The Pregnant Palate

In for 2009: Hot chocolate, Edy's Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Ice Cream, Grapefruit, Grapes, Kale Smoothies, Vegetable Chili, Yogurt, Egg Salad

Out: Raw Kale (tastes like grass), Iceberg Lettuce, Egg Rolls, non-Chipotle Mexican Food. Desperately wanting tuna salad (mercury) and trying to live with salmon salad (yucko)

Formerly In:Chipotle Burritos, Hot Chocolate, Granny Smith Apples, Oatmeal, Egg Salad, Bagels, Fruit, Dilly Beans, Strawberry Granola Bars, Coffee yogurt

Formerly Out: All non-Chipotle Mexican Food, Lettuce, Egg Rolls

Such a little kid, so much stuff

This morning was sort of an unexpectedly tender moment. I finally took a bunch of tags off the mountain of clothes that our little one has received from family and friends and decided to wash them all (7th generation for sensitive skin) and put them away in his drawers. And it seemed like a simple idea when I started, but somewhere in there I realized I was washing my baby's clothing for the first time and it seemed this wonderful tangible act of caring for him. And it wasn't hard to realize that it was an action I will perform over and over again once he is actually here, eating, spitting up, and pooping all over the place. This first time they got washed on cold gentle cycle, but I suspect they will be up for heartier washing in the future.

I can't believe such a little peanut could acquire such a mountain of stuff. Right now he has a plastic upright of drawers (we're still waiting for the crib and dresser to be on sale or something) and he has pretty much filled them up with clothes already. He was quite a popular little recipient at Christmas this year. It seems as though we already have enough clothes to dress the little guy in a different outfit every day! And although I am trying desperately to be a practical mom who thinks of poopy-blowouts and ease of washing, I am a total sucker for the adorable little outfits people have found for him: monkeys, giraffes, elephants in blues, greens and yellows. Adorable. And so funny to think that I am busy cooking the little body that will someday fill those clothes.

And he also is starting to accumulate a nice bunch of entertainment. Aunt Mary got him a fun Fisher-Price rainforest crib soother so he can press the button and make the monkey swing while soothing classical music is overlaid with rainforest sounds. Wild technology. What did we have as kids? Wind up music boxes in our teddy bears? My sister Bridgette gave the baby a cool Fisher-Price exercise mat for Christmas because she won't be here for the Wisconsin shower: she is a reservist who is shipping out to active duty for 400 days beginning in January.

Preggers at Christmas

After a mad-dash through the maddening labyrinth of Philadelphia airport, we arrived (panting) to discover that our connecting flight out to Chicago was delayed by more than an hour. So it gave us some time to grab a bite to eat and settle in for our own little long winter's nap.

It is always sad to leave the McDonnell's at the end of a visit. And this was a particularly nice visit. In addition to the lovely baby shower that Denyse threw for us, we enjoyed a big family "brupper" (brunch for supper) with the extended family on Saturday. Everyone wore their Christmas pajamas while we enjoyed quiche and Pat's masterful pancakes. After brupper, we played a Christmas exchange game that involved rolling dice and picking from a pile of small gifts in the center every time we rolled doubles. Much fun was had by all.

Friday night while sitting together on the couch, Terry's sister Bri became the first person other than the two of us to feel the baby kick. The next night at Brupper, after a nice dose of delicious maple syrup, he was pleased to oblige more of the family, so Denyse and Pat both got to feel their squirmy little grandson. Terry's cousin Jenny barely put her hand on my stomach and she got one of his stomach-shaking Pele-style kicks.

We also went out for a delicious steak dinner to celebrate the dual birthdays of Terry (31) and his brother-in-law Jesse (30). I lamented the need to have meat that was fully cooked instead of deliciously rare.

On Sunday, the day of Terry's actual birthday, we went out for Five Guy's Burgers, a Washington DC favorite of his that is spreading out its roots. I don't know whether it was those mouth-watering burgers or the cajun fries, but the munchkin started doing these crazy flipping acrobatics. He's usually a pretty active kid, but he was unusually squirmy and vigorous, rolling around and punching out with all four limbs at once. And he's kept up that level of activity ever since. Last night was the first night since I've been pregnant that his little antics have made it tough for me to sleep. Normally he's a pretty chill little guy at night. I'm hoping it will taper off sometime soon as he settles back in (perhaps recovers from the holiday sugar rush? Mommy was a little less than disciplined with the cookies). Otherwise this is going to be a long, sleepless, Tums(R) filled final three months.

Wilmington Baby Shower

Wilmington Baby Shower

We are very blessed to have lots of friends and family who love us and are excited about our upcoming arrival. Unfortunately, our loved ones are scattered all over the country. So we are having several showers to make sure that we get to share the experience with everyone.

While we were in Wilmington, NC visiting Terry's parents for the holiday season, Denyse put together an awesome baby shower, complete with a sort of Asian meets baby pastels theme. We played a few fun shower games (including "guess Erin's circumference") tested our knowledge of nursery rhymes, and just enjoyed each other's company (all the while with kiddy favorite songs playing in the background). Everyone was so warm and so very generous. You can view the whole album by clicking on the link, but I'm attaching some of my favorites here for you to check out.

Me posing the ever-bigger belly with the beautiful table set up.

Bright, beautiful and tasty (chocolate!) cake.

Aunt Mary proves that she's got the best eye to size up my big belly.

Everyone poses with the extra lengths of ribbon from the belly size guessing game. Everyone guessed long but Mary, who pretty much got it spot on.

Me with my mother-in-law Denyse, who gave us a great little camping outfit and the baby's first ever pair of jeans.

Me showing how Ghanaians wrap their babies and carry them on their backs, using a cute blue plush monkey.

Lots of cute boy's clothes, including some that folks picked out thoughtfully with a camp theme in mind, knowing this baby is going to spend plenty of time at Camp Anokijig.

Instead of cards, everyone was asked to contribute their favorite book for children. We got lots of amazing soft books and books with things to feel and play with.

Yeah for clothes with Mommy on them.

Mexico Babymoon

Terry and I got on a plane the day after the US elections and headed out to the sunny Mexican Riviera. On the plane I had my first doubts: we didn't really like the so-called "all inclusive" cruise we took for our honeymoon, so I was starting to get nervous that we wouldn't like the all inclusive hotel we'd booked for our babymoon. The fears melted away as soon as we walked into the gorgeous open-air lobby, with a giant thatched roof and an open central area with "jungle" through the center, populated by scarlet macaws, peacocks, several monkeys and something that looked like a chicken-sized guinea pig with longer legs.

