The Pregnant Waddle

Pre-Pregnancy Weight Just Around the Corner (It's Trying to Run and Hide)

Friday, April 29, 2005

One more thing

I know, I know, some days there is no post at all, and some days that Jordana just can't stop with the mini-blogs! But I had to tell you . . .

Yesterday, when my husband picked me up from work, one of the first things he said to me was, "So, I've been looking at breast pumps on eBay."

I don't think that even needs elaboration.

And in other news

Pray for us. Tomorrow, we're going to paint our living room and lay down a wood floor in there. And move lots of furniture. My husband is optimistic that it won't take very long, which is good, because the last time we did any sort of remodelling--put in a new shower--his instinct said that it would be a huge project. It wound up taking two+ weeks. I am reliving the horror even as we speak.

At least, even if this living room project runs overtime, we will still be able to take showers in our house.

That last sentence is actually logical, but only if you interpret it in light of the first paragraph. :)

Signs that it's a good day

* It's a Friday!
* Not only that, but it's a B day (my school operates on a block schedule, A days and B days, and I like my B day classes better).
* AND, when you walk into the staff room, there is a table laid with orange juice and doughnuts for all! (I put the OJ first to emphasize the healthiness of such a post-breakfast snack. But I consumed my doughnut first. A girl's got to have her priorities.)

And in other lists, signs that my baby is related to his/her daddy:

* Both of them wake up slowly.
* Then they wiggle.
* Then they s-t-r-e-t-c-h.

I have gotten somewhat used to the weird feeling of a small internal baby stretching with one end pressing against my bladder and the other against my rib cage. Observers can discern when this is going on because of the strange leaning-back contortions I go into.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Just a thought

Homeroom students.

Especially freshmen.

They are loud.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Opposites attracting

Those of you who know my husband, or me, or both of us, no doubt already understand that, in our relationship, my husband is the Analytical one and I am the Intuitive one. This can lead to some amusing marital communication, especially early in the mornings and late at night, when my husband is at his most pedantic and I, for some reason, turn whimsical. Take this morning's conversation on our way into work. He referred to the Congo as "Zaire." I said, "You know you're from Africa when you call a country by one of its former names." He started listing others, including the former Rhodesia, Zimbabwe.

Me: "So, does that mean Rhodesian Ridgebacks should be called Zimbabwean Ridgebacks now?"

*note the whimsy*

Him: "No, they were bred by colonialists, so it makes sense for them to keep the colonial name."

*note the pedanticism*

Me: "But what if using the colonial name offends me? What if it raises painful associations of domination?"

*REALLY pushing it with the whimsy*

A slight pause. I pat his cheek and say, "You're really handling my whimsy awfully well this morning."

More pause. Then,

Him: "It doesn't make sense to just ignore a whole part of a country's history. Colonialism was a major part of . . ."

I don't think he could have let it slide even if he had tried. He's so cute.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005


Take one teacher.

Add two online graduate-level classes with papers due.

Mix in a whole heap o'grading.

Sprinkle in liberal amounts (yes, I know it should be "numbers," but it doesn't sound right for a recipe, and yes, I am an English teacher) of Demanding Students who Want to Know Their Grades Right Now, especially if they are a) failing the course, and b) hoping that the two pieces of makeup work they just handed in will raise their grades way more dramatically than it is possible for two pieces of makeup work to do.

Bake in the looming heat of 50-something failure letters that need to be sent out immediately if not sooner.

What you get is a blog entry that I can only justify using the time to write because at least I am writing about all the stuff I have to do.

Postscript. It's not REALLY as bad as all that . . . I've done the work for my grad classes, except for one paper that's not due for a couple more weeks. And I have the company of happy baby wiggles. And a wonderful husband who will be coming to rescue me on his white horse in just a few minutes.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Amen, sister

"...and, secondly, I represent a majority of this family and what I say goes."

