Hell on Earth

I hate Wal-Mart.

I used to love Wal-Mart. When I first came to college, it was so magical to go to this huge place that sold everything you could ever want at dirt-cheap prices. I was there all the time. The layout of the store was imprinted on my brain, and I could find absolutely anything in that store in like 2 minutes. Then, I slowly got sick of the crowds, and the people that shop there, and the people that work there, and then I became socially conscious, and I decided that it's a sin to patronize a business that is so blatantly anti-union and that treats its employees like scum. As far as it putting everyone around it out of business, I'm a little more torn there; I mean, it's terrible, and I hate to see small businesses fail. But I don't know that I blame Wal-Mart or the executives for that. I mean, what should they do? Purposely try to NOT be successful? It may be true that they use courts and aggressively pursue building where they're clearly not welcome, but depending on whose side of the story you believe, I don't know if they're wrong or not. We are a capitalistic country, and if you build it, they will come...... I blame our society and Wal-Mart customers for Wal-Mart putting everyone else out of business.

Okay, back to the topic at hand: I hate Wal-Mart.

I haven't been there in, sheesh, I'm sure at least a year. I haven't made a habit of going for the past, oh, probably 3-4 years, but I've had reason to stop in every now and again when it was, for some reason or another, the most appealing (i.e. only) option. But it really has been a long time since I heard the sounds, smelled the smell, and just, you know, had the experience.

I went there this morning. I was very nervous about going, but we got a gift card, and when you're running low on money and you need lots of new stuff, thirty bucks is thirty bucks!! It was a little after 9AM when I got there, and I was totally taken aback. They've updated our nearest Wal-Mart. The walls were painted a pleasant taupe color, and they had newer, more attractive signs marking sections. As I careened into the store, determined to make quick decisions and get the hell out, I was reminded of why I loved Wal-Mart so many years ago. My God, is there anything they don't have?! And it's all so cheap!! It's just got such a monstrous selection. There is WAY more stuff there than is available at, say, Target. It's seriously like a Best Buy, Michael's, Target, and Lowe's all in one. The home improvement section just blows Target out of the water. They have fabrics and baskets and fake flowers and yarn and all kinds of great things.

I'm not sure why I'm focusing on what makes it so great.

Anyhow, so for a while, I was totally tempted to come back around and just shop at Wal-Mart again to simplify my life. I wandered around, checking everything out, marveling at the offerings. And then wandering around got old. They didn't really have what I wanted to buy. So I was trying desperately to come up with things to buy to use up the $30 and get out. I found two little bottles I wanted, and a pair of baby nail clippers, and I found shower poofs, and then I started thinking of things that it'd be good to buy. Like a big tub of Oxiclean. And a roller shade and valance for the nursery. And some A&D since I had a $1 off coupon. But every single one of these things was on the opposite end of the abyss of a store. I went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I must have walked a mile and a half or two miles in Wal-Mart. Finally, oh finally!, I was finished. I made my way to the front of the store. There was one cashier open, and 4 self check-outs open. There was a monster line at the one cashier (it was nearing 11AM by now), but only one or two people at each of the self check-outs. So I got behind a lady who was almost done checking out her stuff. And after a few minutes, I figured out what was going on. All four of the self check-outs were waiting for someone to come press some button to make it work again. I waited patiently, and there was one poor white-haired woman working all four of these check-outs, and she peered carefully at the screen for a while, pressed a couple buttons, moved a couple items, peered at the screen some more, and pressed another button.... she had no clue how to use the machines. But I continued to wait patiently, because I didn't want to go stand in the big line. And she finally came to help the lady in front of me, and she scanned some coupon, peered at the screen for a while, and then pressed a button, and then my lady could resume, so the white-haired clerk went on to the next waiting self-checker, and my lady swiped her card, and the machine beeped and buzzed and then announced, "Please wait. Assistance is on the way." #$@%*#!! So we waited. And waited. And the white-haired lady came back, peered at the screen, and pressed a button, and peered at the screen some more, and then my lady could pay and holy shit it was my turn!!