The staff was amazingly friendly, the food was about as decent as you'd expect (but not more), but I thoroughly enjoyed waking up to the tropical morning and enjoying a little Mexican chocolate to start the morning off. After that, the day was ours to do as we pleased. We took a couple of special trips. One took us to this giant theme park thing called Xcaret. It was one part tropical animals, one part adventures (snooba, snorkling etc), and one part Mayan cultural extravaganza. Another day we took a day trip to Chichen Itza to tour the most famous Mayan ruin. Other days we just took it easy at the hotel, reading books by the pool, eating chocolate ice cream, sipping blended lemonade, or swimming in the super salty beautiful ocean.


On the beach in front of our hotel

In the lobby of our hotel, in front of the open air center section (with macaws and monkeys and whatnot!)

The hatchery at Xcaret, a sort of Mayan culture meets nature meets tropical zoo sort of theme park.

On a cool spiral building in Xcaret just after doing our underground river snorkling adventure.

In front of awesome lagoon right by the sea turtle hatchery in Xcaret.

The main temple at Chichen Itza. Named one of the new seven wonders of the world. Incredibly precise agricultural calendar where the movement of the sunlight across the temple accurately marks the solstices hundreds of years later.

In front of the awesome temple of the warriors and thousand columns.

Self portrait in front of the main temple.

The natural sinkhole (cenote) from which the entire compound derives its name: Chichen Itza.

On the way back from Chichen Itza our tour stopped off at a different natural freshwater cenote where you could swim.

The cenote looks all totally exotic lost world, eh?

Self photo above cenote, where you can see all the tiny swimming people.

Hello December! Hello Belly!

I've been pretty behind on all things in life it seems these last few months. And somehow despite not achieving all my goals--personal, professional and otherwise--the time has flown right by. At any rate, while I still need to put together a post with pictures of our fabulous amazing wonderful "babymoon" vacation to Mexico, I wanted to post a quick update.

Yesterday we got back into Chicago after Thanksgiving with my folks in Racine, which was nice and low key this year because it wasn't the whole clan gathering at Grandma's, it was just Terry and me, Robyn and Andy (her boyfriend), Mom and Dan, and my stepdad's sister and son. Even still mom managed to put together a totally impressive spread including a nice roasted turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, etc. My sister and I both eagerly drooled over the sweet and sour cucumbers and apple cranberry relish (both longstanding traditions that date to my Great-Grandma Richter).

On our way home we hopped off the metra to say hi to our friends Lynn and Zack in Waukegan. My allergies to cats and dogs went stratospheric and pretty soon Lynn and Zack were graciously packing us into their second car--a lovable 1995 Corolla named Rufus--to get me back home and to enable us to pick up our Christmas Tree.

Now we pause while I do a little happy dance....Okay I'm back. Have I mentioned that I LOVE Christmas? Emphatically ridiculously love everything about the holiday season. If I had my druthers I'd be blaring holiday music from about June 15th, but out of respect for Terry's sanity I keep it under wraps until the day after Thanksgiving. But since we were out of the country for all the major holidays last year, I had something like two full years of Christmas spirit all pent up.

We took Rufus to Home Depot where we scrutinized a variety of trees for longer than I care to admit. But picking out a tree is a hefty duty! Its like the five points of picking a fine diamond: you have to consider color, shape, fullness, evenness, and scent. We finally thought we had a winner, so Terry (manly manly) hefted the 6.5" Douglas fir over his head and toted it to the checkout where they give the bottom a little buzz. The guy asked if we wanted some of the lowest branches trimmed so it would fit into the tree stand and (stupidly) I said yes. Well, three buzzes of the saw later we stood it back up only to discover it now looked like a man without pants on. The bottom of the tree was hideously bare. With a pitiful apologetic look at the buzz saw guy, we went back into the fray to pick another tree.

We found a great tree, and when we got it home wound up putting it into the stand about sixteen times trying to get the thing to stand upright. I had just about resigned myself to the leaning tower of Christmas when we realized that we needed to trim one of those pesky lower branches and viola! A perfect tree. I think somewhere around effort number nine (when the drill and saw first made their appearance, as did several efforts to shim things with cardboard), Terry lost his patience. But bless him he held on until we got it right.

Today we braved the sleet and flurries to head out to the mall to try to get some more Christmas ideas for Terry, who has so far been a slow starter on his Christmas list. We took several hot cocoa breaks, which made the experience all the more pleasurable.

And I also had what I consider to be a pregnancy milestone: for the first time a total stranger at a store said to me "So, are you expecting a little boy or a little girl?" And then later on the way home we stopped at the grocery store and the check out girl said "Hey Mama!" to me. And after all my bump envy and all the weeks of waiting, I have to say that at least so far, it is just as fun and nice as I thought it would be. Maybe I'll get tired of it eventually, I don't know. But for today, it really really made me smile.

Voting nerves: what world for the baby?

I know we have both Republicans and Democrats among our friends and families. And I love you all. But today I find myself totally preoccupied with the idea that after the election tomorrow, it will be in some ways a subtle shift, but it has amazing implications. I remember growing up and wanting to be President some day, and feeling that people's responses to this were at best indulgent. Like it was cute but totally unrealistic that as a woman I could ever be President.

If Obama wins, our baby will never know a world where people believe a black man cannot be President of the US. If McCain wins, the baby will never know a world where a woman could not hold some of the highest offices in the land, and be a heartbeat away from the Presidency.

And that is a pretty amazing thing.

It's a Boy!

Bright and early we went downtown for the 20 week ultrasound today. And we came away with a small roll of glamor shots featuring our kiddo!

Doesn't he cut a dashing profile? What a cute little kiddo.

Boy it is cramped in here. Can't a little guy get some space?

Adorable little footsies and toesies. And he's rubbing his feet together just like his dad does!

Welcome to the gun show. The beach is that way.

After all I've said about the baby looking less alien. In this shot of the spine, he really looks like a velociraptor.

And for those who are curious...

All evidence points to "boy."

Now don't rush out and start buying blue clothes folks. We're still hoping to get gender neutral clothes. Think yellow, green and purple. Or black pleather.

Halfway there! Checking in on the baby's development progress

I recently took time to catch up on what the baby has been up to (other than frequent somersaults and judo practice sessions).