Friday, April 22, 2005

A Bridget Jones moment

Am coding genius! Have successfully coded (i.e. cut'n'pasted--but edited too!--Blogger's code) for links. Having added five, I'm exhausted. And I haven't the guts right now to try to figure out how to get the heading in the same cool scripty look as the other headings. That's brilliance for another day.

The last time I had anything to do with coding was my sophomore year in college, when I took an intro to computer science course for "fun." I wanted to see if I had any aptitude for such things; plus, I was dating a computer science major at the time, and thought there might be an added bonus of me beginning to understand what he was talking about. The class consisted of a bunch of male freshman comp sci majors, a few of my math-major girlfriends, and little ol' English major me.

Summary of course:
* First quarter: Focus is building computers and writing code. I come to every class, do all the homework, and take copious notes, because I do not understand ANYTHING. I literally write down every word the professor says. The freshman boys skip class on a regular basis.
* Second quarter: Focus is the ethics of artificial intelligence. I do OK on this, because I am an English major and therefore speak Ethics. I still come to every class, do all the homework, and take copious notes, though, because the focus may be ethics but the subject is still computer science, and did I mention that I do not speak Computer Science? The freshman boys stop coming to class entirely.
* Finals week: The freshman boys attack me. They plead for my notes. We strike a bargain, and spend many happy hours in our dorm lobby and kitchen, and the boys read my notes and one of them explains what I wrote to me, while the others try to break into the locked kitchen cabinets or rewire the TV.
* Outcome: We all pass the class (I get a B). I do NOT pursue a career that involves a) building computers or b) writing code. I marry a biologist, who is, incidentally, not half bad at computery things.

I do remember, though, the few moments of triumph at coding, like when my partner and I finally got a graphic to look the way it was supposed to (metallic gold instead of brain-searing yellow). And I am pleased to report that today the code even looked just a little bit familiar! And my gentle readers can link where no link was before! Dr. Plantinga, if you're out there, be proud.

Well, it made MY day

Overheard in the teachers' center:

Teacher 1: Cardinal Ratzinger did a lot of stuff for the Pope . . . wrote some of his speeches, preached the Easter sermon. Didn't he even perform the Pope's funeral?

Teacher 2: Well, the Pope couldn't very well do his own.


I won't pretend that I'm ever more than reasonably awake in the mornings, but sometimes when I see myself in the bathroom mirror at school (usually after teaching at least one class), my appearance startles even me.

Today's thought: Was that enormous LUMP in my hair when I left for work this morning? Or have the hairstyle moles been at work again?

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Female bonding

So, during my planning period today I made one of my (frequent) bathroom stops, and decided to use the not-so-nice staff bathroom (scary mustard-colored walls, two tiny stalls, door positioned in such a way as to ensure that we lose at least a couple teachers each year in bathroom-door-related incidents) rather than the nice staff bathroom (roomy stalls, bright walls, little lotions and occasionally chocolates set out) because it was closer.

I had just entered my stall and commenced the business for which one requires a bathroom, when there came a pitiful voice from the next-door stall. "Can you please hand me some paper?" "Of course," I said, being a generous soul, and reached for some . . .

. . . and my TP dispenser was empty too.

The horror, the horror!

A moment of consternation and then fits of uncontrollable giggles ensued. I won't burden you with the details; but as we left, still laughing, we said to each other, "I feel so close to you now!" Nothing like adversity to bring people together.

Green with envy

A cornucopia for the convex!

Tuesday, April 19, 2005


Staff development really soon--and pregnant mommies must not neglect any available bathroom-visiting moments--but here's yesterday, synthesized:

* Red goo not forgotten. Drunk, in fact, and wasn't all that bad (I'd actually recommend the Fruit Punch flavor, if one must take the glucose test). Small hysteria involving unexpectedly low freezing point of said goo (remember that it was supposed to be "better tolerated" cold? I stuck it in the freezer to chill, and IT FROZE SOLID). Fortunately, microwaves and calm husbands exist.

* Squidgle, most obligingly, has already turned upside-down: GOOD baby!

