Baby Dreams

We all have special talents. Mine is sleeping. I’m really, really good at sleeping. WELL KISS THAT GOOD BYE MS. FORTY – YOU’LL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN! And that’s why I know am speaking with a public defender and attempting a Stand Your Ground defense based on Mommy-shaming and the fact that I managed to kill someone by hurling a canister of Tums at their head. (It is Florida, I have a better than average chance of being acquitted). Seriously, I’m a champ at sleeping. Last night, Mr. Forty put Tiger Balm on my chest, because I’m having a “time.” It seems nothing in my person is working. At all. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t word, I can’t get off the couch. Everything hurts, or feels weird, or is annoying the shit out of me. And critter, who is being still today, decided yesterday to scope out his entire treehouse and basically had the Zooms non-stop.  (The Zooms, alternately, the Rips, is my term for when the dogs suddenly decide they need to be everywhere in the yard/house/car at once). After Mr. Forty put the magic creme on my chest, I went night-night. Immediately. Really, less than a minute I bet. And I had dreams. Pregnancy dreams are the best – they’re very real and lucid and bright. I have been enjoying them very much – even the disturbing ones are still so profound and rich with symbolism. Last night was the first time I dreamed about Critter as a baby. He was very small and, in dream-like logic, often morphed from baby to puppy without me feeling a bit concerned. It was also not a bit disturbing that I had fashioned a car seat for him out of pizza boxes and metal pizza pans. He seemed quite content strapped to a silver disk and riding around in the car.  He was obviously a newborn, but his eyes were wide open and he was smiling quite a lot (neither of which rank high on a newborn’s resume).  He also was talking. Not complete sentences, but attempts at basic questions with some gibberish thrown in for good measure. We had a lively chat. Mostly about how old I was and what should he call his grandmother.  Then he lifted his arms up and I picked him up under his arms and stretched him out – much like one of our cats likes to stretch. All perfectly normal I’m sure. Then he morphed into a teenager.  I’ve had a few teenager dreams about him, so I knew immediately who he was. Currently, he looks quite a bit like his father (when I met his father at 17).  He was in a band and Mr. Forty and I were very proud to see him do something artistic and creative (Mr. Forty plays guitar and I hope Critter picks it up at some point. It would be best if he played it I suppose, but if carrying around a guitar gets him laid, why put in the effort I guess….).  We asked Critter what the name of his band was and he said, “Try Age.”  We asked him to spell it… he spelled it t-r-i-a-g-e. I woke myself up from fear.  Oh god I hope he isn’t an...

Efforting

It’s one of those idiotic corporate-speak words, “efforting.” As in, “Efforting is being made to show an improvement in negative profitability by inverse hiring.” Truly, it’s a magical, stupid language, something that should be preserved for all time as an example of the frailty of human enterprise. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about vacuum-brained corporate drones. Just a brief observation tonight: it seems like my entire existence these days – and I mean this in an entirely positive way – is based on scouring my brain for anything that has ever given me pleasure or reduced pain in order to combat the myriad tweaks and discomforts that comprise Ms’ current existence.  I mean, she’s not, or doesn’t seem to be, a walking pile of fail or anything. She’s remarkably fit, limber, and energetic. For anyone, I mean, not just for a pregnant woman. But she’s suffering any of a number of system failures these days. Low blood pressure? Tingly sensation around her solar plexus? Foot pain? It sends me into this overdrive mode of “Ok, I need to fix this NOW!” She noted last night that I’ve become awfully protective lately. And it’s true. She doesn’t need protecting. She’s tougher than I am in every way. But I figure we’re dealing with some pretty hard-coded genetic imperatives here.  It makes me chuckle. Now off to figure out whether Tiger Balm will give our baby...

Personal Space? Management Issues? Preparation?...

