Limbo

I am sitting at my laptop in my TV room with "Light Classical" playing on DirecTV's Music Channel 836.

It is 1255pm.

I woke up at 945am with a fairly annoying case of heartburn, no doubt brought on by last night's nutritious dinner of tortilla chips with Tostitos Salsa Con Queso, an orange and a chocolate chip scone with milk.

My appetite has gone berserker since last Weds. I haven't eaten like I was (lost a pound according to doc's scale) and my taste buds are demanding sugar. This morning I ate the last of the Pop Tarts (frosted cherry). I long for unfrosted cherry, but for some reason they just weren't as popular so the folks who make Pop Tarts discontinued them (like 10 years ago and I'm holding a grudge). This reminds me, what happened to the Chopped Beefsteak Sandwich that McDonald's used to make like 20 years ago? I hate when things I like disappear so thoroughly that noone else but me remembers them.

I digress. You do that when you have nothing left to do but wait.

This morning I changed the sheets on our bed, marvelled at the amount of dog hair that's accumulated in our bedroom since Guy vacuumed last week, and spat nails worrying about my infant son inhaling dog hair and either dying or developing horrible asthma.

I took pictures of our dressing room area to potentially send to a production company developing a new home design reality show. It's so bad in that room they won't be able to tell what it looks like from pictures. I may have to resort to some other drastic measure.

I've come to realize today that my husband (Guy) is right about me. I can't stand to be cooped up in my house. It would be one thing if my body was in normal shape and I could go pull out the cushion for the chaise lounge and drag the heavy iron thing across the lawn and set myself up with some reading materials and beverages...it's a gorgeous day out. HOWEVER, I am a walking baby house with a limited range of motion, and I don't last long on my feet. I can't start up some class or group or something because at any moment now my body could decide "it's time".

Yesterday I realized I was hurrying my baby along- becoming annoyed and impatient that he hasn't already sprung out. He's not due until tomorrow, May 5, so technically it's really sort of rude of me to have such lofty expectations. Guy and I will sit there and talk to my belly, pleading and cajoling with him to come out. Sometimes, Guy just yells at my belly.."Hey you in there, get out here already!" I felt guilty for putting pressure on my unborn son, and decided patience would be smarter, and perhaps less stressful than constantly thinking about my dilemma. I would just go on about my days and live my life until the day arrived....good attitude to have.

Ha.

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Tue May 04, 7:20PM

Forty minutes away from another mindnumbing installment of American Idol.

As I mentioned earlier today, I was having some serious concerns about the presence of dog hair in the room where my baby will be temporarily sleeping soon. I found an article from 2002 about the actual benefits of having dogs present around babies - the contribution to their resistance to allergens later on...well I'll be damned if I didn't stumble across ANOTHER snippet about the same subject in this month's Consumer Reports magazine. There was a study done in Feb 2004 that seems to support the same idea.

Meanwhile, today I was crabby and resentful about the state of my home. It's messy folks. I won't lie to you. We're borderline packrats and I was also worrying about how that would affect my son - would he become like us? Would he hate us for being sloppy? Self-loathing got the better of me and I was stomping around teary, cursing dog hair and dust balls and change in the dryer and plaster dust.

Then, later on, pondering over the last book I read Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs, I sort of realized that no matter how crazy my house looks, as long as we love our son and care for him and teach him love and trust and confidence, he will love us and grow up ok. As long as we're a happy family - as long as there is love, it won't matter so much if a sleeve of Saltines has been sitting open next to the box in the pantry for a week. It won't matter that there's a cobweb in the bedroom. It won't matter that the drink glasses we had in the tv room last night are still sitting atop a speaker as I write this. It will be petty and mostly insignificant stuff and one can't really dwell on it and have anything positive come of it. I don't know if I'm ready to accept that being a sloppy housekeeper is part of me, but it seems that parenting involves letting go of some things along with acquiring new skills and attitudes.

I am instantly profound and ridiculous. I can see Guy laughing as he reads this.