• By week 18 the baby has vocal chords already and can go through the motions of crying, although there is no sound. It made Terry a little sad to read that our baby could be crying already.
• The heart is formed with all its chambers.
• By week 19 the baby had assumed the waking and sleeping patterns of a newborn.
• Scalp hair was beginning to form. And between fuzzy Terry and my Armenian heritage, I'm thinking our kid is a furry one.
• Teeth have begun to form.
• By week 20, myelin has formed on nerves (to improve their functioning) and the nerve cells for taste, smell, hearing, seeing, and touch are now developing in specialized areas of the brain.
• The baby not only hears sounds outside the womb, but may also startle visibly in response to sounds.
• According to average growth progression, the baby is a whopping 6.5 inches from head to tush already!

As we move through Week 21, here's what the baby is working on now:

• Skin is becoming more opaque instead of translucent.
• The tongue is fully formed.
• Baby practices swallowing
• Most amazing to me: if our baby is a girl, all of the eggs she will ever have are already formed inside her. Isn't that astonishing? Half the genetic material for our grandchild is already waiting inside the baby. If she's a girl. Which we don't know yet.

What a busy little baby. No wonder the baby wants so many Chipotle chicken burritos to fuel all that work...or is that just me?

Bump Envy

So for a while I've had a major case of bump envy. And before anyone mentions it, let me just declare: I know intellectually that I should be glad and grateful and whatnot that I have not gotten very big yet, that my old clothes still mostly fit (with a little help from the bella band). Grateful that my small belly means that I have avoided balance problems, back problems, and can still competently tie my shoes. And I get that...in my head. But the other part of me, the irrational impulsive one, is just really envious of all those cute pregnancy bumps out there.

Part of this probably stems from being something of a late bloomer in the boobs department. Something of that jealous mentality probably sticks with me. I nudged from non-existent breasts into an unimpressive moderate A-cup over the course of years. It wasn't until the end of college that I had to finally accept that the booby fairy wasn't coming my way with some impressive rack. I had what I had.

I think the other part of my bump envy comes from my sense that the way people treat pregnant women represents what is left of the best of our humanity. There is a social togetherness (sometimes oppressive I'm sure) that leads strangers to smile and talk in ways that otherwise don't really happen in a big city. Whatever damaged vestiges of compassion and kindness to others (some sort of gender-neutral chivalry) are played out for pregnant women. They are offered seats on buses. They are helped with bags.

But for this, you have to be visibly pregnant.

The other day I rode the rush hour el train home from jury duty downtown. I was dressed in a fleece and coat (it was cold) and the train was packed way beyond capacity. No spare square inch. I started overheating but I couldn't get the space to even take my jacket off. I felt sort of weak and woozy and thought seriously about just sitting down on the dirty el floor because I didn't want to fall over. Finally I just imposed my arms all over other people enough to struggle out of my jacket and fleece, and I crouched down over my backpack to try to top feeling woozy. And people just stared at my like I was an inconvenient nut. I wanted to explain, "I'm pregnant. this isn't my fault. I can't help it!" and I found myself jealous of those who carry their explanations for weird behavior prominently on the front of their abdomen for all to see.

Yesterday we went to our first birthing class (ten more to go!). In it there was a couple who were due on March 10th, just four days before we are. And there she sat, all adorably round and rotund. With my tiny little barely-there belly (because lets face it people, its not like I started this venture with washboard abs) I felt sort of like an interloper.

On the other hand, some folks had sort of lumpy bellies. I guess I've nothing to do but keep waiting, try to enjoy my flexibility and comfort, and keep my fingers crossed for a nice belly shape in the future.

On being an initiate to the club

I count myself incredibly blessed that I have been surrounded by the warmth and support of some amazing women in Chicago who have already given birth, and so can offer great wisdom about going through pregnancy, labor, and preparing for motherhood. I honestly don't know what I would do (or how crazy I would be) without them.

When my first close friend went through pregnancy and birth, I remember very distinctly going to visit her at the hospital. It was a day or two after labor, and somehow she just looked different to me. Wiser. More knowing. And I thought to myself "She's in the club." Because there seems to be this thing that women who have been through birth have, like the process of labor and delivery is the sort of thing that really cannot be grasped mentally and must be experienced. Spanish has two different verbs for "to know" one of which means to know intellectually, and the other of which means to know by experience. Women in the club know by experience.

But a totally random encounter, facilitated by the ubiquitous network technology of Facebook, has given me an appreciation of the value of knowing other initiates to the club…first timers like me. Thanks to the magic of facebook, I discovered that three girls I knew (as acquaintences) in High School are all pregnant now as well. One of them is pregnant with triplets! Her name is Erinn (like me, but with an extraneous N). She too is keeping a baby blog with updates on how things are going, and she sent me the link.

I found myself totally absorbed in her little updates. And part of the fascination came with the shared sense of newness. She had one post where she marveled that she no longer really wanted to eat chocolate. Not only did I think “me too! I felt the same way!” but I immediately recognized the tone of her words, because it was the tone of someone reflecting on something utterly new for the first time.

Later she wrote about how she was constantly tired and hungry. And it isn’t that experienced moms didn’t feel the same way, or couldn’t remember it. I think it is more the shared sense among initiates that such a revelation is newsworthy. It is worth putting on our blogs because it is this unexpected totally new experience. And although we intellectually understand that it probably happens to everyone from the dawn of time on down, emotionally we have the sense that this is the first time in the history of the world that this is happening and it is happening to us, and we just have to share what a wild ride it is.

And somehow piecing together this new understanding that helps me explain my craving for the company of other initiates to the club of motherhood has also given me a new appreciation for what I am going through. I have not been someone who approaches each day of my pregnancy like a miracle to be constantly marveled at. Sometimes I have felt it just a mildly annoying state that is a necessary precursor to the joys (and trials) of having a baby. But now, realizing that this is the only time I will be pregnant for the first time makes me want to take more time to stop and appreciate all I am thinking and feeling.

And there goes the baby. Kicking again. Baby likes jury duty.

The "bump" goes to camp

So I've now had several explicit requests for "bump" pictures, which is a genre of photograph that I did not realize existed until recently. I suspect this is one of those types of photos that has been enabled by the easy cheap "take as many as you want" approach to photography that digital cameras have enabled. But evidently people document the progress of belly growth week by week.

So I figured now was as good a time as any to start. I'm 18 weeks along in these photos, but as far as I can tell, I haven't really started to look obviously pregnant yet. But the books and stories all seem to suggest that sometime in the next few weeks I will "pop" and then goodbye normal jeans, hello preggers pants.

So until then, please enjoy the photos of the bump's trip to Camp Anokijig (where Terry and I got married).

