Pink Prickly Pear

Pineapples aren't supposed to wave.

Yesterday, mini-pear and I stopped in at this little gourmet grocery store down the road from us.  I've been on a Nutella quest and this was the last local possibility.

I found my Nutella ($4.50 for the smallest possible jar), resisted the $10 jar of strawberry rhubarb jam, and decided to pick up some greens.  As I stood looking at the produce, the whole refrigerated unit appeared to roll in a slow undulating wave towards me.  My first thought was that I was going to pass out, a thought confirmed (in my mind) when my knees sort of buckled. 

"Mini...I think I'm going to faint..." as I reached out to steady myself.  The softly waving unit shuddered and rattled under my touch.  Behind me jars of salad dressing crashed to the ground and shattered.  The butcher's voice rang out loudly, "We're having an earthquake!"  He hardly got his sentence out, and all was still again.  And that was that.

Wet clean ups in every aisle.  I looked at the shelves supporting the produce, amazed they hadn't cracked or anything.  There was a mild buzz of chatter, as the few employees and customers shared comments on what they'd just felt.  Mini-pear hadn't noticed a thing.

We've periodically felt very mild tremors at night, so I didn't think much more of it.  Only later on did I realize this was part of the quake originating up near LA. 

I got peanut butter crackers and I caught up on my reading

How's that for mundane?

I had my 32 week pre-natal visit yesterday.  Scheduled appointment time?  11:15.  What time did I actually get with Dr. Wonderful? 5:00.

It's not like nobody warned me.  I made sure I brought a book, a knitting project, lots of water and a granola bar. 

At 1 o'clock, a nurse offered me a snack.  I gratefully accepted the peanut butter crackers.  Just before  2 o'clock, she popped her head around my door, "Sorry about the delay.  You're next."

And then he had to rush to a birth. 

So I went home, made a smoothie and gave the poor neglected dog some attention, before heading out to pick up mini-pear from camp.  As soon as I arrived at the dojo, Dr. Wonderful's office called, "He's on his way back in!"

Mini-pear had spent the afternoon at the beach.  Her hair was sandy, wet and snarled.  Sand lined every last crevice of her body, including her eyelids.  Her rash guard and shorts dripped. 

I thought perhaps we should stop home for a shower, but she rustled up some dry clothes from somewhere in her backseat nest, "I'm okay!  I've even got a couple of books back here!"  So we were back at the office by 4:15.  I would have been seen earlier, but there was some last minute "procedure" he had to do.  I don't even want to know what it was.  Sounded like we were at the vets for all the caterwauling emanating from the next exam room.  Kind of undignified.  I think if you can repeatedly yowl the word, "Ow," it probably doesn't actually hurt that much and you are just being a drama queen.  Moaning, I can understand.  Same for unformed yowling, but "Ow"?  Give the rest of us a break.

Despite having waited hours to see him, Dr. Wonderful came in as if he had all the time in the world to devote to our appointment.  No internal exam;)  No ultrasound;)  No "Now, if you change your mind about this VBAC thing, we can always just section you."  No uterine rupture/dead baby scare tactics.  We listened to the heartbeat (good, strong, chugga-chug along) and then he very gently gave my abdomen a feel, "Oh, this boy's going to be just the right size..."

"You think?  Mini-pear was 8 lbs. 11 oz."

"He'll be a good seven lbs.  Just right."

That would be very nice indeed.

So, it was a very boring day and none of the chairs I rested my rump in were quite comfortable enough for my current needs, but I'm not going to complain.  I only have a few weeks to go.  I will put up with the long waits, because...well, because he's Dr. Wonderful and every time he farts, a fairy gets its wings.

Morning routines are for suckers.

Talk about a self-fulfilling prophesy!  On occasion, upon hearing that mini-pear doesn't go to school, a new acquaintance will respond with some variation on the following theme: "Wow!  I could never do that!  I'm just so glad to get them out of my hair all day!"

And I usually think, "Well, sure, if you're kid is at school from 8 - 3 every single day, and brings home a couple of hours of homework, where's the fun in that?  You play drill sergeant in the morning, rushing them through breakfast and out to the bus on time, and then later on that day you have the pleasure of greeting  a kid who is either exhausted or needs to release all the energy they've had to contain all day long, and then you get to hustle them through hours of homework, dinner, and all the prep for the following day.  I don't think that sounds like the type of relationship I'd want any more of either!"