So I swiped my things. It was harder to swipe than at the grocery store. The computer was really slow, and froze between each item, as it thought about what it weighed in the bagging area. But I carefully and patiently swiped each one, and deliberately placed it in the bag, and I knew that I was smarter than this machine. And finally I swiped the Oxiclean, but the machine didn't like that because it was too big for the bagging area, so someone who worked there had to come confirm that I was placing it in my cart. Apparently. So I went on and swiped my coupons, one of which required assistance. So I stood there. And stood there. And stood, while the two other people checking themselves out stood there, waiting for the white-haired lady, as the white-haired lady helped the fourth person checking himself out... And I looked around, and looked around, and tapped my foot, and looked around, and I saw a yellow sign above the check-out I was using, and it said YOU CANNOT USE TWO PAYMENT METHODS AT THIS CHECK-OUT. And I thought, "Well, shit, they're not going to let me pay with a gift card and then put the remainder on my debit card. F%@k me."

So I hit the cancel all items button. And it said 'OK to cancel all items?' And I clicked 'yes,' and it announced, "Please wait. Assistance is on the way." And I was like "Yeah right!!" and I walked away from the counter. And I went to the big, l-o-n-g line to be checked out. And it moved like molasses. I remember Wal-Mart being very wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am when it came to checking out. The lines may have been long, but they didn't mess around when taking your money. This was not like that. But other than it taking like forever and a day, it was uneventful. I got checked out, and I left, and I vowed to never go again.

This was a really long, stupid post, and I'm sorry. But maybe this speaks to the misery of my life right now--not that my life is so miserable, but I am miserable. I act miserable, I feel miserable, and I feel bad for Mike. But mostly I just hate Wal-Mart.

Oh, and duh.

Happy V-Day.

I've always thought this was kind of a silly holiday--it seemed more important when I was younger, and in high school I held great expectations. Now it just seems like another day and probably the worst day imaginable to try to go out to eat or anything. So Mike and I will make meatballs for dinner as planned, and perhaps light some candles while we eat our meatballs, and maybe we'll even celebrate by going to bed after Jeopardy and getting 10 1/2 hours of sleep. I can't imagine anything more indulgent.

Stick a fork in me

Whew. I'm exhausted. I'm overwhelmed. I feel like I can't keep up. I think I need some help already, but I don't even know what kind of help. There's not all that much to do, I guess, and we should have at least the next 3 weeks to get it done, but still! Three weeks has a way of flying by, especially when you have other shit you have to do three evenings out of a week. Well, that was only this week. But still.

People at Mike's work have been unbelievably generous with hand-me-down stuff. In fact, one of the boxes he got yesterday was HUGE, and a good bit of the stuff inside was brand new with tags!! They gave us several brand new hooded baby bath towels, and a bunch of used ones, and a bunch of new clothes and a bunch of used ones, and even some new toys! And one of the new with tags clothing items was none other than a Steeler onesie. Mike was beaming. And in the more useful department, there were tons of receiving blankets and burp cloths and just rags and stuff that I know you need so many of. So I'm thrilled to have all this stuff. But, now it's all over the dining room, and I have to decide what to wash and put away, and what to leave in storage until we meet the little bugger. (Lots of the new clothes are decidedly boy clothes.)

We don't have a bag for the hospital yet. We don't have a crib matress pad yet. (I did put a sheet on the new crib mattress, though, so I could see it all put together, and I put foil down to scare the cats from using the crib.) We don't have a cover on the changing pad yet. We don't have a stroller yet. We don't have anything to give the baby a bath, but I'm not sure if you're allowed to give it a bath before the umbilicical cord heals. ??? I hope someone tells me before I take it home. I'm sure we'll figure it out.

We do have: 4 kinds of diapers to work with until we choose a favorite, 3 kinds of wipes, baby bath, baby lotion, baby powder, diaper rash cream, clothes, clothes, and more clothes, and a boppy for feeding. Mike is stressing about what will happen if for some reason the whole breastfeeding thing won't work. Perhaps this is naive of me, but there is no doubt in my mind that it'll be fine. But I guess we'll have to wait and see. You never know. But he's wanting to have some formula in the house just in case. I'm wanting to not set myself up for failure.