First Kicks! Our little gymnast...

For the last few weeks I have been embarrassingly eager about entering the period of pregnancy where you can actually feel the baby moving. With all the screwy little inconveniences of pregnancy, the ability to actually feel your child moving within you seemed to me like the ultimate benefit. So for a while when I lay down at night I try to be very still and concentrate really hard and any little thing makes me wonder "was that it?" and then "How will I ever really know?"

Yesterday I decided in the afternoon that I really wanted to catch the performance of Dirty Dancing (Broadway in Chicago) downtown. I had a discount code good for at least $20 off tickets but it was only good through yesterday. So all spontaneously I called up, ordered two tickets and Terry and I were off to the theater. While walking from the el to the theater, we passed a Garret's Popcorn place (which I have been wanting like a maniac) so we stopped in to get some. We sat on the planters outside our theater while I ate caramel and cheese popcorn and generally enjoyed the unusually temperate evening.

That day Gabrielle had told me the story about how she felt her son kick when she went to the opera. The soprano hit a particularly soaring note and the baby kicked. I was recounting this story to Terry while chowing on popcorn. I joked with him that her kid was all culture and opera, but maybe our kid would be into Dirty Dancing. Munching a little more popcorn I added, "and baby loves popcorn."

We went inside and got settled into our seats. Then as we were just sitting around waiting for things to start, I leaned over and put my head on Terry's shoulder, which sort of crunched up my stomach a bit. Then, all of the sudden, clear as day there it was. My eyes flew open in surprise. I waited for a second one because I wanted to be sure before I told Terry. I didn't have to wait long. There is was again. It was so very clear and distinct. How could I have missed that before? I turned to Terry and said, "I'm not kidding, the baby just kicked!" and he said "Are you sure?" and just to dispel any doubt, the baby kicked again right then. "Yeah, I'm definitely sure."

I was so distracted by the kicking that I had a hard time paying attention to the show at times. The kid was so active! The baby must have kicked more than thirty times during the show, and once kicked me so hard it made me jump in my seat. It didn't hurt, it just surprised the heck out of me. Who knew a kid with legs as thick as your pinky finger could pack such a punch?

Before I felt it, I had read that people describe those first kicks with terms like "flutter" "nudge" or (poetic eh) gas bubbles. Once I felt it, I could sort of see where that was coming from, but none of those descriptions seemed quite right. Flutter was too faint to describe it but it correctly suggested the quick tempo. Nudge had the amount of pressure right, but seemed too slow. To me, it felt most like the way it feels to put your finger on your neck and take your pulse. Not as regular and paced as a pulse, but about that amount of quickness and force to each one.

Terry really wanted to be able to feel it too, and I wanted to share that with him, but all the books say that the dad can't really feel the baby kick for another four weeks. Even so, later that weekend when we were up at Camp Anokijig, we were sitting around the campfire. I told Terry, "Boy, the kid is really active right now! A regular gymnast" and he said "I want to feel!" So he put his hand on my lower abdomen and I moved it until he was pressing right where the kicks usually come. I felt a faint one and said "There's one" but he didnt seem to have felt anything. But when the next one came it was pretty strong and before I could even say anything, I saw him sit up with a giant smile. He said he felt something move, but it was very faint. Still, it was incredibly nice to share that with him. And I particularly liked the poetic setting: at an Anokijig campfire.

New OB: Super Gupta!

There are some things in life that always seem a bit of a mystery to me. For example, how do you pick an OB? My general practitioner suggested that we interview a few. That idea went south fast when we discovered that all three of the practices covered by our insurance (in Evanston at least) charged a minimum of $170 for 15 minutes or more of face time, even if no medical advice was dispensed. At that rate, no interviews for us. And you have to pick an OB for your first appointment at 8 weeks, at which point the pregnancy was still mostly secret. So we couldnt exactly chat everyone up about it. So we got a recommendation from one friend for a midwife she had used. And a doc I really like at student health recommended an OB that she had used. So we ultimately went with the doctor-recommended OB.

And the doctor was nice. She was fine. But we just never clicked. I always felt vaguely uncomfortable and unsure whether she would really support my decision to work towards an unmedicated labor and delivery. I felt vaguely (but increasingly) unsatisfied with how simplistic answers to my questions were, and how little guidance she was giving me. At our meeting last week I didn't yet know to ask about a flu shot, so it didn't come up. Afterwards when I started looking into it I wondered why the doc herself hadnt said "hey, you might not know this because this is your first pregnancy, but the CDD lists pregnant women as one of the key groups that really must be vaccinated for the flu, so you should be sure to get a flu shot." These dissatisfactions were nothing monumental, but they just kept piling up for me.

And then, because this is always my response to uncertainty about authority, I started questioning myself. Maybe my expectations were unrealistic. Maybe you didn't need to feel enthusiastic and rah-rah about your OB. Maybe it was enough to feel like they would exercise sound medical judgment and that was it. The only other evidence I really had for what an OB could be like, at this point, was that I had seen one episode of some documentary/reality OB show on a cable channel. And the OBs on there seemed AMAZING. But that was Hollywood right? they must be exceptional.

So then I ventured the question on an online chat forum for Chicago-area moms. I explained the situation and asked if my expectations were too high. I was so overwhelmed (in a good way) by the responses. Here's a sampling:

• Erin, if you aren't comfortable with your OB (for whatever reason), then you're not comfortable with her. You need to trust this person and this person needs to believe in you. If you don't feel that way, then look elsewhere. It doesn't really matter what your expectations are. You're entitled to get the answers you want and the information you need. You just have to feel like you're in the right place.


• Go with your gut!! I wanted to at the very least leave the door open for a unmedicated childbirth and had big birth plan expectations but was met with a very similar reaction from my OB. I didn't feel comfortable with it, but since it was my first pregnancy and I had no girlfriends to look to in the city at the time, I chose to follow my OB's advice. I followed it into an unnecessary induction, a c-section after 2 hours of pushing, and a pain management strategy (don't chase the pain! Take these narcotics!) that spiraled into a subsequent hospitalization, and a rough go bonding with my girl.


• Im due on Saturday and kinda wish I would have switched OB's earlier in the game. I like her enough but I feel like she kinda dismisses some of my worries and has this positive attitude about the whole thing to a point where I feel like she totally dismisses my worries and concerns rather than addressing them and making me feel a bit more confidant.


• i would switch, but that's just me. you only get to have that baby once.

You only get to have that baby once. And you only get to have your first baby once ever.

