Battle of the bangs

I have many things to say about this, but I suspect that bad hair days are the least of her concerns...

Take the time to read the comments at the end. Merrr-ouch!

Is there anybody that doesn't hate Michael Chabon's wife?

And sleep. Can't forget that.

Friends, it's been a long time coming but I think it's time for another dose of THINGS ALISHA LOVES!

- NYC's Christmas tree sellers are already out in full force! (The music, the lights, the heady scent of pine... If that don't get you into the Christmas spirit almost a month in advance, nothing will!)

- The fact that Kiehl's just sent me a $20 gift certificate - no minimum purchase required! (I bought this. Frivolousness is highly underrated.)

- Adorable French bistros and good friends who force you out of the house to join them there.

- Britney might be pregnant again. (Her camp is denying it but if In Touch says it's true - and has the texts from the baby daddy to back it up - than I believe it.)

- The resurgence of the silhouette. (I've got to have this. Plus, custom portraits - only $25!)

- Flensted mobiles.

- The fact that Trader Joe's delivers. (If only they didn't charge me $10 for it.)

- Bread pudding with warm whiskey sauce.

- These awesome glasses.

- This hilariously filthy deleted scene from Knocked Up.

- Blackberry Farm: dream vacation. ("Globe-trotting gastronomes come to this Smoky Mountain property for the intimate three-day cooking lessons and cozy eight-course meals hosted by guest chefs like Thomas Keller. Custom culinary experiences - like whipping up wheels of blue cheese from scratch - and unwinding at the spa are also on the menu.")

- Any of these kinds of toys.

- Three words: Darth. Vader. Booties.

- Discovering Avalon Organics lavender hand cream at Trader Joe's at unheard-of prices.

- Pushing Daisies. (Minus the constant barrage of boobies from every female character. What gives, Wardrobe?)

- The Knuffle Bunny books. (Genius.)

- The privilege of watching Project Runway uninterrupted.

- The privilege of doing anything uninterrupted.

This is a test. This is only a test...

Possum had his first full-scale temper tantrum last night.

I can't say as I blame him. It's got to be frustrating to be nocturnal when there's nobody to play with, and it's probably hard to get comfortable when your bed keeps shifting every ten minutes. Still, I think it's time to have a talk with the little guy about productive ways to channel rage. A few mild thumps to get your point across? Perfectly acceptable. Beating the crap out of your mother's innards? N-O-T.

At this stage of the game, discomfort while sleeping is pretty common. (I'm actually pretty lucky; I've only been dealing with severe sleep issues for a few days. Some women go their entire pregnancies without relief.) I'm supposed to sleep on my left side at all times (helps with blood flow to the baby, keeps his weight off my liver and the placenta) but nagging hip pain sets in fast. Because sleep is more important to me than liver function, I've decided to throw caution to the wind and sleep on my right side too. Unfortunately seven pounds of frustrated baby pressing on one's vital organs is even less fun than hip pain. So I flip back to the left side. Then I flip back to the right side. Then I flip back to the left side.

In the immortal words of the Fonz, you get the drift.

Well last night, Possum was over it. Babies tend to gravitate to the lowest place in the body so if I'm sleeping on my left side, Possum moves to the left side. When I shift to the right, he moves to the right. Which was no problem when he was tiny but now that he's life-sized, the whole thing becomes a little more tricky. Aside from the usual bout of general grumping, last night included flailing, kicking, and a sizable amount of hiccuping. And this went on for HOURS. (At least it felt like hours. I'm pretty sure it was hours.)

Any of you mamas find a good way to sleep? Because the two of us are all ears.

Stubborn.

So I'm halfway through week 37, which is pretty much like week 36, only with more unnecessary panic.

On Saturday I went to the gym for the first time in weeks. (Okay, months.) Somehow between the working and the nesting (read: puttering), the gym hasn't exactly been top priority. But seeing as how I'm due in a minute and a half, I'm getting a little nervous about the fact that this kid hasn't dropped. I was certain that he was going to be early, but between the lack of downward momentum (and dilation) I'm starting to think he might never come out.

