I can haz cold front?

So.

Pesach touring was fun. We had a great time swimming in the waterfall pools at Ein Gedi. The only downside was the heat wave that hit most of Israel last week. The high temperature near the Dead Sea during our visit last Thursday was 115 degrees. What’s crazier is how hot it was in the North.

Somewhere in there, there is a belly. I know, it’s tough to see when you are blinded by the vast whiteness of my thighs. I have ordered a maternity swim suit (read: tailored Coleman tent) from the kind folks at Old Navy. The white thing to my right is the hubby. Funny how I’m still picky about covering all of my hair when I’m half naked.

Amazingly, I felt fine and doused myself repeatedly in SPF 60 like it was going out of style (which is, in and of itself, amusing since I doubt SPF 60 was ever really in style) and came through without bug bites, sunburn or dehydration. I was just good a sleepy for a couple days afterward, but I think that’s just par for the course in heat like that.

IKEA is on my shit list, but that’s another post for another time. I will conquer them if I have to build and stain the damn Leksvik crib from the bleached bones of their employees. Do not mess with a pregnant woman. No, I am not nesting. I think I’m just bitchy.

And then! An amazing thing happened in Israel! A cold front moved in. We got a little bit of rain (which I’m told is pretty unusual after Pesach) and its been chilly and breezy at night.

Right now, I’m going to go and toss on a sweatshirt while I “work from home.” The sheer thought of it gets me a little klempy in the corner of my eye.

And finally. The kid has started kicking so hard that it’s visible from “the outside.” Outside here having the meaning “my nekkid tummy” and not “beneath the many layers of the cantilevered pregnancy skirt that supports my flubber.”

I’m not sure a kevlar bullet could get through that padding.

****

Dear God,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the week of cool weather.

Sincerely,

A fairly pregnant woman in Israel (you know the one)

I are plural

22 weeks and counting. Or at least, occasionally counting when I remember how pregnant I am. Or that I am pregnant at all. Cause yeah, I still forget that an awful lot.

We are two weeks to the V word. Somehow, that scares me more than the first trimester and the risk of miscarriage. God willing, the little one will deign to stay in for another four months or so. Or something like that. I can never remember how long with all the fuzzy math of pregnancy.

As of the latest scan, her ETA is August 26-29, with her Abba’s birthday being Aug. 28, her uncle’s birthday being Aug. 23 and her grandfather’s birthday being Aug. 31. She’s not even born and she’s already conspired against me to make that week more expensive from year to year.

Not much news to report. Had the “hey, let’s do another scan” scan* last week and all was well. If I get off my lazy duff (magic 8 ball says: forecast unlikely), I will post some of the 18 or so glamour shots of the baby.

Speaking of which, I sat down with Sweet Pea** last week (albeit, it’s tough to sit down without her) and had a good, long talk about setting reasonable goals.

About how her mommy, who is afraid of flying and has vision so bad that she could barely hit the broadside of a barn with a baseball bat from three feet away, probably wasn’t cut out to be a pilot and may have been a bit misguided in applying to (and nearly attending) the US Air Force Academy.

About how her Tatty, lovely in many ways, may never be a member of the Knesset, despite his hopes, and is unlikely ever to reform the Israeli political system.

And about how she, despite her ceaseless efforts, will not be able to dislodge my right hip from its socket for the duration of this pregnancy. And how, against all odds, my cervix is probably there to stay, too.

So enough with the kicking in the hip bone already. Again, reasonable goals.

I am kind of sort of gaining weight. Depending on when I hop on the scale, I’ve gained between five and nine pounds since the beginning of the second trimester. Which is to say that I’m somewhere between “so eat already” and “just fine.” But the baby appears to be gaining weight well and I still feel really good most of the time, so I’m trying not to worry about it too much. I had thought I put on a nice spare tire until the other night when I set my paperback book on the spare tire and it kicked me. I guess that is all baby too.

What’s weird is that I feel more and more ungainly and uncoordinated every day. I can only imagine what it feels like when you actually gain the recommended amounts. Ah well, there’s still plenty of time.

And the kicking is getting stronger. She finally kicked hard enough for her Tatty to feel it the other night.