And then about two weeks later, after our news was officially out and about the department, I was sitting with Gabrielle and Lori (two new moms in our department) who were talking so enthusiastically about how much they loved their OB. I think raving might be putting it too lightly. And here was this evidence in front of me that real people, people I knew and respected could and did love their OB. And Lori had a natural childbirth with this OB practice and felt like her decision was wonderfully supported all along the way.

And all I could think to myself was: I want that. I want to feel that way.

And then all I had to do was convince myself to act against inertia and actually go out there and see if I would prefer to be with their OB. So I made an appointment.

I was nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof while we sat in the waiting room. I felt like I was on a first date. Maybe more like a first meeting of an arranged marriage. I wanted so badly to like her, to love her. Moreso, I wanted her to like me. Their paperwork was confusing so I was frustrated: where it said "spouses name" (I dutifully put Terence McDonnell) what they really wanted was "insured's name." The staff explained to me that most women are covered on their husband's plan. I almost exploded. It was like walking into an episode of Mad Men where the era is all screwed up.

Plus we waited for an hour. I caught snatches of conversation that told me that I wasnt actually on the book, but that I had clearly been sent the forms to fill out in advance, so they were trying to figure out how to squeeze me into the schedule.

My concerns mounted. But everything went away when Dr. Gupta came in. She is a short dimunitive woman, but her smile hooked me right away. It just seemed so real. And when I talked, she seemed to really understand me. Everything she said back to me was like she was reading a script from my dreams.

I mentioned that I had a terrible episode of migraines. My former OB just offered me drugs. Gupta asked when it happened, and then she explained that when many women enter the second trimester, their blood pressure drops off by quite a bit, and that drop can often trigger bad headaches, wooziness, blood sugar issues. Not only was she explaining to me what was going on in a way that was incredibly comforting (for me understand = comfort), but she was even explaining why I've felt so woozy lately! When I had specifically asked the old OB that, she just told me that some women feel morning sickness through week 20. But Gupta nailed it.

I am also heterozygous (one of two risk factors) for a particular clotting problem. Gupta talked me through what she would do about it. She explained that last year the top medical journal in the OB field published a big meta-study on treating my particular clotting disorder and broke it down by a variety of risk factor combinations. She said that the study's recommendation for someone like me, who was heterozygous but had no prior history of clotting, was not to treat it because all the treatments carry their own risks, and there was no evidence that the treatment outcomes were significantly better than non-treated women. But then she said, "but I am going to go and look up that article again and read through it with specific attention to your case to be sure I am recommending what is the best of evidence-based medicine right now." I was wowed. She was explaining things to me like an adult capable of understanding my body. She understood that as a grad student, understanding what was going on and why would help me feel more comfortable and confident.

When it came to talking about the quad-test (for genetic abnormalities) she was able to explain to us in detail how finding out about some of them might change the way we would do prenatal and labor care. Terry and I had been struggling to figure this out for weeks, and she was so kind and clear about it. She explained, for example, that if we found out the baby had particualr neural defects, we would want to be sure to schedule the delivery for during the day so that they could have neural surgeons at Children's Memorial Hospital standing by to help the baby as soon as it was born. Hearing that made me cry, and truthfully I am crying now just writing it again. That amazing sense of fear of such a sad event coupled with the awe at the idea that so many amazing resources would be marshaled to help the baby if that happened.

It just kept going like that. Everything was like a dreamy first date where they say all the right things. At the end she even told me I should get a flu shot, and that if I wanted they could give it to me in the office and insurance would cover it because it was standard of care for preggers.

I was totally drinking the Gupta kool-aid. I scheduled my regular 20 week visit with her office in three weeks, where we will get the hour-long ultrasound to image all the baby's organ systems and find out the sex. I call my old OB today to officially close my file at their office. I feel sort of like a traitor. But this isnt like I'm cheating on my hair stylist by letting someone else give me a cut. This is just a much bigger deal.

16.5 weeks: belly, OBs and random things people say

I realize it has been a while since I posted on the blog. I really wanted this to be a more regular place where I could capture my shifting thoughts about everything. But I realize now that I have been stuck on trying to write the post about the ultrasound. Somehow it seems to defy my capacity to explain the experience in words. I find myself wanting to use all this saccharine language that is gooey and still seems to come short of actually describing what it felt like to see the baby for the first time. To see how completely formed it was all ready. Arms, legs, toes and a beautiful beating heart. Squirming around trying to get comfortable. At any rate, I am still working on that one (with Terry) but I want to keep the updates flowing anyway.

I'm solidly in the second trimester now, which books and women all seem to describe as a sort of pregnancy promised land. You get your energy back. you feel great, even amazing. Some people say they felt better in their second trimester of pregnancy than ever before in their lives. Needless to say, this sort of talk built my expectations up a bit. So I've been a little disappointed that I actually feel worse in the last four weeks than ever before during the first trimester. Still no actual morning sickness, no puking. So I have to be grateful for that. But I get pretty regular ill feelings that are like nothing I can compare to my pre-preggers life. I've taken to calling it "malaise." My stomach feels terrible without actually giving the sensation that I might puke. I feel woozy, like I might swoon all 19th Century style, so I tend to cling to whatever support I've got near me as unobtrusively as possible and wait for it to pass. It isn't debilitating and I'm still grateful the pregnancy has been so uneventful so far, but it certainly isn't me frolicking in the garden of eden.

Being 16 and a half weeks also means I am sort of solidly in the transition phase from "nobody can tell I'm pregnant" to "I'm obviously pregnant" but this in between stage just makes me look chubby. I've gained about 6 pounds since becoming pregnant, which seems to be within the normal range and somewhat on the low side. Still, all of it seems to be situated at my middle, so I have exactly one pair of pants that I can still wear. It is a absolutely beloved, twice-patched pair of stretchy Gap jeans that I first bought in my freshman year of college. They are like my own personal sisterhood of the traveling pants. They have grown with me over the years (yeah, I was skinnier when I started college, no shock there). And now they are that last stubborn friend standing by me as my chubby-looking-not-yet-rotund-Madonna belly conspires against my wardrobe.

I am kind of looking forward to the rotund Madonna belly phase, although I reserve the right to take that back when it comes (and probably gives me back pain).