Well, Mini-pear is at day camp all week and I am so over it.  If we had to do this every week, I think we'd have a completely relationship.

My job, every morning, is to repeatedly remind her to:

• finish her breakfast (she hasn't managed to actually finish it all week)
• just put on the clothes we laid out the night before, as opposed to trying on four different variations of outfits inevitably retrieved from the dirty laundry pile (dirty clothes are more comfortable)
• brush her teeth (three times is usually a charm, even if accompanied by scowls and vicious eye rolling)
• wash her face (she'll do this when she brushes her teeth, I suspect this is what the dramatic sighs are related to)
• pick up the bagged lunch I've made and actually bring it with us
• pick up her extra bag of gear (this changes every day depending on the activity)

It's so sad!  I'm having a hard time keeping my decibel level from going up with each reminder.  I suspect I'm guilty of some dramatic sighs and eye rolling myself.  By the time we actually get in the car and on the road, I am so ready to just drop her off.  Because then I can relax and and I no longer have the responsibility of shepherding her through some externally mandated schedule.

By three o-clock, I'm looking forward to picking her up, but when I do, she's tired.  She's also pretty hungry and usually spends the drive back home eating the lunch she didn't manage to eat during lunch time.  When we get home, she's grouchy and irritable.  I manage to coax the barest minimum of details about her day. 

I want my happy little girl back!  And I'm sure she wants to see the last of Bitchmother.

Do you believe in magic?

Last week, we spent an afternoon at the beach with some friends.  Some of the boys had dug a huge hole, and this, of course, was of great interest to a pair of much smaller children whose group was situated behind us.  As far as I could tell, this wasn't bothering our boys, but it certainly seemed to be bothering the mothers of the much smaller boys.  

After much repeated redirecting and forcible removing of the smaller boys from the hole, one mother finally laid out her ultimatum:

If you don't stop doing that, I'm going to cancel your birthday and you'll be three forever!

Wow.  This lady is sitting on a gold mine and doesn't even know it.  In youth obsessed Southern California, mad skillz such as the canceling of birthdays and the aging that inevitably accompanies them would be very well received indeed. 

The poor kid was suitably impressed and went and sat on his blanket for a good long while.

In which I fail to indoctrinate my child properly *pats self on back, nurses shot foot*

The other morning, our new social worker paid us a visit.  No, CPS isn't after us, this was just another step in the protracted process of renewing our orphan visa.  She took a little tour of our house (hopefully she didn't notice the removed smoke detectors - mini-pear cannot sleep in their presence) and noted the the family-friendliness of the neighborhood before we sat down in the kitchen to review our paperwork.  Hopefully at that point she unconsciously noted the smell of the banana nut muffins we'd made (pretty much expressly for the purpose of our house smelling "homey", although we certainly liked eating them as well).

We chatted for a while.  She asked us lots of questions and hopefully I didn't talk too much.  I think her eyes widened a little when I started rapturously going on about how I'd still be lactating when we traveled to China!  And wouldn't it be great if our little adopted baby could experience all the benefits of extended breastfeeding?!?!

Then she asked if mini-pear could join us for a couple of minutes.  Of course, mini-pear had long bored of the excitement of a new visitor and was now very involved in something on the computer.  She reluctantly joined us in the kitchen, answered the first question and danced merrily off.

"Uh, mini-pear?  We still want to chat with you for a couple of minutes!"  She returned, even more reluctantly than before.  The social worker asked her if she was looking forward to the new baby, and also still looking forward to the adoption?  Did she know anything about China?  What does she do for fun? And then - "So how's homeschooling going with mom?"

"Good."
"Yeah?  What's your favorite subject?"
Mini-pear frowned, "Well, since we don't really do any of that stuff I don't really have a favorite.  I guess..."

Oh.  Crap.  I mean on one hand, this is great.  We've achieved one of our primary objectives - life and learning are seamlessly integrated for her.  On the other hand, this is a social worker sitting on the other side of the table, and from her perspective, I'm sure this looks like a big red flag.