In other news at Casa Kirby:

I got a new laptop. It is a PC. I have gone over to the dark side of computing, quite literally, as it is a big, black monstrous Lenovo and I am more of a sunshine and kittens, white, Macbook girl myself. Oh well. It’s for work and has a really nifty big ol screen and stuff. And it wasn’t that expensive. Downside: Vista. I’ve had it for a week and only took it out of the box today. I fear it. I’m still not quite sure what happens if you close the lid without asking permission from the OS first.

Passover is firmly upon us. Because of the kindness and generosity of others, we’ve yet to actually cook anything at home. And it’s pretty warm outside, so I’m planning on living off of yogurt and chocolate.

We are home for most of the week relaxing, but we’re scheduled to go to Ein Gedi and Masada on Thursday. Suffice it to say a tour near the Dead Sea sounded like a fabulous idea two months ago when I was a) not that pregnant and b) cold. The folks planning the trip have already assured me I can take the cable car to the top instead of hiking. Note to self: Bring vast quantities of water. And chocolate.

Tomorrow, we’re hoping to go to Jerusalem and visit the Israel Museum and Shrine of the Book. Many museums in Israel are free during Passover since most of the country takes a vacation and this one is no exception. The whole museum is far more than you can take in during one day, but we’re only visiting a small portion of the exhibits since most of the permanent collection is closed until the end of remodeling in 2009 (or something to that effect, please don’t quote me).

And of course, no week of vacation would be complete without a trip to IKEA. The last time we were there, two weeks ago this Friday, we purchased a dresser with a changing table topper, a mattress and a little shelf. We were assured the matching crib would be in stock within a week (64 of them on order – hey, it’s a small country), so we’re hoping to buy the remainder of the furniture for the baby’s room at that time.

* I am almost certain there is an official name for this, but when it’s “ho hum, everything’s normal” it’s very easy to blow it off afterward.

** My mum called me Sweet Pea as a little girl. She passed away on April 23, 2000, and I think of her so much this time of year. So much has happened since she died (graduation, marriage, aliyah and pregnancy), but I hope she would be proud of me and where I am today. It’s strange to think that next year at this time, God willing, we’ll have a little someone to be proud of too.

That pic I promised you…

Here it is. This is the hubby and I sharing a tender moment just before Shabbat last week

Okay. Not really.

But sometimes I feel that way. Like when I try and flip over in bed. When I do that, I don’t get a treat, either.

Here is the real pic of my tummy on the mirpeset (patio) last week before Shabbat.

I was going to upload a pic of a cow as a segue into my next topic.

It would appear that I might be well prepared for nursing. Before you vehemently agree (“I mean, look at the size of those things…”), let me just say that I am not referring to the … uh … size. Rather the proclivity for production. It would appear that my body missed the memo about delivering late this summer.

I am … on just the one side … lactating a bit. Enough to make a mess of my bra. Enough to irritate my bra’s inhabitants.

I don’t know if this bodes well for breastfeeding or just bodes well for the nursing pad industry (buy your stock now people!). But I think it’s quite freaky.

Anybody else had this happen? Does it get worse as you get farther along? Did lanolin help to keep the affected areas in good shape? Does this mean I might have milk?

Mind you, I had hoped to be able to nurse and had expected said nursing would do a number on the anatomy. Kind of like I had anticipated the whole “getting up every two hours” and being awake at 3:45 a.m. bit.

I just didn’t expect them at 20 weeks.

Over the Hill

Depending on which count you’re following (yeah, cause I know you’re all on tenterhooks re: my pregnancy – “what will happen next?!!”), I am 20 weeks today. I know the ticker says Wednesday is week change day, but I’m too damn lazy to fix it.

From here on out, I am closer to a full-term baby than I am to infertility – but damn if it still doesn’t seem like a long way to go. To say that I have failed to grasp this would be putting it mildly. I am hoping that delivery, like Pesach, goes away if you don’t think about it. Check back with me in three weeks to see how this plan worked.

It’s a weird place to be, this midpoint. On the one hand, I don’t really feel all that pregnant (aside from looking like I swallowed something) and I am waiting to really Be Pregnant. This still feels a good bit like faking with the possibility of motherhood so far, far away. On the other hand, the idea that, God willing, I will have to get my shit together within the next 20-something weeks and start being a parent makes those little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I have finally reached that point. The “what the hell was I thinking” point. I planned on being here several years ago and thought I might never have to pass it since I waited, but I’m still here.