Being nearly half way through has also given me cause to reflect on my OB. At first I thought maybe my expectations were too high, or that I was too sensitive. She is perfectly fine, but I do not feel enthusiastic or excited about her. I do not feel like eagerly recommending her to others. And at this point I have just talked to enough pregnant ladies who rave about how much they love their OBs that I realize I was sticking with a mediocre doc for no reason. So we are looking into changing into one of two other practices. One is a practice downtown that several friends have used and loved. It would also mean I was delivering downtown (ugh if I go into labor during rush hour) at Prentice (awesome brand new state of the art delivery area). The other is a midwife (awesome refs on this midwife. awesome a midwife is the actual person who attends your labor, no doc on call) who is part of a practice still up in Evanston (poss better location, although have heard not-great things about the OBs in her practice). So that will all be worked out in the next couple weeks. We have a visit to meet the downtown OB on monday an then tour Prentice.

Also, since we are increasingly out in the open about the pregnancy (although there are still a few close friends I need to call), I have finally been able to observe more widely people's response. And I have discovered there are two things almost everyone wants to find out about. Nearly everyone asks "Are you going to find out what it is?" To which I respond, "Yes" and don't always elaborate on my own reasons. Most people just smile and congratulate us, but a smaller number of people (usually older adults, especially people who gave birth before ultrasounds were common) get a little incredulous and try to convince me to be surprised. I think this is funny.

The other thing is something about half of people ask. Some come right out and ask it, others try to skirt the issue. "Was it intentional? was it planned?" I don't really mind this question, because my answer is "yes." But it surprised the heck out of me. I can't remember ever ever thinking to ask a pregnant woman if the pregnancy was planned. Something about it seems to imply that people would otherwise naturally assume it was not. Now I don't say this to offend you if you are one of the dozens of people who have asked me if it was planned. But I find it a totally fascinating phenomena.

It also makes me really think about a sociological study of pregnancy that I'm familiar with. A former professor looked at low income non-married pregnancies, and found that the question of whether it was an 'intentional' pregnancy was really complicated. In the end, they find that low income women are sensitive to the idea that people may judge them for having a child if they aren't financially secure, so it is risky to tell people that you got pregnant on purpose. But if they say it was an accident, then they get to look very responsible for "doing the right thing" and keeping the baby. Think of Palin's daughter and you get what I mean. If the campaign had announced that her unwed teenage daughter had intentionally decided to get pregnant there would have been uproar a la the pregnancy pact. But if she accidentally got knocked up but decided to keep the baby, she is being responsible in a tough situation.

So yes, in case you were curious, the baby was planned. An academic career never affords a perfect time to have a child. Later in life you have more money but less time as you race the pressures of the tenure clock. In graduate school you have more time, a more flexible schedule, and less money. But right now we are surrounded by an incredible support network of friends and family. It just seems like a wonderful time and place to bring a child into the world.

Second Trimester, Here We Come!

At the last OB visit I had what I thought was a pretty comical conversation. It went something like this:

Me: "So when does the second trimester officially begin? It seems like there's a lot of different estimations out there."

OB: "Yeah. Well, its sometime between the 12th and 14th week."

Me: "Really? No offense, but I thought you guys would have worked it out a little more precisely."

OB: "Nope. Everyone says something a little different. But definitely sometime in there."

It wasn't until the car ride home that I burst out laughing when I finally put it all together. Giggling with a mania that probably concerned Terry, I explained, "They can't decide on a date for the second trimester because those jokers can't agree on how to divide 40 weeks by 3. If we were on a quarter system, everyone would agree on 10 week increments. And here I thought these trimesters were meaningfully distinguished by something important, some deeply medical transition. It's just math. And bad math at that."

Either way, using the incredibly medically precise 12-14 week measurement means that as of this Saturday the baby will be officially 14 weeks old and therefore into the second trimester by anyone's count.

The way people write about the second trimester makes it seem like a return to Eden. If you were sick before, most can expect to get their appetite back. If you were tired before, they say that some women find themselves more energized than they have ever been in their whole lives. If you had to pee like crazy before, the second trimester brings relief. So you are supposed to feel more alert, energized with a sense of well-being, and this is the period where you first get to feel the baby moving inside you and hear its heartbeat. It sort of does sound like a little piece of paradise. And I'm looking forward to being able to sit through an entire movie without a bathroom break.

No Pills: You don't know what you've got till its gone...

Saturday should have been a day of wonderful celebration: on saturday we finished the 12th week, and went streaking past that magical 12-week border that puts us statistically out of the reach of miscarriage. Lots of other scary things could still go wrong, but for that one worry we are out of the woods. I felt so happy that morning when I woke up I could have cried. I dont think Terry ever had any doubts about it, but I carried the chance of miscarriage heavily on me those first 12 weeks. One out of every five pregnancies ends in miscarriage. It seems like so many. And there is something that terrified me about that in particular because quietly, privately, it felt like it would be my fault. I know in my head that most miscarriages happen for hundreds of reasons that have nothing to do with anyone's fault. But in my heart, I felt like I would blame myself if anything went wrong.

So my body decided to celebrate the relief of this momentous day by giving me a giant whopping, crushing migraine. I am someone who gets headaches more than average, so when not preggers I usually dont leave home without a bottle of excedrin. Really. It lives in my backpack. Once every year or two I get about a week of crushing migraines. But usually I pop pills like they are going out of style and that is just enough of an edge to allow me to join the human race.

Not this time. Preggers = no pills. not a lot of drug options that are safely available. I had never tried to weather migraines of this magnitude without the help of pills. And to make matters worse, a number of things about being pregnant (increased blood volume, hormones) actually makes headaches more frequent and more severe. Awesome.

So this thing crushed me. And I pretty much weathered it like a 19th century wilting violet. I lay on the couch with a cool cloth on my forehead, a packet of ice. And I just...laid there. For hours. It was maddening, but moving made my head throb to the point of nausea. Later that evening I finally had to go pee, so I slowly (we're talking a mime doing a slo-mo impression) made my way to the bathroom. No dice. It was too much, so I promptly threw up. Twice. Glorious. It was just too much for me. To further my impression of a 19th century wilting woman, I then sat on the bathroom floor, cried my eyes out (which did nothing good for the headache) and then called Terry to see when he was coming home (from a bachelor party). Chivalrous guy that he is, he volunteered to come home then. Apparently he saw through my guise of "oh I'm just calling to check to see how things are going."

The headache continued full force straight through Sat night and all of Sunday. More awesome. On Sat night after about 12 hours I finally caved and confirmed with the pharmacist that I could take acetominiphen. He said yes. One pill every four hours. I almost wept again. ONE pill? Normally I would have taken at least three of the extra-strength ones. Sigh.

Monday morning it had abated somewhat. I took things slow, but made a token effort to rejoin humanity by actually briefly venturing outside.