I wrap my arm around mini-pear's waist, "I think if I had to guess your favorite subject, I'd say it was history, huh?  You really enjoyed learning all about Elizabeth I, didn't you?"
"Yeah.  Okay.  History."

Social worker's pen hesitated a moment before she neatly added "History" to the little list of interests she'd compiled.

Yikes.  Or as mini-pear might say, "Shikes!"

I suppose next time I need to prep her a bit.  Maybe explain that those happy hours in the backyard, creating new habitats for woodlice?  Those are Science credits.  So are all those times we spend kicking around the tide pools.  Karate?  That's something called P.E.  Hey, you're even picking up some Foreign Language skills at karate.  Writing to your best friend back in DC?  That could fall under English.  I suppose for a rising Third Grader like yourself, it's still called Language Arts.  Same for those short stories you write.  Those creative stories you tell?  Those don't really count, because there's no evidence of the work.  When you got out that fraction game we have, and used the pieces to play "cake shop"?  That was Math!  Especially when you tried to see which combinations of pieces made a whole cake!  We did a lot of Math on our trip, when we kept trying to figure out "how long 'til we get there".  Oh, and when we made chocolate chip cookies last week?  That was Math too.  When we were reading together the other morning, and we stopped for a minute to look up Jamaica (the location for the story) on a map, that was Geography.  Watching six Simpsons episodes in a row?  Your dad and I suspect you are working on your comedic timing, especially given your recent interest in memorizing complete comedy routines (I love your very dry delivery!).  But hey, maybe we're wrong.  Maybe you're just relaxing and there's certainly nothing wrong with that.  If you were in Film School, we could categorize watching The Simpsons, but you're only in Third Grade, so it's just vegging out.  It might even be very, very bad for you.  The American Girl book club?  History (U.S History).  Watching Cate Blanchett as Elizabeth I?  That's History too!  It probably doesn't count though, because British History isn't required for Third Graders in California.  Reading everything Beverly Cleary has ever written?  That's Reading with a capital "R".

I could prep her, but I think it might suck the joy out of it a bit.  All she knows is that she spends her days exploring what interests her.  No one's ever told her that it's something she has to do.  Nothing is required.  Nothing's out of bounds either.  It's all fun, because it all has meaning.  What else would she do?

You can pack a lot of kale into a smoothie before it alters the taste of whatever fruity goodness you've got going on.  In fact, this is a relatively small amount of kale, because I'm saving some for tomorrow's smoothie.

My iron count is low again, even though I've been taking a daily slow release supplement!  Even though I've been eating hamburgers!  So, time to get serious and start overloading on the green leafies.  Any excuse to make a fruity smoothie;)  And one of the most efficient ways for your body to get the iron out of any given food, is to consume it with Vitamin C (but not calcium, so make this a yogurt-less smoothie).  They really do taste just fine with a heap of kale.  In fact, when I asked mini-pear if she wanted some, she called back, "Yes!  But don't forget all that really, really good for you stuff!"

While I'm talking about stuff that's really good for you, I have to share the good news about my dentist appointment the other day.  A few months back, when I went for my first dental appointment in years, I was told I had first stage periodontal disease.  I had my roots planed (if you're a masochist, book yourself in for this procedure post haste!), increased the time I spent with dental floss, and purchased a water pik.  So, at my appointment this week, I was informed that I am well on my way to reversing my periodontal disease, which is a very good thing, because who wants soggy bleeding gums and loose teeth?  Not I, said the fly.

That news is good, but what's even better, is that I used the relaxation methods we're learning in our Hypnobirthing class, to relax during my deep cleaning.  For people with periodontal disease, even people who are reversing it with hours logged in front of the bathroom sink, a cleaning is typically a none too comfortable below-the-gum-line affair.  For the first minute or two, I lay back in the chair, trying to be good, but letting myself internally fret, "Gawd.  How long is this going to take?"

That's not very helpful!  So I closed my eyes, started sleep breathing, brought up my peaceful relaxation image, and everything else just melted away.  I was so deeply relaxed, that when I experienced a Braxton Hicks contraction (an all too frequent occurrence these last few weeks), the only way I noticed it was because I had my hands draped over my big belly.  A little voice, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, just sort of noted it as a curiosity, "Oh...you're having one of those..."  I had 2 more while in the chair, but they only registered because my hands could feel my abdomen tightening.  No internal discomfort whatsoever.

