"Oh fishy, fishy, fishy, fish..."

"... that went... wherever I... did goooooo...."

We're going to The Guthrie tonight to see "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with my parents, and Pete wants to go to a seafood restaurant beforehand. I asked him if it was perhaps a seafood and soft cheese restaurant, and he replied "Yes, a seafood and soft cheese restaurant with really good wine."

He's such a kidder.

You know, this would be an issue for me even if I were not pregnant because seafood is an ecologically sensitive product. Pregnancy just adds another level to the issue because of mercury and chemicals. I don't have my book with me that has the chart in it, so I am trolling the internet for advice.

It's silly, in some respects, and I certainly don't want to be hysterical, but overfishing and mercury are concerns of mine no matter what. The fact that I have an internal dependent just makes it more important. My little fishy is always there, flopping and swimming around. Neither of us need extra mercury, and the oceans need to be treated with a little more respect. As much respect as I afford my little internal ocean.

Pregnant women are not holy vessels or china dolls. Women have been having babies for as long as there have been women. I think it's just the surrounding environment that has become more perilous, and precautions have to be taken, many of which are just good for me anyway. I figure if it's recommended I avoid something, I might as well, even if it's just a CYA.

This is a good list, and I am printing one out right now that will go into my wallet. It's divided by regions, so you can have one for wherever you are and wherever you live. It's not specific to my present natural state, but I think I can remember enough to mentally cross check and find something tasty on the menu.

It's a good thing that there are not literary restrictions for pregnancy or I would be screwed.

Stamina

I have none.
Not to put too fine a point on it.

It's amazing how little I can do now. I'm not sleepy tired, but I am easily worn out from simple tasks. We came home yesterday, and it was a lovely day. First of all you must know that my garden is a mess. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

Wait.

That's another tale.

My garden is a mess, and the weather has been wildly uncooperative for gardening. Furthermore, I have been wading in a sea of hats. Yes, hats. Fluffy, pink tiaras. Mind, they are not all for me or for the future baby, whatever its sex may be. I am not hiding anything from you. I make these hats and then they are sold at Renaissance Festivals around the country. I have been doing this for 22 years, and it's a great way to make extra money. But it does take time away from other things when a fair(e) is looming and inventory is low, and it makes parts of the house look like this: That's a trip to New York City, baby.

But that's a future tale.

What with all the hatmaking and other assorted busy-ness, I have not tended to the garden at all, except to cut down some itinerant raspberry canes and clear out the old horseradish leaves. It's a good thing that I had the sense of forethought to cut down a lot of the old growth in the front gardens last fall, or I would be even more behind.

My mother came to the rescue on Saturday. She arrived and started clearing out in the back. (Look at me! Accepting Help!) It was part of the weekend's Meyers Family Work Exchange Program. On Sunday, she was to be found cleaning out my brother's gardens, and Pete volunteered to make a DVD of the Joseph Musical for Jim and Ruth's church. In return, they loaned us Star Trek: The Next Generation, Season 4, but I am thinking that their might be some room painting labor in my brother's future.

Yesterday, I decided that I had to do at least a little bit, so I tackled the side garden, which is rather small. I cleared out the leaves and pine needles and the old growth; now it will be Pete's job to make trips to the compost yard. I made it the whole way through that section, and I could tell that I was physically done with gardening for the day. My lower back was hurting, and I was actually tired. I came inside and had a bath, then decided to put ribbons on the hats. By the time I was done sorting them by color and had put ribbons onto 20, I was decidedly exhausted from Doing Stuff, and my abdomen was feeling tight. Squirmy tells me when it's time to stop, and I do. I cleaned up in time for our weekly "Medium" viewing, and went to bed.

I have determined that I should approach each day with the idea that I will do at least a little bit of everything.

Yesterday, I did a little bit of knitting, a little bit of reading, a little bit of gardening, a little bit of hatting, and a little bit of laundry.

Today, it will be a little bit of reading, a little bit of knitting, a little bit of laundry, and a little bit of hatting. No gardening.

It's raining.

Muffin Tails

There's something in the garden...We bring Fritz (AKA, Muffin) outside with us sometimes when it's nice. He gets special treatment because he is almost 19. He found budding catmint almost immediately. We were wondering what he was so interested in, until I looked just a little closer.

Man, he's wasted...
And you know what happens when you are high?
Apparently, you get the munchies...
Does anyone else have to deal with this when they are having breakfast?

Living Green(ly)?

Have you watched "Who Killed the Electric Car"?
You really should. Be prepared to be a teensy bit frustrated.

This weekend was the Living Green Expo; it happens every May, and I always go. I find that I am learning less and less, and that it is attracting more and more people. Don't get me wrong:it's a great event. I am only learning less and less because I have already tried to establish sustainable practices, and there's less to know. Now, we go to see who the new vendors are. This year, we were looking at building products and a few baby things. Last year, we were still choosing builders and architects for our remodel, and now we have moved on to thoughts of construction and financing. We're looking at countertops (paperstone), floors (bamboo and marmoleum), decking (recycled composite), and insulation (icynene), and we're begging for money.

One new thing at the show was the Zenn. It's a little electric car, approved in the USA for use only in town at speeds below 25 mph. I would love to replace my car with one of these for running around to the co-op and what not:

It's freaking adorable, and surprisingly roomy. Pete could even use it for gigs that are nearby. I love how it lists its (comparable) gas mileage at 245 mpg. It doesn't use gas, of course, but people want to know these things. It lists for about 17,500. We could plug it into our house; we buy 100% wind power.

