Milo = large jicama

This comparison between babies and produce makes me laugh. I like it, overall. Especially when he was just a tiny little blueberry-sized guy. I'm not sure I need as much help in imagining 3 3/4 lbs and, even if I did, I'm not super familiar with jicama. I do have 3 lb weights at my house, having participated as much as most people have in the at-home fitness video movement. At 36 weeks he will be the size of a Crenshaw melon, which does me no good b/c I've never even heard of that. Anyway, the thought of Milo as a jicama is a little bit cute.

He's very elbow-y and pokey but less turn over-y than he used to be, which is apparently b/c he's getting so big in comparison to his space. I like it when I can feel a little elbow or whatever on the outside of the belly. He used to sort of lean against one wall or the other and Kevin and I would spend time poking around until we found him (i.e., found a solid part of the belly), but now he's pretty much close to the surface all the time and all over. The only difference is when he pokes out a foot or whatever, which you can see/feel as a solid bump or asymmetry (for those of you who haven't actually had this experience before). The belly button is still hangin' in as an "inny" but it's really being pushed to its limit. Also, a lot of it is now on the outside, as it has become very shallow, and that skin is all soft and hairless, having been indoors for 32 years. Anyway, I have pretty much avoided baby talk up until now but it's pretty much the topic of conversation these days.

Better pictures of my cats

I think that these postures do a fairly good job of illustrating their natures, particularly if you consider how close I had to stand to take the pictures.



Here, Chloe is getting ready to bolt b/c I've been standing so close for so long (approx. 10-12 feet away for about a minute).



Wyatt, on the other hand, is only still curled by himself and not actually sitting on me b/c he's asleep and doesn't realize I've gotten up.

Check out my limnology pumpkin!

It's a Chaoborus about to eat a Daphnia. I'm so happy.

Near escape

I have two indoor cats who don't like car trips or schedule upsets or change of any kind. Their names are Wyatt and Chloe. This photo of me and Wyatt, the friendly cat, is the only cat photo I have on this computer so it will have to do even though you'll have to imagine the other cat, Chloe, who is smaller, shy, and calico. You would have to imagine her meow anyway, which is very tiny and high-pitched. She spends her days hiding under things and running away.

I came home from orchestra rehearsal yesterday at about 8:30pm. It was dark and I was on the phone with my dad. The front light was not on and I was carrying a lot of stuff. So, in I bustle, with a vague realization that the door was open and I couldn't see anything in the dark. I put down my things and proceeded into my bedroom, shutting the door, so that I could finish talking to my dad. Time passed... I finished my conversation about a half hour later and came out into the kitchen to fix myself some good old PB&J and to unload the dishwasher, etc.

As I'm eating, I notice Chloe sitting in the doorway. She's very shy and doesn't usually like to visit so I'm a little surprised but I chat with her. She meows and sort of shuffles back and forth a little. She stays there staring at me so long that I decide she must need something so I go over to where she is and follow her into her room where she runs under the bed and I notice that she may sort of need water so I fill her bowl. While I'm filling, she follows me back into the kitchen. If she were a child, she would be doing a sort of impatient potty dance. If she were a grown-up, she would be clearing her throat. At this point, Chloe and I have spent more time together than in the typical week and I'm starting to worry. Suddenly, I realize the missing piece. Wyatt, my usually very needy/whiny/vocal cat is uncharacteristically absent. So, I call him, which usually illicits an immediate response. No Wyatt. Now I think he might be sick so I start looking under beds. This is when it hits me that I came into the house in the dark, with lots of stuff, and left the door open for a while. Wyatt has been in escapee mode lately and I realize, "Disaster! I have lost my cat to the great outdoors!" So, I go rushing to the front door and open it, look around, and then call Wyatt, "Wyatt!" Immediately, the sad and distressed Wyatt comes rushing up the front stairs in crouchy, near-the-ground, panic posture. This is the posture he uses when children come into my house. He was released! He had been out there for maybe an hour at this point! He was traumatized. I have no idea where he was but his nose was dirty. Possibly under the front stairs? I can only imagine that he'd decided that he'd been abandoned and was going to have to learn to fend for himself in the wilds. This was particularly accentuated by the fact that, when he finally gained re-admittance, he ran immediately to his food bowl and started snarfing food. He'd decided that he'd been left for dead! He didn't talk to me at all for the rest of the night. He didn't even yell at me. He just sulked. It was very sad. This morning we had a chat and he explained to me that I'd hurt his feelings...but only after Kevin forced him to get up and talk to me (he was not boycotting Kevin). Anyway, I'm glad he's back and I'm glad he's not the sort of cat to run away. I suspect that he's now regaling Chloe with tales of the outside. She won't be impressed. She lived outside for months before she came to live with us. I should have pointed that out to Wyatt...

