I had never seen uglier, more uncomfortable-looking shoes. To my great shock, Lee informed me that these shoes were growing in popularity, and he’d seen lots of people wearing them lately.
It didn’t take long for me to see the trend as well. What marketing genius. I see crocs (or imitation crocs) everywhere – on men, women, girls, boys, babies. In trendy shoe stores and in Wal-Mart. And almost never in subtle colors. These shoes SCREAM for attention.
The shoes’ popularity exploded so quickly that something inside of me snapped. I don’t want a pair of crocs, but it’s not just because I still think they’re ugly. It’s a matter of principle now. If I buy a pair now, I’ll feel like one of the herd. Subscribing to a fad that is sure to fizzle out like jelly shoes and UGG boots. One day we’ll look back on crocs and laugh. And I want to be smug and say, “I never had a pair. Didn’t want them.”
In the last few days, I haven’t been able to escape the crocs. Saturday night, Lee and I were invited to dinner at the home of an older couple we’d met through work. They both always seemed a bit eccentric, so I was surprised when the husband answered the door in bright red crocs to perfectly match his red polo shirt. As he ushered us in, we were met by his wife. In bright purple crocs to match her purple shirt. They reminded me of a couple of bridesmaids who’d had their shoes specially dyed to match their taffeta gowns. I could assume these are the only color crocs they own, and these are their “croc outfits.” But in reality, I imagine they probably have crocs in 10 different colors. They’d been sucked into crocdom.
When we got home from the dinner, I checked my email and saw a note from my mom entitled, “crocs.” She’d written to tell me about buying her first pair, and recommending I do the same. Today, I opened the paper and my eyes were drawn to this headline, “Crocs’ clog-like, rubber-like shoes making great strides.” It was all about the popularity of the shoes – I had no idea Crocs Inc. is now traded on the Nasdaq. One croc fan was described as having crocs in 9 colors, including “the tan ones she wears as dress shoes.” Dress shoes? This same woman cleans them by putting them in the dishwasher. #1 – if you can put them in the dishwasher, they probably aren’t dress shoes unless they’re Cinderella’s glass slippers. #2 – I don’t want to eat off her plates, even if she has the special sanitizing function on her dishwasher.
But I have a secret. I’d like to try on a pair. I’m attributing this feeling to the fact that my pregnant feet don’t fit into any normal shoes, and I hear the crocs can expand depending on how you adjust the strap. I’ve heard they’re cool on hot days. I’ve heard they’re really comfortable. I’d like some comfortable shoes right now.
My mom called me the day after I got her email and asked if I’d read it. I took a deep breath, then raged against crocs for a good ten minutes. Then I felt guilty, because who am I to say what kind of shoes she should or shouldn’t buy? She’s going on vacation and they’ll probably keep her very comfortable. Just because I have a hang-up about buying into the fad doesn’t make everyone else wrong.
But I’m not going to try them on, because I don’t trust myself to say “no” if they really are comfortable. It’s probably best if I don’t look the crocs in the eye, giving them access to my soul.
Hello little one! I hope you are enjoying your nap. You seem to have settled down for a bit after kicking and squirming all evening. I still like playing with your elbow, but now I seem to have even more little parts to play with. All your feet and hands are toward my belly button, and sometimes I think you’re waving them all around at once. I just love it.
We had another ultrasound today. Because you’re growing so much, the pictures of you are much harder to get because each part of you fills the whole frame. But I liked this picture – it’s of your foot. The foot I’ve been playing with, and the foot I can’t wait to put pink socks on. The sonographer also showed us that you have hair! It was the cutest, spikiest hair right on the back of your head.
Your feet are certainly cuter than mine right now. Your dad calls them my “Flinstone feet,” and I think it’s a fitting description. My ankles are swollen and my toes are puffy and none of my shoes fit. I wear your dad’s flip flops around the house because they’re the only shoes that aren’t tight. How bizarre is that? My hands have swollen too, and I have to wear my wedding rings on a necklace. I don’t like that part, because I miss having the rings on my hand. But I also don’t want to cut the rings off, so it’s safer for everyone for them to stay on the necklace for now. Do you know how I know your Daddy loves me? The other night, after I’d already climbed into bed, he sat at the bottom of the bed, grabbed my feet, and massaged them. It was such a wonderful surprise, and felt glorious. All I could murmur was, “don’t look at them.” He said he was trying not to. But don’t worry, I’m not upset about my feet and hands. They’re pretty funny looking, so I laugh at them at good bit. And it’s a temporary aggravation I’m more than happy to endure. There are too many wonderful things about being your “house” for me to get upset about puffy feet.
The doctor says this is probably the last ultrasound we’ll have of you before you’re born. Part of me is sad because I really look forward to my appointments when I know I get to see you. But at the same time, that means we’re close to being able to see you in real life, not just in a grainy picture on a black and white screen.
Your daddy and I have continued working hard to get your nursery ready, and it’s almost done. He put the stroller and swing together (and I put a stuffed animal in the swing to keep it warm until you get here). He painted your armoire – and while he was painting I came in the room one time to say hello and he was doing the cutest thing. He’d been listening to music, and I wasn’t paying attention to it at first. But as I stood there talking to him, I realized they were songs for children! Very sweet, funny songs that I think you’ll like. I thought it was adorable that he was listening to music he wants to share with you while he worked in your room.
There is a nice rain falling outside, and it’s making us sleepy. I hope you sleep well, and I look forward to seeing you – actually seeing you – really soon. I love you very much.
This afternoon, I finally began filling out some of the paperwork required for my upcoming maternity leave and short-term disability check. The disability form is the same whether your “condition” is pregnancy or a nail in the head. Every line must be completed, and I had to laugh at these questions in particular:
Nature of your illness/accident: pregnancy
Date first noticed: ummm…
What do you believe caused your disability? (include the time, date, and location of accident): uhhhh…
Do you feel a third party is responsible for your disability, or has made your condition worse? Noooo…
Instead of the usual N/A, I think I’m going to fill the blanks with NOYB. None of Your Business.
I love to travel, and almost as soon as we were home from our honeymoon, I was already thinking about our next trip. We’ve spent anniversaries camping in the mountains, photographing glaciers in Alaska, or enjoying a museum in D.C. I always imagined we’d plan something really big for our 5th anniversary – like Italy. We’ve been talking about going to Italy for a while, and a 5th anniversary trip seemed like a good goal.
Instead, we are spending this very special day in Savannah, under orders from my doctor not to travel more than an hour and a half away. I think Italy would be out of the question.
But I couldn’t be happier. We’re grounded because sometime in the next few weeks, our baby girl is going to enter the world. No trip to Italy, no trip to the moon and back, could be as exciting. Or as appropriate. We exchanged gifts. I enjoyed the smell of fresh flowers on my desk at work all day. At 4 p.m. I called Lee and hummed the song that was playing as I walked down the aisle. I told him “I do.” Again. We had a long, romantic dinner. We told each other how lucky we felt.
There will be plenty of time to see Italy. Tonight, it’s more fun to spend our anniversary reflecting on our past, present, and future, and watching baby wiggle – a miraculous manifestation of our love.