My tolerance for crowds is already rather low, and this year, what with Squirmy in there, I was even less tolerant than usual. I knew what I wanted to see, and I didn't want to dawdle. It's no fun to dawdle in a sea of people. Pete's better at blocking things out than I am.

Being out in crowds makes you notice: there are a lot of babies and pregnant women around. I don't think it's just because I am pregnant that I am noticing this; there seems to be a mini baby boom going on. Again, I blame Angelina Jolie.

Cool Thing Number 2

...about my new job.

I just returned to my desk from taking a break to hear Justice Sandra Day O'Connor speak in the Atrium.

"Carrie likes a jaaazzzzzz man..."

I can't help it. That quote from an episode of Sex and the City keeps running through my head. In it, Carrie and Big are friends, and they go out to a jazz club together. Carrie winds up hooking up with the bass player/owner of the club. Big razzes her with that taunt.

I am not constantly referring my life to television shows.

It's probably only once a day, really.

And it's just two shows.

Maybe three.

But anyway. Last night we went to a jazz club for a coworker's birthday--Squirmy's first jazz experience, but probably not its last (that won't be my choice). I put on a dress and got to show off my husband to colleagues who had not yet met him. It was a nice break, sort of a grown up outing, but not in a stodgy way.

The fetus now weighs about one pound, according to the book, and it's throwing its weight around. Sometimes, I think that if it tried just a little harder, the punches and kicks might actually hurt. As it is, they don't really, but they can be quite... insistent. It still has plenty of room in there, and it's using it. A lot. Usually during meetings or times when I am trying to concentrate. The squirmy little alien gets going like a strong-kicking free-style swimmer.

I still feel like this experience is going by very quickly, too quickly, though I am sure it will slow down about August. Today, I was looking at labor room and delivery issues in one of my books, and I put together the list of classes we want to take at the hospital we will use. I figure we should register for those now before time slips away, it's July, and we can't get in. I may look into some alternative classes regarding childbirth as well, but it's probably a good idea to see what the hospital thinks it's all about, as that's where we will be.

The list is:
6-week (once per week) Childbirth Class
Breastfeeding
New Baby
Infant CPR

We can also sign up for a free tour at the end of May. They include one in the Childbirth Class, but I would like to check it out beforehand, just so I know what's up.

What's up inside is that Squirmy is getting taste buds so it can really experience that yummy amniotic fluid, and its brain and nerve endings sense touch. So it's in there sampling sugar-urine water and playing with whatever it can reach. At least it finally has something to do.

If Squirmy is a boy, see above "playing with whatever it can reach", and his testes have started to descend from his abdomen. Maybe they are already down; it's the end of the week, after all. If Squirmy is a girl, as almost everyone seems to think it is, her uterus and ovaries are in place — complete with a lifetime supply of eggs. She never needs to go to the store again, if all is well. Omelets for all!

Gone to the Dawgs

It was Wednesday, and by now you may know that means America's Next Top Model.

I don't want the baby to be TOO smart, after all.

Greta stopped by on her way home to Wisconsin, which was a nice surprise, and Christine and I sucked her in to the show. Somehow, she managed to leave before the elimination, so she's a stronger woman than I am. She brought her little dog, Lupe, who is part Chihuahua and part Pomeranian, and she's freaking adorable and tiny. After they left, and toward the end of the show, Christine and I were speculating on the bottom two and who would go home (we guessed Katarzyna and Whitney, and that Kat would go home, and we were right. Not that this is rocket science), when we all noticed something out of the corner of our eyes. Something on the porch. In one, we all froze and turned our heads to the west.

There, on the porch, were the largest dogs I have seen in a long time. It looked as if we had been invaded by wolves. Two Malamutes were pouncing all over, looking in the storm door, panting and smiling. Even though they looked friendly, their size was daunting. We all remained still and silent while we watched the spectacle. We saw no humans, and when the dogs left the porch, Pete and I went outside to investigate.

They were exploring the front garden, and when I asked them what they were up to, they stopped, perked up, and raced back up the sidewalk and onto the porch, very excited. They were jumpy, so Pete made me go inside to protect Squirmy, and they really wanted to come inside with me. It took Christine and I together to keep the front dog from entering. I am not sure how he did it, but Pete got them into the back yard and closed the gate.
One of them had a tag on their collar, and we called and left a message. It was baffling to me, not how they could have escaped (I imagined them just knocking down whatever was in their way, or jumping over the house), but how two things that large could be missed.

It turns out that the owners were in the process of moving and were staying with friends a couple of blocks away. She came by in a few minutes and picked up the dogs who we learned were named "Daisy" and "Scooby."
"Huskies," she said "are the smarter ones. Malamutes are kind of the stoners of the sled dogs."

Huskies are not that smart, either.

I cannot imagine having two dogs that big. It would be unthinkable in a house our size. The house would be dismantled in days. A smoking pile of rubble with two happy dogs, panting and stinking up the place (they were RANK).

I am thinking that we will eventually have one dog that will be somewhere on the Dog Spectrum between 5 pound Lupe and 150 pound Daisy. Closer to Lupe than to Daisy. I think I will stick with a herding dog and not a working dog. They are both really active, but I like the herders better.

Oh, and Christine brought over another knitty thing for Squirmy:
At this point, Squirmy was not very interested. I held it up to The Belly, and got nothin'. Ungrateful.

Max, however, obviously has some love for it, because it was on the floor this morning after having obviously been molested sometime during the night. It had better get used to it.