The fun theory

Here's something to renew your faith in the human species.



What's charming about this movie to me is the way so many people are willing to enjoy themselves during the course of what's probably just an ordinary day. I mean, that's the obvious conclusion but I guess I imagine that the jerkholes around me in crowds are not the good-time fun sort of person that I am. So, I think the piano stairs would not only be good times for me but it would make me like people more, if this were happening on my commute. I like the man who takes his dogs up the stairs. They probably aren't allowed on the escalator but I would imagine that their reaction to the musical stairs would be funny. I also like the people who sort of go up and down. You can imagine trying to play a song and then realizing it would be too hard. Chopsticks would require multiple people for sure. And heart and soul--I don't think there are enough keys.

On the other hand, based on my experience at Ikea, things that are fun and cool for families in Sweden often get decimated and f-ed up by American families. We can't maybe be trusted in the same way. Or maybe the Swedish Ikea has a lot of broken stuff also but they have higher paid employees who care enough to clean up the mess. Either way, I've noticed that a lot of the perks and entertainment items from early in Ikea's time here are now gone...having spent several months sort of sad and broken. I sure wish I had some delicious meatballs right about now.

Okay, fine, maybe later.

Now that I've waited this long, I'm saving the nursery blog for after the curtains are up and the rug is purchased. Buys me time.

Instead, I would like to share with you one of the most hilarious things I've seen recently, which is timely for me. I currently pee 3-4 times per night and every time I remind myself that this is actually really great and peaceful compared to what's to come since peeing just takes a minute and feeding a baby takes 30 minutes. Alternatively, sometimes I can't get back to sleep after peeing. Still I think it's probably more restful to lie there trying to sleep than it is to be feeding a baby. But, who knows. The point is, this NYTimes piece is hilarious.

Soon, very soon, nursery photos...for now, sisters...

Having gotten the nursery painted (white), Kevin and I assembled the crib and started diverting all our baby stuff into the room. Next, my dear friend and I visited Ikea to get the decorating started. It's all very charming, but I don't have photos to post yet so you'll have to wait.

In the mean time, I'm trying to come up with something else to post so that my angry political post can move down the line. Based on npr this morning and the person who is maybe the person second most interested in my nursery (...maybe third), I will talk about sisterhood. Anyway, our nursery theme was her idea.



The author of the npr book asserts that, "In some ways, siblings and especially sisters are more influential in your childhood than your parents." This was certainly true for me. I don't have any photos from my childhood, but, trust me when I say that most of them were taken with my sister. That's true for most people with siblings, I suspect. I think my parents did an excellent job with parenting so I don't think there's any way around it but, when I think of the major familial influences on my personality, my sister does feature somewhat more prominently than my parents.

I think that having an older sister may make the effect more profound since she was there from the day I was born. In addition, her opinion was super important to me and my opinion didn't become important to her until somewhat later. She played a major role, consciously and unconsciously, in helping me to decide on things like what to wear and whether or not I was attractive (conclusion: not when compared to her). She was popular and pretty and always had a boyfriend, so, really, who better to ask. Anyway, as I get older, I still process what these things mean for me now. I point now toward an article in the new york times on birth order. Apparently it's not as important as we think but I fit so well into the laid-back, funny, and adaptable second child role. Plus, Time magazine points out how consistent birth order stereotypes have been historically. Man, it would have sucked to be the younger sibling of a president!