Speaking of, a very small part of me is terrified about nursing. Most of me really looks forward to it, but the other part of me thinks the first week will be an exercise in misery and I'll cry constantly as I try to figure it out. I can't imagine the embarassment of trying to learn, and I'm nervous about that. At least it'll just be us, and I know that by the time this baby gets out of my body in all its beauty and nastiness, there will be absolutely nothing that could possibly embarass me in front of Mike. But I feel like I'll be embarassed for myself. Even when you're completely alone, and there's no one to see you be gross, you can gross yourself out.

But what about everyone else? I don't think I would even feel comfortable in front of my sister, who's closer to me than pretty much anyone in the world. I don't know how my older sister, Becca, did it. Of course, by the time I saw her nursing, she had a month of so of practice. I don't know how the first week or two was for her. Plus, she was pretty open about the whole thing. If you were in the room, you were seeing her nipple, and that was that. If you didn't want to see it, you could leave the room. (Please bear in mind that I mean in her own house, NOT in public.) Her living room was like boobie central! And it didn't bother me. (I don't even think it bothered Mike.) But I don't think I could do that in front of my dad like she did, or in front of other relatives. But I also don't want to feel like I have to go hide in my own house every time the baby wants to eat for the next year of my life. So I'm not sure how we'll work that out. I'm just hoping that by the time there are guests in the house, I'll have the subtlies of nursing worked out, and there won't be milk running down my belly, and I'll be able to keep a shirt or blanket tastefully draped over us, and it'll be okay. But I am having serious anxiety issues about it (see previous post for more on anxiety.)

Back to feeling overwhelmed: this is a lot like what I expected my whole pregnancy to feel like. I thought I'd feel stressed by all the change and by financial concerns and by hormones. But up until these last few days and weeks, I was perfectly fine! And I'm suddenly feeling, well, maybe sad? It's not that I feel sad about what we're going to do, and I'm thrilled about it, but I feel stressed and I've pretty much been on the verge of tears at all times. It's exhausting to feel like you could cry at a moment's notice all the time. And Mike keeps asking me if I'm okay, because I just look "sad." So perhaps I am sad. Or scared. Or just exhausted. But whatever it is, I'm tired of it and I'm ready for the next step.

Another day, another doubt

I am worried about baby again. I remember so clearly in the beginning worrying about whether or not the baby was even in there, and then I worried if its heart would just stop beating, and then I worried about when I would feel it move. And then I had a couple of months that were just plain delightful! The baby reminded me every day, many times throughout the day, that it was there, rolling around, having a grand ol' time. And I didn't worry about whether it was going correctly--I was very confident that everything was just fine. What sheer pleasure I got from watching my belly dance, watching the baby poke and prod, trying to get comfortable.

And now, all of a sudden, my worries have been turned back on like a switch. I have read that I'm supposed to feel baby less because it's running out of room in there! Gone are the days of baby frolicking through my uterus. Now it's just jammed in, probably trying to get the crook out of its neck. And I have 3 major worries. In no particular order:

