And they say black is a slimming color.
Monthly Archive for January, 2008
Page 2 of 2
To everyone out there who tells me how pregnant women are glowing and blissful  Liar, Liar!
As I enter the final weeks, I am not glowing and certainly not blissful.
(1) I have “Placenta Brains.” This is an actual diagnosis given to me by my doctor and nurse. It means I can’t remember your name, my name, and where my toes are.
(2) I cannot breathe. This means that my body is now head-neck-boobs-GIANT TUMMY-legs (see explanatory graphic). Everything that used to occupy my entire body region is now encased in a 10 by 10 area behind the boobs  and that is constantly being pushed by the mini DotandJay, henceforth known as mini DJ.
(3) I cannot sleep. She is getting so huge (and powerful) that the kicking isn’t “cute” anymore. Mini DJ moves, stretches, punches, kicks, and does whatever the hell she does with the force of a not-so-mini WWF tournament. Remember, all this happens from the inside out.
(4) I cannot walk a block without sitting down. The doctor kindly reminds me I am circulating 50 percent more blood volume than before and that, together with my extra whale pounds, makes me breathless and grouchy.
(5) I am losing my appetite. GASP! Did you just read what you read? Dot may be hungry, but nothing looks appealing at this point. For once, I am eating to live.
It’s my blog, and I’ll pout if I want to. Pout if I want to.
You would pout too if it happened to you.
In every self-respecting baby class, the instructors never fail to remind you to prepare a “playlist” of your favorite songs for labor.
And please, why is every pregnant woman’s “favorite soothing songs” always assumed to be a bastard version of adult-contemporary-orchestral-music-that-sounds-like-Yanni?
As you all know, I don’t do music.
I do NPR, talk radio, musicals, stand-up comedy, and Sting (I can pretty much sing every song except for the Police years). And oh, I do Monty Python.
Do I do Monty Python.
I asked Jay the other day how the nurses might feel if I played Jerry Seinfeld or Monty Python in my hospital room.
“Is that even allowed? That’s not really ‘music,” I said. “Do you think they will be offended?”
“You can do whatever you want, Dot.”
Words soothe me. And nothing soothes me like funny words in funny songs.
I figure if I’m going to be in excruciating pain, I might as well be laughing.
Please to enjoy, one of my favorite Monty Python songs ever from The Meaning of Life, Every Sperm Is Sacred.
The way I look at it, this should probably be the anthem in birthing rooms.
There’s no before in this before-and-after photo.
Just be glad I even paused long enough in my inhalation of Dick’s burger and fries to shoot the aftermath.
I think there’s a fry or two left in the bag. And possibly some root beer in the cup.
I knew 24 hours ago I was going to have a Dick’s Deluxe Burger. So this was deja vu, just with actual grease and fats.
I routinely have those moments  of knowing exactly what I am going to eat the next day. And I’m not even talking about being pregnant. This is NORMAL Dot behavior.
I’d like to consider that my motivation for waking up.
Because waking up to Krispy Kreme, bacon and eggs, or char kway teow sure beats work any day.
I don’t “New Year Resolute” easily.
I know what I like and I like what I know.
I think they call it Old Age.
One idiosyncrasy I’ve had since FOREVER is my top ice-cream choice: I love Neopolitan.
But my ideal Neopolitan is 40 percent chocolate, 40 percent vanilla, and 20 percent strawberry. I don’t like strawberry ice-cream, but I will eat it in combination with chocolate and vanilla.
The same goes for chocolate and vanilla. I can’t eat them alone. They HAVE to be with each other, and ideally, with a tad of strawberry.
Jay gallantly eats more strawberry when he scoops his Neopolitan, just so I can keep the proportions for my Neopolitan.
You may think I’m anal retentive, but I know I’m not alone.
If Ben & Jerry’s comes up with the “80-20 Neopolitan,” you know that I was robbed.
Robbed, I tell ya.
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