* The ultrasound techie, however, was less obliging and had taken the day off. So, no pictures. Alas.

* Imagine the biggest sugar high after the most profitable Halloween candy haul of your life. Then imagine coming down off that high. Such was I. Jitter, jitter, jitter in the car on the way to the doctor's; yawns and crankitude all the way home. I didn't begin to feel even remotely normal again until after supper.

* We have friends coming to stay for a couple of days. We cleaned the house. The house is clean.

* It's a good thing only one of us is pregnant. The dear husbandlet bustled around cleaning busily; I would put away two pairs of underwear and then have to rest for a while. Not that I'm doubting my contribution to the house's cleanliness, of course . . . that underwear stayed PUT.

OK, off to be developed. I wonder if there will be food.

Monday, April 18, 2005

It gives me a good excuse to practice breathing techniques?

I'm considering renaming this blog The Leg Cramp.

Maybe it's good for my husband to be awakened every few nights by a moaning, writhing wife inexplicably flailing her left leg? Preparation for when I go into labor, perhaps? Though his general reaction (and talent for deep sleep) does suggest the possibility of the following scenario:

Me: Moan, writhe!!
Him (blurrily): Are you OK?
Me: No, I'm in labor!
Him (between snores): Oh, I'm sorry, honey. (Snuggles me closer and goes back to sleep on my shoulder.)

On a side note, today is our third ultrasound and my gestational diabetes test day. About 30 minutes before our appointment, I have to drink a bright red substance that seems to consist of 99% corn syrup and 1% red food coloring, so the doctors can see how my body is handling sugars. I have been paranoid about forgetting to drink the loathsome substance for weeks now; last night, I set it right in front of our door so we'd trip over it when we left this morning if we otherwise forgot it. Now it's happily cooling itself in the freezer at work, and I have a large sticky note on my desk that says, "Red Goo!" What really worries me about the drink is that the instructions say, "This drink is better tolerated if served over ice." I don't know why this bothers me . . . maybe it's the frank admission on the part of the medical folk, who are notable for being able to say with a straight face, "This won't hurt," that their sugar drink is disgusting. I can't think why ice would make it more tolerable than just serving it cold . . . perhaps the comforting familiarity of little ice cubes bobbing in the sea of flourescent red is supposed to distract one from the painful reality of having to choke it down. Couldn't they just come up with an equivalent, say, "Drink 14 chocolate milkshakes in a half hour"?

Friday, April 15, 2005


I habe a code.

This morning, I was in the bathroom and I must have been snuffling quite a bit, because as I came out of my stall another teacher asked if I was all right. She was freaked out that I was crying, or that something was going wrong with the baby. This amused and touched me, but the odd thing is . . .

. . . my snuffling is starting to fool me into thinking that I'm upset about something.

Me: Snuffle.
Me, again: Oh, are you OK?
Me: Snuffl--I think so. Snuffle. Am I?

Easily influenced--who, me?


are now up and running for non-Blogger-registered folks.

And I'm taking suggestions for an official clever identity-concealing name for my husband on this blog. "C." is rather . . . boring, frankly. My Lord and Master is one that comes to mind . . . or Himself. Or simply The Husbandlet. Or I could cave and call him by his REAL name ("Eustice"). Votes? Ideas? Emotional outpourings?

Thursday, April 14, 2005

At least the PENGUINS were cooperative

"Our knowledge gained from penguins provides novel insight into the gait mechanics of humans with increased lateral movements, such as in pregnant women or obese individuals."