• Is it in the right position?? I know that it shouldn't matter, and Mike keeps comforting me, assuring me that the baby knows how to get into position, but some babies don't know, or they can't get themselves there because all of a sudden one day, they're just too big to turn over anymore! And even though I think it's head down, how can I really know? There is a huge hard lump that can most often be found within 3 or 4 inches of my belly button. With luck, that's its little butt, and the head is squished down south. But what if that's its head by my belly button? Or what if that's a shoulder or something? What irritates me is that this concern could very easily be answered with a quick peek at a sonogram, but I'm not allowed to have one. Well, I've not asked to have one, but I know they'd say no, and not to worry about it. But I worry about it. I've also had some nights when the baby is pushing off SO hard on my right side, I think a foot will pop out of my belly. And seriously, it's pushing so hard, it's like it HAS to be laying in there sideways. And so I'm terrified that the baby is transverse, and that it'll never be able to get head down, and I'll have to have a cesarean. And again, all I need to make this fear go away is a quick peek inside. I'm tired of the doctor palpating my lower abdomen, and mumbling, "Uh, yeah, sure, that's probably head. Sure." Uh, probably?!? Could we find out, please?
• Why does it not move for so long? I know I'm supposed to feel less movement. I know. But sometimes I'll feel like hours have gone by and I haven't felt it. I'm probably just not paying attention, but once I realize it's been a while, I pay close attention. And then when I finally feel the slightest movement, it actually scares me more... And this is where it gets kind of crazy. I know this is delusional. But I can't help it. The thought keeps recurring, and it really really really upsets me, but I worry that the movements I feel are actually the baby struggling, trying to move itself because it's stuck in a dangerous position, or that it's being strangled by its own umbilical cord. I've feared that the very subtle jerks I feel are even rigor mortis or something sick like that. I'm so terribly scared that something will happen to the baby because it's too big to just float around fearlessly now. I mean, what if the cord really was wrapped around its neck??? What if it was stuck like that and struggling to get free? Last night as I lay in bed for an hour, trying to get back to sleep, I felt the baby moving vigorously, but in a weird pattern that was probably hiccups. But these were huge hiccups! These were not the cute little ones I used to feel; these were like Happy 21st Birthday I'm-going-to-throw-up-the-14-shots-and-8-beers-now hiccups. But I lay there, agonizing about whether these were actually desperate cries for help, or the baby writhing in pain or trying to get free, and even though I knew I was being psycho, I couldn't get the thought out of my head.
• And my final worry, that has only begun in the last 2 days, and I haven't confessed it to anyone: I'm just scared that something, anything, will happen to the baby. It's completely and totally officially our baby, and it's like a real baby now, since I know it could live on its own, and it has lots of outfits and stuffed animals and books waiting for it at home. It's not just a fetus. It's not even an investment of time and energy that I don't want to waste. It's my baby, my child. It depends on me to protect it, and if I don't keep it safe for the next 4 weeks, or if I allow it to be choked by its umbilical cord, or if my membranes rupture and its head descends and cuts off its own blood supply through the cord, or if during childbirth it doesn't get air or blood or I don't know... if it just breaks somehow, I will feel like it's my fault, and I feel absolutely positive that I would be beyond inconsolable. I think I might go completely crazy. I've made myself cry in bed at night, thinking of having to come home from the hospital without our baby. I know that people with good prenatal care don't typically lose babies during childbirth, but it happens. Sometimes there is nothing that anyone can do to anticipate a problem, and sometimes babies just don't come out healthy. We still have no guarantee that our baby doesn't have spina bifida, or mental retardation, or only one arm, or whatever. But I can totally live with any of those things. But what if it has something so terrible that it can't live outside of me? What if its lungs don't work? What if its heart can't pump enough blood? What if its liver doesn't function?

And there you have it. I suppose once we get a healthy baby out of me, I will go on to worrying about every other terrible thing that could possibly happen to baby. But I made a promise to myself a long time ago, and I know that this is just me and it will come naturally, but I absolutely refuse to raise my baby in fear. I will not fear every little thing and try to protect my baby from anything that may come its way. But DAMN, that's going to be hard.

Just for fun, check out this safety equipment I could buy, if I were a sucker and bought into the fear. Cool! I could use one of these for myself.

No, I don't have cravings. That's weird.

Psychosis

I've been avoiding the blog. I did so well for a week or so, and then I didn't have it in me to post, because my mother always said 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.' Oh, hell, my mother never said that, she pretty much always said 'do whatever. Get away from me. I'm on the phone.'