This morning (tuesday) began with a battery of tests that they request/require for pregnant women. Which meant ANOTHER six vials of blood. The nurse in the lab chose a sort of weakling vein in a tender spot and jabbed away. It hurt like crazy right away. She smiled sweetly and told me it might bruise. I sort of wanted to punch her, but I'm trying to keep these hormonal impulses in check.

So now I'm sitting in a Starbucks, waiting eagerly for the OB appointment where we are supposed to hear the baby's heartbeat. My elbow is pressed to a cup of ice water (no baggies of ice at Starbucks) to try to calm the throbbing ache where the bruise is starting.

So I'd say so far the last four days have been on the side of "pregnancy can be a real pain in the arse. Nobody tells you about this stuff" but I'm hoping the visit tips the scales back towards "its all worth it."

The Fickle Tastes of the Pregnant Lady

When Terry and I went out to a fancy dinner for our three year wedding anniversary on monday, I found myself befuddled by the desert menu. Those fruit desserts looked amazing. What was wrong with me? Where was the girl who would get the flourless chocolate torte without so much as a second glance at the cobbler? I realized a truly startling fact: I do not want chocolate right now. In fact, I haven't really wanted chocolate since I got pregnant. Before being pregnant, I couldn't get enough of the stuff. I'd take my chocolate cake with a layer of chocolate ganache, topped with chocolate frosting, with a side of chocolate ice-cream. Never enough. But now? Nah. Not really. It doesn't gross me out, I just don't want it.

I've also discovered, after so faithfully documenting my food cravings from the first ten weeks, how fickle the tastes of a pregnant lady can be. That Asian thing? where for six or eight weeks I just couldn't get enough Thai food? Couldn't eat enough egg rolls? Gone. It is a vague turn-off for me now (although not on the order of my distaste for lettuce, beef, or mexican food). In fact, lately I've become a downright picky eater. The past week or so the only thing I actually want to eat is fresh fruit and toasted bagels with cream cheese. But that seems like a recipe for malnutrition and doesn't really help me get all that stupid protein I'm supposed to be getting. So I choke down some meat and beans and hummus and whatnot. But it is all just a prelude to my true loves: cantaloupe. Nectarines. Grapefruits. Grapes. Berries. Mmmmmm.

The fruit thing seems to pervade all food domains. I'd prefer a chicken dish with some fruity sauce to it than anything else. When it comes to dessert, that formerly sacred domain of chocolate, now I find myself wanting cobbler or tarts. An unopened package of mint Oreos sits atop our fridge. Mint thin Girl Scout Cookies sit unmolested in the freezer. Because I really want to snarf those Newman's Own fig newtons.

I suppose I should be glad, because they are mostly healthy inclinations. But not wanting chocolate seems so unnatural to me it is really unsettling.

Checking in on the baby (fetus)

When I first found out I was actually really pregnant, the very first thing I did was scout around to learn about the baby's development. There was something both frightening and thrilling about it. It was frightening first because all of the sites emphasize how much delicate creation work goes on despite a lack of external evidence that I was pregnant. Indeed, by the time we were going to start to spread our secret more broadly (after the 12th week) the baby would have already made all of his or her vital organs, would have little toes and all. Truthfully, it was also a little frightening because while I was in a wash of warm lovey emotion directed towards the little rug-rat, in those first few weeks the embryo definitely looks more alien than human.

The next few weeks mark the final transition (in my opinion) from alien peanut to tiny baby. This upcoming week, for example, the baby will achieve such feats as "Ears shift to their normal place on the side of the head" and "Intestines move farther in to your child's body" (those intestines were previously just sort of free floating outside the abdomen).

Although I monitored these little week by week updates (with photos!) on the baby's development religiously those first few weeks, it had been a while since I checked in on the internal work the peanut was up to. So today I decided to check back in and see what he or she was up to. Terry was looking over my shoulder, and I think we were both a little surprised.

After week ten, the most critical period of development was past, and for this momentous graduation the peanut earns the title "fetus" from its previous "embryo" status. In the last two weeks the baby's placenta has also gotten itself all settled in and ready to fuel the rapid growth that will come soon. The baby's irises are developing and the eye color is already set.

This past week, in another "alien peanut becomes baby" move, the baby's previously webbed feet separated, and it now has perfect, tiny little fingers and toes. For something so tiny, it seems almost impossible, but last week the baby began to grow both hair and nails. Some of its little tiny organs and muscles began practicing for the big show, when they actually have to run that little body without help. The kidneys are starting to practice filtering. Muscles in the baby's little core begin practicing the contractions that will eventually help the peanut eat and digest.

As of right now (based on averages) the baby is a little more than 1.5 inches (4.1 cm) long and weighs a quarter ounce (7gm). What's pretty amazing though, is that the little peanut starts growing pretty fast. In the next week the average baby will grow to a whopping 2.13 inches (5.4cm) and nearly double its weight to 0.49 ounce (14gm).

Terry read the thing about having little feet and toes and immediately began walking his fingers all over my arms and back twittering "little feet all over! little feet!" and but when we got to the length he was sort of sweetly sobered by it. He held his hands apart by 2.13 inches. "wow" he said quietly "the baby is already that big. That's amazing." Then he cracks into a smile, "Way to grow that baby woman!"

The Dawn of Productivity, the Twilight of Leisure

As Terry's last post shows well, we have both been privately contemplating what the coming baby will mean for our lives in a concrete daily sense. For me, this contemplation usually leads me to think of this period of preparation as both the dawn of the new organized/productive me, or the twilight of the old spontaneous leisure me.

I have repeatedly reflected on the idea that teenagers are so terribly stupid for thinking that their parents just are lame, while ignoring overwhelming evidence that everyone's parents are pretty lame (go to bed early, get up early, don't go out much, organized, pro-cleaning). That lameness may, in fact, be a defining characteristic of parenthood with a nearly perfect correlation. And so the thoughtful person might conclude: gee, perhaps parenthood itself is what makes you lame.

Terry and I have both been anticipating the need for being much more organized to successfully balance the demands of work and family once a child is introduced into the mix. He has responded to this by rededicating himself to working hard now, putting in long hours of solid work to make progress.

My response has been somewhat mixed. Sometimes I face an almost crippling anxiety about all of the things that I need to get done. In order to position myself to be successful on the job market 12 months from now (with a baby coming 6 months or so from now), I should ideally 1) resubmit a very high quality version of my article that is in the publication process, 2) draft two new substantive chapters of my dissertation, 3) revise and refine the existing substantive dissertation chapter and theory chapter to use as job market writing samples 4) apply for dissertation fellowships for the following year so that I don't have to teach and raise a baby while on the job market in 2009.