That can't happen, right?

So anyway, I decided to help things along a bit by hitting the treadmill. I took it easy (less like "hitting" and more like "meandering") but I still ended up stopping after 20 minutes. My Braxton-Hicks were coming fast and furious (for those not in the know, Braxton-Hicks are like pre-contractions. Painless, but still weird) so I decided to call it a day.

After I climbed the 12 flights to our apartment.

Which is maybe why I started bleeding.

Let me preface this by saying that there was very little blood. Just a bit of spotting really. That said, I am nothing if not proactive (read: fiercely panicky) when it comes to medical stuff so I rang up the doc right quick. She was great, very calming... told me that I'd probably just irritated my cervix and that I'd probably notice some contractions and that might go into labor in the next few days and - WHAT?!!!

There is nothing like your doctor implying that labor is imminent to get you started on that damn hospital bag.

So yesterday I hauled myself in to get checked. Because they were squeezing me in I wasn't able to pick a doctor and unfortunately I landed the head of the practice, Doctor Grouchypants. (I was hoping for one of the others, perhaps Doctor Calming or Doctor Comfortingly Gay.) Let's just say, Grouchypants was having none of me.

"So why are you here?"

"Well, I started bleeding over the weekend -"

"Contractions?"

"No."

"Baby moving?"

"Yes."

"So what caused the bleeding?"

"Well, it might've been because I went to the gym for the first time -"

"Oh that's smart, waiting until the last two weeks of your pregnancy to start working out."

"Um..."

"Why the sudden interest in the gym?"

"Well I was trying to drop the baby -"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Um..."

It pretty much went downhill from there. He checked me for dilation ("Lots of pressure.... lots of pressure...") and said I was fine. You know, aside from feeling like a total asshat for trying to rush things. After all that, Possum still hasn't dropped and I'm still not dilated.

And yes, as soon as I'm done with this I'm heading back to the gym. Grouchypants said it was okay as long as I go slow. (How much slower than slow can I go?)

But this time I think I'll take the elevator.

*Editor's note: Didn't end up going to the gym after all. Decided to putter instead.

I'm always amazed when celebs lose their baby weight twelve seconds after giving birth. Kate Hudson gained 60 lbs with her kid. Milla Jovovich? 70 lbs. Keri Russell put on 40 which is pretty normal, but it still makes this photo crazy. There was a fascinating article in Parents Magazine chronicling what celeb moms go through to shed the pounds and let me tell you, I couldn't hack it. Kate Hudson worked out two to three hours a day, six to seven days a week, and was restricted to just 1,500 calories per day. Heidi Klum worked out 90 minutes a day and only consumed greens, grains, egg whites, and protein shakes. Of course she had one hell of an incentive to get her body back: she's required to drop her baby weight in one month or she loses her $25 million deal with Victoria's Secret.

Of course there's another option. According to a friend of mine, when she had her C-section her doc asked if she'd like a little "tuck" before stapling her up. She didn't go for it but several of her friends had it done and ended up with US Weekly-worthy abs. Normally I'm not a fan of plastic surgery (pick up this month's Radar magazine if you're similarly obsessed with celebrity augmentation) but if you're already opened up, somehow it seems less wrong. I mean you're totally cheating, but honestly, we've all seen my stomach. Ain't no amount of crunches in the world gonna bring back my abs.

What do you think? If you had the option, would you have it done?

Should I be concerned about not being dilated yet? Because you know I'm concerned about not being dilated yet.

On Wednesday they checked me for dilation.

Um, why didn't anybody warn me about this?

I don't know what I was expecting exactly - I just figured dilation was something that the doctor could eyeball. Surprisingly, not so much. I was a little nervous and it only got worse when my sweet little gay gyno started talking to me in his Doctor Voice.

"Just so you're aware, the procedure is... uncomfortable."

Uh-huh.

"Actually, it can be pretty painful."