I have to share what just happened. I am in my office.  I really have to go to the bathroom. This happens a lot now, without notice. Critter shifts and HOLY SHIT I GOTTA GO!!! I stand up. “Ms. Forty, do you have a second?” “Uh, yeah, I guess.” “You’re standing, and holding your side.” “Well I was going to go for a walk, I’m good.” “I’ll walk with you.” “Nah. How can I help you.” Work talk ensues for about five minutes.  FIVE MINUTES. Finally, I can take it no more and I walk out of my office. That person says goodbye.  Walk past one of my team member’s offices. “Ms. Forty, do you have a second?” “Well I was about to run to the bathroom actually.” “This will only take a second.” I have no idea what I agreed to – shipping charges for something overseas I think. I turn the corner. “Ms. Forty, I’ve been think about this all day….” Another epic discussion about how many buttons to order to celebrate an event. I walk the hallway to the bathroom. “Ms. Forty, I was wondering if you know how to get the ads out of a YouTube video I want to show in a presentation…” I had two people follow me into the bathroom to ask me questions. Which I answered while I was in the bathroom. And you have the audacity to tell me that kids are gonna change my life? I can’t take a piss at work by myself. I got this. I got this no...

Another amazing night with kick ass women...

You know who can quickly set you straight, answer your questions, allay your fears, and leave you laughing? A gaggle of highly intelligent, sophisticated, opinionated women, who can’t currently squeeze into a booth at a restaurant. We had another dinner of the Knocked-Up Mommy’s Club last night. One mommy suggested a name change because if you shorten it, it becomes the KUM Club. Her suggestion had the opposite effect, as every Mommy squealed with delight and embraced the name even more.  Because we’re kinda sick bitches like that. Damn I needed that dinner last night.  I really did. I needed to hang with other ladies. Our group gets together whoever is available and fortunately it’s a group that totally understands, “I feel like crap today, not gonna make it,” better than anybody. However, for me, if I was shedding a limb yesterday I still would have made it to dinner. I feel really protective of our little group. We share pretty intimate things and we talk about the tough stuff along with the fun stuff and the funny stuff.  It’s very cathartic. I feel strongly that my pregnancy has benefited beyond measure from the advice and support of these beautiful women. While I don’t want to divulge too much, there was one fascinating thing that came out of last night’s meeting that I think might also put some perspective on why we all get along so well… While discussing certain elements of maternity leave it was revealed that the majority at the table were the primary breadwinners in the family.  I have been sitting with that since it happened. Now in our situation (Mr. Forty and I) this was totally part of the deal. He moved to my city for me. He has a whole new practice to build and that takes time. Fortunately, I have a fantastic job with tremendous benefits (one being that we’re a pseudo-government agency – so Hello 12 weeks maternity leave – thanks Clinton!).  In fact, for my sanity and who I am, I am blessed and thankful that it we are in this situation. If I had moved to Mr. Forty’s town, I would probably have, by default, found myself in the SAHM (stay at home mom – for those of you who aren’t on parenting message boards) group. Who knows, maybe things will figure themselves to a point where Mr. Forty wants to be a SAHD (you can figure it out on your own now, I gave you the formula). That is his right. If he really takes to Critter-Keeping, why wouldn’t I want that for our son? But Ms. Forty, what if you want to stay at home? Uh, thanks for thinking of me. I really do appreciate it. I do think I’ll have to cut back at work (which is something, for the most part, I can do). I am not as efficient as I could be, mostly because I never had to be. Hell, I’m supposed to be writing an awards submission right now. Instead I’m writing this, because (and this really isn’t bullshit) if I sit down and write all this kind of stuff out of my system, I can get into the mindset of business of technical and business writing faster. So this is actually a good exercise.  Because look at this – I ramble like a 1964 Dodge Rambler. Anyway, I like work, it’s me. I get that from my dad I suppose. I will need to...

So here we go…

Told you I would need a place to microblog: Just had a thought that when I do go back to Facebook (at this point I’m guessing after Critter is born), I’ll start only posting Joel Osteen inspirational quotes and Tea Party memes with the subtext of “this baby HAS changed everything!” Just to fuck with people.