But someone at some point told me that I shouldn't be an asshole or a whiner. But again, this is my space, and if I want to be an asshole, so be it. I am crabby, crabby, crabby. I could blame hormones or fatigue. It really doesn't matter. It's probably a little of both. I'm really not all that sleep deprived, but I feel like I am. The 7-8 hours of sleep I get a night just isn't cutting it. To be fair to me, those 7-8 hours are very restless and I wake up all the time and I'm never comfortable, blah blah blah, bitch bitch bitch. So maybe I really am sleep deprived. But I just have this feeling like I could sleep for about 13 hours a night, and then I'd feel much better. But the gross creases in my big belly would probably get really nasty, since they're gross and uncomfortable after only a couple hours on one side. (I have to flip through the night, a couple of hours on each side at a time, and occasional 15-minute sessions on my back, just letting my sides regain shape. It's kind of like grilling kabobs.) And then there are the hormones. I think that would be why I cry. But I usually only cry if I'm so tired I want to pass out. So I cry when Mike makes me get out of bed in the morning, and I cry when I get home since dinner has to be made and dishes have to be done and there's good tv to watch but I just don't have it in me. (Exhibit A: I didn't see one second of American Idol this week.) And Mike has been a saint (except for the making me get out of bed part... asshole), because I can't remember the last time I did dishes. I tend to half-heartedly contribute to making a half-hearted dinner, and then I veg on the couch until I pass out, while he does dishes. Anyhow, these must be the 3rd trimester blues.

And work sucks. It just sucks. I have so much to do, but since half the people I schedule don't even show up for their phone calls (usually 1-hour long interviews), I don't know how my days get so full. And I don't know how my coworkers don't have anything to do. Oh well.

Tomorrow is a vacation day for me, so today is my Friday. Thank God. Tomorrow I get to sleep in a little, pick up groceries for a family weekend, and then relax until the in-laws get here. Okay, okay, I might run the vacuum upstairs, but that's it. Any other mess is there to stay. I'm also pretty excited because this weekend is my baby shower, and I am just so so so so so excited to have baby stuff. It sounds so terrible and selfish, and it's not like I'm excited to get presents. It really isn't. It has always made me feel uncomfortable to receive a lot of things that I don't feel I deserve for any particular reason, and I am perfectly happy to get my own things for myself. But, I have not been allowed to buy anything for the baby. Nothing. We got our crib and other nursery furniture as hand-me-downs, so that was great, and I got the indulgence of having something baby-related in the house. And we've also gotten a couple bags of hand-me-down baby clothes that I love to touch and fold and unfold. But nothing else. We have a sprinkling of items that have been gifts and other hand-me-downs, like a used Baby Bjorn (carrier) and a couple of crib sheets (no mattress yet, so not taken out of package yet), and stuff like that. But I just want to go to Babies R Us or wherever and go nuts buying everything we'll need! But of course, that would be stupid with a shower on the way. I know that our very very very generous families will help to provide us with everything we could ever need, so we won't have to buy much. And I am so hugely grateful for that. I mean seriously. How can one ever really make up for things like that, or appropriately thank someone? I suppose you do it by providing the same kind of support and generosity when it's another family member going through their own huge change.

In the meantime, I am just so so so excited that this weekend, I will have baby stuff to play with and clean and set up! I feel like a little girl with a new dollhouse, and I want to move the furniture over and over, rearranging it this way and then that way, until it's just perfect. I want to wash and fold and unfold and refold all the clothes, over and over, and stack them in the drawers in the nursery, and arrange them until it's just right. I want to have the changing table stocked with diapers and lotions, and the baby tub hanging in our tub. (Aside: we registered for the coolest baby tub ever, and cheap, cheap, cheap! Instead of a big hard plastic tub, since our bathroom barely has room for the two of us to brush our teeth at the same time, we chose a round pillow kind of thing that floats, about the size of a boppy, that has a mesh hammock-y net over the hole in the middle, so you just plop baby on that, and fill your own tub with a couple inches of water. And since it floats (if it really turns out to be bouyant enough), I dream of taking a bath with baby! Wouldn't that be great? And then we can just hang it on a hook in our shower, and it won't take up much room. Cool, huh?)

Okay, I feel better now, dreaming of all the baby stuff that will be around the house. This will make it so much more real. And sleep would be nice, too.