My hygienist was totally amazed and said she'd never seen anyone so completely relaxed during a procedure.  Here's something I also found interesting - afterwards, I didn't feel any residual soreness or aching either.  A nice plus;)

Grey hairs don't mean a thing to a lady with a predisposition towards pink hair.

This morning I had a doctor's appointment completely unrelated to pregnancy - a physical exam to complete one of the many steps required to renew our expiring orphan visa.

I think I threw her for a loop, walking in her office, preceded by my Shetland pony-esque belly, asking for her to sign off that I'm healthy enough to adopt an infant.  "Yes, I've got baby fever that bad..."

But that's not why I'm here.  I'm here to mark an occasion.  I'm pretty sure my doctor is younger than me (she only graduated last year!) and that's a first.  Kind of made me feel a bit...well...old.

In which I am late to the party...

So late, in fact, that it's now a book.

I'll be nice and suggest that if you are drinking and perusing your favorite blog, you might want to swallow what's in your mouth and set down that tasty beverage so it doesn't end up all over your screen and gum up the keyboard and such.

We had a quiet long weekend.  Oh, wait, it's Wednesday already!  Weekend's long gone. 

At any rate, I did not feel much like leaving the house and mini-pear had a little sniffly/scratchy throat thing happening.  As she was looking forward to day camp at the humane society this week, I thought maybe hanging around the house and resting up was a pretty good idea.  Mini-pear was not so sure.  She likes her running and jumping and climbing time at the park.  We managed to get a little of that in, but not for hours on end (as is her preference).  Our faux-Kapla blocks made an appearance, and that is always a good way to while away the hours.  We bought a set of 100 at IKEA a couple of years ago, and they are the coolest blocks ever.  Except now they've stopped carrying them, and if we wanted to add more to our collection, we'd have to buy the real Kapla blocks which are significantly more expensive ($45 for a 100 piece set, as opposed to $6 or thereabouts for the IKEA version).

So as I said, mini-pear is at camp all week, and I'd hoped to organize the house a little, find some way to manage the ever growing stacks of artwork and other mini-pear output, sort through some baby clothes, etc.  I'm doing a little tiny bit of that, but mostly I've been "ponderous", as Mr. Pear puts it.  I feel like I have so much on my mind, I might explode.  We're updating our home study for our adoption, and so I've been scheduling appointments and organizing paperwork.  It feels a little odd to be gathering all that information at the same time as I'm trying to reconfigure my prenatal care. 

That's where my "ponderous"ness comes in.  I'm compiling a list of questions to ask my new OB, but I'm also interviewing midwives and having a good long think about all my options.  So think-y!  I am not the type of person who enjoys this sort of decision making.  It overwhelms me, and being in a state of indecision wears at the old brain.  I sometimes find I rush the decision-making process, just so I can breathe a sigh of relief, "Well, that's all decided..."  I also don't have all the information I need yet.  I can't really decide until I actually meet the OB and see what he's got to say for himself, and I need to meet some midwives in person.  Not having enough information, and wanting to make a decision sooner rather than later is burning holes in my skull.  Patience is not a virtue I've spent much time cultivating.

I need a break from it all.  It's a little grey here this morning.  Perhaps a good day to knit in front of some deliciously bad television-streamed-over-the-internets.

What's wrong with rainbow colored mist?

We had our first HypnoBirthing class on Tuesday night.  Before actually attending the class, I thoroughly anticipated popping in here on Wednesday morning to poke a little good natured fun at it.

But I really want it to work.  So there will be no good natured poking of fun.  It's already working.

I came home and dutifully burned both of my CDs (guided relaxation and birth affirmations) to my iPod.  I've hung my birth affirmations in the bathroom to read while I'm conducting my new and improved drawn out dental hygiene routine.  Last night I read my assigned reading, turned off the light, and settled in with my earbuds for a little guided relaxation through the rainbow colored mist.  I also have some journaling/visualization of the birth before I go to class next week.  Hmmm, when I visualize what I want, what I really, really want?  There's no hospital in that picture.  Fortuitously enough, there's no hospital in Mr. Pear's visualization either.

We'll see.