Originally uploaded by jordlet.
Just tryin' with a photostream thingy.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Wednesday, Wednesday

My thought for the day: it's HARD to find comfortable non-back sleep positions (because back-sleeping is badbadbad, apparently, for mommy and baby) now that certain bits of me are *ahem* larger! Not to mention arms, which get crunkled uncomfortably and keep one awake with tingling. And tummy sleeping is basically out of the question at this point. I'm just crabby because I woke up to make my compressed bladder happy around 4:45, and then couldn't find a comfortable sleep position again until nearly 6, which is when my alarm goes off. In revenge, I hit the snooze until 6:40, and we had to rush around like mad headless chickens to get out semi-on time. As a lifelong back-sleeper, with occasional forays onto the tummy, I am NOT transitioning easily into side-sleeping. My main sleep position these days is sort of a cheat between back and side, usually propped up against C. C. makes a very good body pillow. Speaking of which, he asked me the other night when I would be getting another pillow. Me: "?" Him: "Well, you had one pillow during the first trimester, and two for the second, so I just figured that, now that you're in the third . . . " Ya know, he has a point. Mmmm, pillows. And chocolate milkshakes.

In other news, happy birthday to me! Squidgle's mama is officially (once again) older than his/her daddy. haHA! In the immortal words of Jerry Lee Lewis, which believe me C. hears a lot, "Take 'em fresh from their mama's side, and keep 'em true."

In still other news, I have most of the plot of Hamlet illustrated on my classroom's whiteboard with stick figures. This is the result of trying to explain all the family relationships to my English 12 first semester repeat class . . . and I'm quite proud of my artwork, if I do say so. (Hamlet's daddy is a dead stick figure, which you can tell because a) he's horizontal, and b) he has little X's for eyes.) Claudius and Gertrude have little stick figure crowns. I tried a similar exercise recently with John Donne's Holy Sonnet Number 1 ("Thou Hast Made Me, and Shall Thy Work Decay?"), which wound up having a stick figure Donne with sin attached to his ankle and the wings of grace attached to his back, running (you could tell he was running because of the little wavy lines behind him) towards Death (a Grim Reaper stick figure), while all his pleasures (smiley faces) were far behind and his troubles (sad smileys) hard on his heels. Little hellfire flames lurked beneath him. God was a large magnet drawing his iron heart (a little colored-in heart on the stick figure's chest) upwards. It worked, if I do say so, rather well.

Anyway, I shall leave the illustrated Hamlet up for student admiration. Their report cards come out on Monday, so they'd better be effusive in their praise.

Monday, April 11, 2005

If Food Be

Many of you have heard me tell the story--not original with me--about the Famous Actor playing Count Orsino in Twelfth Night, who came onstage and muffed the famous first line, which is supposed to go, "If music be the food of love, play on." Instead, he began, "If FOOD be . . . " At which point, he stopped, turned around, walked offstage, and refused to perform that evening. Can't say I blame him.

Strangely, though, food as the music of love does just fine for me these days. Especially chocolate milkshakes from the ice cream place down the street from my work. WADDLE!

I'm setting up this blog for several reasons. First off, I've been keeping a pregnancy webpage through, and I love it. What a great way to show off our little Squid to family and friends, however far afield (the f&f, not Squidgle). However, the page template there is a tad limiting . . . and it will expire at some point after Squidgle's birth. And then how will I bombard the world with my baby's cuteness?

Also, I'm just a tad addicted to blog-surfing. Not so bad as I was before I gave up blogs for Lent (really!), but there you have it.

Perhaps most importantly, I'm trying to get into the habit of writing more often, both creatively and non . . . I'll leave it up to you to decide which this blog involves.

I want to keep this blog as anonymous as possible, at least for starters, lest it suddenly become hugely wide-read (at which point I will gladly take book offers, speaking engagements, etc.). However, I expect that most of you reading it know us already and can plug in any necessary details.

Here's the cast of characters whose delightful antics you will enjoy for years to come:
* Me. I am a wife, pregnant mommy, and teacher.
* My husband. I'll call him C. until I can come up with something more creative. He is a grad student.
* Squidgle. Squidgle is our unborn baby, due in July. Squidgle will probably continue to be Squidgle, at least on this blog, after birth . . . no doubt much to his/her chagrin in adolescence.

Also expect:
* -let to be added to lots of innocent, unsuspecting words (i.e., cloudlet, wavelet, babylet).
* Too many ellipses.

Signing off now . . .

Post the First

Up 'n' running, eh wot?