Just writing the list sort of exhausts me. And sometimes I respond by plunging in, making good progress, and working towards my own idealized version of the well organized, efficient and productive gal I'd like to be.

Other times focusing on the upcoming demands produces the opposite effect: I find myself mourning the impending loss of leisure time. Or at least spontaneous leisure time. I can see how easy it would be to have to so structure time that the idea of "quality" time (squeezing a lot of quality into small time periods) becomes appealing. And slow, unstructured, unintended moments of quiet enjoyment seem to fall out of that picture. Or at least they rearrange themselves in my mind into the picture of "kids finally in college" or "retirement." And when that mood strikes me, all I really want to do is sit curled on the couch with some second rate novel and a cup of tea.

The Decider

As much as I like to joke with Erin about "putting those birthing hips to good use," this pregnancy thing is serious business.

I have found myself more introspective...wishing I could have worked out all my "kinks" or "quirks" before they become behavioral models for my soon-to-be-born progeny. I find myself worrying about working harder (better, faster, stronger), more efficiently. I wish I had gotten over my hatred of speaking with customer service people over the phone, or maybe liking spiders more than fleeing from them. Maybe I'll unintentionally pass along my weird food dislikes (eggs, cold cuts, etc). Hearing horror stories of children choking, or tripping, or whatever makes me wish I had routinized my innate decluttering practices sooner (you were right Dad, the clutter patrol was so right). So now, I feel like I have to become a quick study in all these things I've neglected. I have to be the harder-working, customer-service-talking, spider-killing, egg-swallowing, clutter-free, better-than-I-really-am Terry, aka soon to be Dad. It's like growing up for real. So in addition to drafting the dissertation, finding a job, and looking after Erin and the penguin (rugrat? shrinkydink?), I also have to figure out how to act my age.

Erin is all "when I'm screaming during labor, and stuff hits the fan, and the doctors want to take drastic measures, I need you to be the voice of reason." I'm "the decider"...who knew? Well, I guess I knew. I don't want to come off as naive. I knew what I was getting into, at least in a hypothetical, I-have-witnessed-friends-pull-this-off kind of way. But the reality of making choices about the health of my wife and our penguin weighs rather heavily--as it rightly should.

So I have fun distracting myself from self improvement by sifting through name books. I have this idea for a NCAA tourney style bracket for potential baby names. Friends vote on head to head match-ups, culminating in a winner, or at least an elite eight/final four. Now don't get me wrong...it's not like your votes would actually choose the name of our child. But it might be a fun exercise in futility. That, and it can help rule out some of our (my) bad taste (what's wrong with Kermit or Casper?). I must say, I do have a killer list of baby names going. I'm the best at this game, or at least I think I am. Erin has yet to put in her two cents on the matter. So when it comes to cutting great Gaelic names that no American can accurately pronounce, Erin is the decider.

End of the 10th Week

Today I was doing some random to-dos, which included looking into scheduling our first ultrasound and signing up for a childbirth class. I looked at our google calendar where we are keeping all baby-related dates and I found myself staring at tomorrow, because it marks the start of the 11th week. And then I was crying.

Terry came over to hug me and all I could say was "Only two more weeks and then the baby will stay." Because after the end of the 12th week, the risk of miscarriage (which is 1 in 5 before) drops off dramatically. And until that moment I dont think I had really emotionally admitted to myself how scared I was of miscarrying. "I want the baby to stay" I say again, muffled into Terry's shoulder. And because I am the emotional one, and he is the wonderful, gentle, even-tempered one, he tells me calmly, "I think the baby will stay."

Even still, I will be glad to pass that 12th week and coast into the second trimester.

For starters, no one told me how soon the impacts of pregnancy affect you. Even before I officially knew I was pregnant from any test, I was already going to pee about twice as often. And it was a mystery to me, because nobody told me that as early as week 2 you can start to feel tired, overly emotional, or that you'll have to pee all the time because your kidneys are working overtime to clear out toxins. I found myself needing an afternoon nap as early as the 6th week, which just seemed intellectually ridiculous. I didn't look pregnant, but apparently it wasn't too early to feel the affects of pregnancy. Some of the downsides of first trimester pregnancy are supposed to subside into the second trimester as the body acclimates to the new hormone levels. Better still, I will be glad (or so I think anticipating it) to move forward into the second trimester when exciting pregnant things start: like feeling the baby move. Or seeing the baby on the ultrasound. And knowing that we are past that fragile first trimester when all the vital systems are forming and so so many things can go horribly wrong. I had already started worrying like a parent even before the baby graduated from "embryo" to "fetus."

But then again, I can't really knock the first trimester so far. Having heard so many horror stories about women (my mother and mother-in-law included) who were horribly sick all the time, I am very thankful that I have been so lucky. I haven't had more than a quickly passing hint at nausea, lasting a few seconds before it is gone and rarely happening more than once or twice a week. So I never really had even one time where I thought "uh oh, I'm going to puke."

Unlike the stories of women who are so sick they have no appetite at all, I don't have that problem. In fact, I have discovered that within the last two weeks or so that I pretty much have to eat every 2 hours or so. I get the rumbly tummy and I have to answer the call with a small but substantial snack. If I eat lots of small regular meals then I can even stave off those small hints of malaise.

People seem curious about cravings, so I'm about to let lose on the list of things I've been loving to eat. But I'm also wondering if the term "craving" isn't just a sort of different term for "want" that seems to have the patina of legitimacy on it. But don't tell Terry. Cravings are scoring me lots of tasty Asian food.

Food Cravings:

• Thai Food (especially vegetable Pad See-Ew)
• Chinese Food (especially chicken with vegetables and egg rolls)
• Indian Food (especially chicken tikka masala and palak paneer)
• Cheese sandwiches or grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato bisque

Are you noticing an Asian food trend? Terry picked up on it early and teases me often about how my idea of giving him a 'break' from eating all that Thai food is when I suggest "well, how about Chinese?" And really, I'll pretty much eat anything Indian.

Favorite snacks:

• Granny Smith apples with peanut butter and raisins
• Hummus with pretzels
• Grapes, nectarines or grapefruits
• Cottage cheese with peaches
• Robyn (my sister)'s Dilly beans
• Onion bagels and cream cheese
• Split pea soup

Things that sound terrible to me right now:

• Salad
• Steak
• All kinds of Mexican food