Prayers for Eddie

Eddie, the geriatric Cavalier, is being inspected today. Mike put on new front brakes (disks and pads!) this weekend, so there should be nothing else the old guy needs.

Come on, Eddie, make Mama happy!!

UPDATE (4:12PM):
Eddie passed with flying colors! The bath we gave him this weekend must have helped him to feel his best. Now all we need is the new registration card and new license plate sticker. Stupid PennDOT updated our address wrong (and I'd take the blame except that my handwriting is quite clear on important stuff--not Christmas cards and such, but stuff to the DMV, yes, and whoever entered it entered it wrong in TWO places: wrong house number and wrong zip code.) So our stuff got lost in the mail even though they cashed our check on Jan. 5. Greedy bastards.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul

Babies are expensive. I really can't even fathom yet what having a baby will cost, but this realization that we need someone to be with the baby all the time is very sobering. We have been well aware of the fact all along, but now we're trying to adjust our budget, and it became very real: We are going to take a drastic cut in my income, or else we will have to pay for full-time child care, which would mean a drastic expense.

I am strongly, strongly, strongly opposed to full-time daycare for countless reasons. The biggest reason is probably that it would just make me unhappy. I love children, and for some reason I have a feeling I'll especially love my own child, and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit in a grey cubicle for 8 hours a day and commute for 1 to 1 1/2 hours a day and let someone else play with my baby, especially when I'd have to pay them pretty much what I earn in take-home pay. Other reasons include that my degree is in child development and child care. And I personally think I'm extremely highly qualified to care for a child. It would be like a mechanic paying someone else to fix his car. It just doesn't make sense. My least favorite reason, because I know it's unpopular, is that I just hate daycare and I think it sucks for kids. Now, I'm not saying that I think no one should use it and you suck if you do use it. For a lot of families, it's a great option. Some parents aren't really into being parents, and that's okay. Not everyone can get excited about making snakes out of play-doh or tolerate 24-hour programming of Barney and the Wiggles. And I understand there are social benefits of a group care setting, especially in pre-school years. But for babies, I stand my ground: daycare sucks.

And I think I have a right to say so because I worked in one when I graduated college. As hard as they tried, they couldn't break me. I refused to succumb to the overwhelming morale of parents-are-the-screwups-who-derail-our-good-training. See, in a daycare, there are 4 infants per 1 adult. That's the law. (I mean, that's the maximum allowed by law, and the bare minimum allowed by management who steals from parents and pays underqualified transient workers minimum wage.) If a woman gave birth to 4 children, no one would ever, ever, EVER suggest that she should stay home and try to feed and care for all 4 of them until they were quite old, perhaps 9 months or a year old. But we don't bat an eye at allowing our 6-week old infants be in the care of a worker who is solely responsible for 3 other infants at the same time. I don't get it. But it's worse than this. Not only do they set the underqualified workers up for failure, but these underqualified workers develop patterns of care to deal with the fact that no one could possibly meet the needs of 4 infants simultaneously. Specifically, they don't pick up the babies. They can't. If you pick a baby up, it expects to be held. Well, no shit, Sherlock. Babies are supposed to want to be held. It's instinctual. And parents do weird things like hold their babies while they feed them, and rock them to sleep, and pick them up when they cry, which spoils the babies and ruins them for the daycare workers. They can't be expected to hold 4 babies while they eat, or rock 4 babies to sleep simultaneously, so they just don't do it. And this works, more or less. The proof is in the pudding. Most daycare babies sit on the floor, or sit strapped into a bouncy seat, and drink from a bottle that's been propped up for them, and make little fuss when you plop it in a crib. Sure, it's hard for them the first couple of weeks, and they cry a lot, but they soon learn that crying is pointless and no one's going to pick them up, and they get used to it.

To me, this is the saddest thing I've ever heard. Okay, maybe not the saddest, but it's right up there. I mean, it goes so strongly against every belief of child-rearing that is popular today, but very educated and wealthy people just ignore the facts and delude themselves into thinking that their baby's needs are met in daycare.