Maybe that’s what they mean by midpoint.

In other non-bowel-related news, I’m having some owies on the insides of my hips. I am told this is round ligament pain and is normal in pregnancy. It’s not bad enough to do anything about, but it’s annoying since it only hits me once in a blue moon. When it does, I feel all frail.

I chickenshitted out of posting a pic last Friday. It was largely (no pun intended) a shock for me to see what I look like. I am trying to drum up the courage to post a belly shot, but I assure you there will be no head attached.

I’ve also found a lovely way to sooth the savage beast within. I’m already in love with this baby, but I could do without the 3:45 a.m. wakeup with kicking. I’ve found that when our smallest kitty, still really a kitty, curls right up next to my bump and does the vibrating purr, two things happen. All kicking stops. And it feels as though something, not necessarily a hand, is rubbing against me from the inside. I’ve never been simultaneously overwhelmed with emotion and love while being completely freaked out by the fact that my little girl is petting her kitty from within me. Ack.

I have lots of good posts swishing around in my soupy brain and I will try and find some time to get them into wordpress here shortly. In any event, remind me to post the ones about the bus seat and the cow.

Fire in the hole!

First up: 19 weeks and counting. I will, bli neder, post a pic later this week – check back late Friday.

This is a TMI post that’s not for the faint of heart. Or bowel. Read with caution.

A friend once told me of a funny thing that happened in her pregnancy.

Right around the 20 week mark, her body opted to start making dookie again. To slay the chocolate dragon, if you will. It came on without warning.

Given the ridiculous amounts of fiber she was consuming, prior to the change, in order to emit one tank shell per week, this caused some problems. We had tried to talk her down off that ledge, warning her that it would eventually have to complete the circle of life, but to no avail. What goes in must come out, often in a crampy blaze of glory. We all know you can’t talk sense to a pregnant woman.

You see, without the intestine-stunning effects of iron supplementation, 60 grams of fiber a day is a bit much. She was caught with her guard down.

Guard here having the meaning a super-duty adult diaper.

She done shat herself. In the middle of a parent-teacher conference where she was most certainly the teacher.

And so I begin my sordid tale…

Shaksuka’s Revenge

For the record, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. All I know is, the kid is a sabra. And she likes the spicy food.

Damn you, spicy food. Damn you and your siren song.

So one day at work I was starving and had failed to bring a lunch. I ran downstairs to the little cafe and looked for something acceptable. In lieu of some very benign pasta, I thought, hey! I’ll have a sandwich.

Except I was craving something spicy. And it was cold out. And I like eggs.

So they made me a sub sandwich of sorts – maybe a foot in length – with shaksuka as the filling. Hummus, harissa (again – perhaps I was drunk), shaksuka and veggies. I was starving. I inhaled the whole thing with a fervor usually reserved for religious fanaticism and boy bands.

Now, I usually like spicy food, so it’s not surprising that the kid does too. And my tummy usually tolerates such things quite well. But this stuff is something altogether different. It’s like olive green and magenta plaid – it clashes with itself.

Within half an hour, I was feeling it. I tried to make it better with some chocolate. It didn’t help. I cut out of the office a bit early and headed off the hubby at home with some spiel about needing more sleep, etc.

But this is me! I’m not due for a brown bum monkey for another three days!

I got into my PJ pants. And then it hit me. I made a dash for the bathroom – and – nothing. Nada. Zip, zilch, just painful cramps.

I headed back to my bed to sleep off the worst of the damage. Upon sitting down on my lovely clean sheets…

Well. You can guess how this story ends. It was the first in a long day of losing fluids at both ends. I originally blamed some mushroom pasta, but I’m beginning to think it was the eggy-pepper goodness.*

Between my vomiting, the cats’ frequently misguided urination, the dog’s excited spewage and me crapping my own pants, my poor husband has cleaned up more emesis in the last three months than you can shake a mop at.

And some people say we’re crazy to plan on using cloth diapers.** Those people have never felt the wrath of Shaksuka’s Revenge. I defy my kid to come up with anything as filthy.

It is the one field in which I dutifully pray my child will be an underachiever.

* Cause I did it again today. But I think my digestive tract may win this latest battle, even if it loses the war.

** Which I might add are lovely and soft and arrived in the mail from the U.S. today.

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