Okay, this is going totally off the subject. This post is about being out of money, and it sucking. It is not about daycare sucking. But to my little baby, if you ever read this, I want you to know that I won't let that happen to you. I may use daycare for short days a couple of times a week if Daddy and I get desperate for care and I still need my paycheck, but I won't leave you there to suffer. I will always be there to meet your needs, and I won't let anyone break your spirit and teach you that resistance is futile.

Back to money: it sucks to not have a lot of it. But I know that no matter how much you have, when you have a baby, it doesn't feel like enough. And I don't even really think we have anything to worry about. I know we'll be fine. But we have been getting along wonderfully with our budget since we got married, and now all of a sudden, we are going to take what looks to be a 20-25% cut in income. That's huge!! I'm not sure where we'll find 20-25% of costs to cut, but we can do it. But the garage door can't be fixed. The electrical system in our house can't be fixed. The windows can't be fixed. The roof over the side porch can't be fixed. We can't get a dishwasher. We can't get new speakers. We can't get new bedroom furniture, and we can't get a new car. The car thing is worrisome. I hope our little Cavalier can hold us and a baby for trips across the state, and I know we can make it work. Plenty of people go further with less. But the Cavalier is getting up there in age. A 5-year old car isn't old, but a 5-year old Cavalier is geriatric. But Mike takes such good care of that car, and I know it will take good care of us.

I hope.

Ten fingers and ten toes

I know you're just supposed to hope for a healthy baby, but I spend way too much time wishing for a cool baby.

But recently, I have been thinking more about just having a healthy baby--a baby without any terrible disease or delay. Is that greedy? Selfish? I wonder about the little person crawling around inside me, and I can't imagine it not having ten fingers and ten toes and a nice, normal face, and a head full of hair, and perfect little eyebrows and lips, and a cute little outie belly button and a smooth back with a perfectly fused spinal column. But what if it doesn't have all those things? I can live with an innie belly button. I suppose I could live with any of it. But it sure would be a shock, and I'm not sure how Mike and I would handle it.

I guess you take what you get and never, ever, ever forget to be thankful for it.

Doh!

We bought a new chair. (Well, my grandmother bought us a new chair. It's on our card, but she wants to buy it for us.) I love my new chair.

It really is my chair. I would never call anything in our house mine, like "my refrigerator", or "my cats" or "my mess." (I will take credit for "my pantiliners" or "my mascara.") But this is my chair. Really, though, it's mine and baby's. It's understood that while a visitor may end up sitting in my chair, when baby wants the boobie, I get my chair. And Mike may even enjoy my chair to rock the baby to sleep sometimes, but it's still my chair. It's girly, unlike the rest of our furniture, and it's for me and baby to cuddle in, and eat in, and get food all over, and get crumbs in the cushions, and all that good stuff. From the moment I saw it in the Levin showroom (classy, eh?), it beckoned me. And Mike tried to make me check at Lazy Boy or Ethan Allen (what does he think? Money grows on trees?) first, but no, no no... I wanted my chair.

So we bought it. And attempted to bring it home. But...

Doh! The chair actually flew off the back of the pick-up truck in transit. It bounced off the highway a few times, and now has a nasty case of road rash. Can you believe it?! This is why my precious chair is still sitting in the basement, wrapped in plastic. What do we do?? We tried the warranty, but of course, it's not covered in transit. This is because cheap dumbasses like me who don't want to pay delivery charges tend to do things like let chairs fall off the backs of trucks. Perhaps I should have learned from this lesson that you always let the company deliver it. Then they're responsible. But, no, I will continue to prefer to pick up my own stuff, thankyouverymuch. I don't know why. I'm not even remotely mad about the chair, or about the $100 or $200 it could cost to fix it. The chair was a gift as it was, so who cares if we have to invest a little into it??

Really, I just want my chair all in one piece. I want to sit in it and rock in it and pretend I have our baby in my arms.

But we have two options: we can get it repaired so it's exactly as it was on the Levin's showroom floor, or we can patch it up and have a slipcover made for the back, like one of those headrags that protects the chair from oils and other gross stuff on people's heads. What do you think??