In my experience whenever a doctor uses the word "procedure" to describe something, it's safe to say that it's gonna suck. This is not what I want to hear when I'm sitting there, my bits draped with a tiny pink towel. It is especially not what I want to hear when followed by "Now pull your ankles up to your butt". It's all just a little too prison movie, if you ask me. He told me that the discomfort happens when he checks my cervix. The pain comes into play if the baby's head is in the way, which it often is. In which case he has to go around the head.

If you think I didn't have a quick chat with the kid about that, you don't know me at all.

The doctor swore he was fast and bless him, he was. Possum was also very cooperative and for that I am grateful.

Still.

STILL.

You know when you have a really bad knot in your back and somebody offers to massage it for you but instead of doing a nice, gentle rub they take their thumbs and push on the muscle really, really, really hard? And how all you can do is thrash around in an attempt to beat the everloving shit out of the asshole who keeps digging his fingers into the pressure point and repeating that you just need to relax, man? Yeah, it feels a lot like that, only inside your twat. People keep asking me if I was effaced and frankly, as loud as I screamed, I don't think the doc even bothered to check. I mean, the man did not linger. I can't imagine what Miss Moo went through, trying to get her babies to turn. (I hear they get their whole hands up there! THEIR WHOLE HANDS!)

So yeah, can't wait to go through that every week. I'm seriously thinking of buying our neighbors a box of earplugs and some miniature bottle of JD come Dec. 12th. I suspect they're gonna get an earful.

God I love pie.

Oof.

That is the official word for the way I feel this post-Thanksgiving day. If I could stretch it into two syllables I would. Between the turkey and the green bean casserole and the rolls and the two (!) types of stuffing and the disastrous potatoes (FYI: instant mashed potatoes? Pretty damn tasty), I'm feeling a touch rotund. Which isn't much different that I feel on a daily basis, but still.

I also had two slices of pie. Did I mention the two slices of pie? OOF.

Is there ANYTHING that isn't made in China?!

Hey mamas, beware: Boppy slipcovers have been recalled.

In this case alls I have to say is, THANK GOD FOR EXTINCTION.

How about a coupon for a free prenatal massage?

I was out and about yesterday when I noticed a new business offering something so unusual, so over-the-top, so perfect for a sore, overtired pregnant lady that I had to stop. There, etched in the glass, were these glorious words:

REFLEXOLOGY AND NAPS

Jumpin' Jehosaphats, foot rubs and naps! Okay, yes, booking an appointment for sleep does seem a touch high-maintenance but if you combine it with a foot rub, suddenly the brilliance shines through. Still, the thought of paying to take a nap smacks against my deep-rooted Midwestern frugality. I mean if somebody offered me a coupon or something...

GET $10 OFF REFLEXOLOGY TREATMENT AT YELO

When all is said and done, doesn’t it seem like many of life’s disturbances can be solved with a good nap? Staying balanced is essential to YELO, a sanctuary designed to help urbanites deal with the pressures of modern life through a unique combination of sleep and reflexology therapies. If the existence of such a place doesn’t put your mind at ease, then maybe this offer will: TONY e-newsletter subscribers can get $10 off any reflexology treatment at YELO.

I think I have to go.

I'm really going to have to do this, right?

Halfway through week 36 - which is pretty much like week 35 but with more exhaustion.

- On Tuesday I have my first internal exam to check for dilation. Rumor has it the procedure is less than pleasant. Any discussion that ends with my doc saying "Don't be surprised if you bleed" gives me pause.

- Started the nesting process yesterday which ended with me sitting in the middle of the bedroom weeping into baby clothes. Between a generous grandma, my former charge's hand-me-downs, and the sale rack at Baby Gap, this kid is swimming in clothing. Even after I weeded through and only kept my faves, his dresser is still completely filled. And that's just the 0-3 month stuff.

Kimono tops, snap bottom one-pieces, footed onesies, two-piece outfits... Seriously, how many does a kid need?! (Seriously. How many does a kid need?)

- I'm heading out this weekend to buy the last-minute essentials that haven't made it off the baby registry. Of course defining "essentials" is tough for a first-timer. (Do I need breast milk storage bags? Should I hold off on a pump? Do I go with the Boppy or the My Breast Friend? Should I go for a swing or a bouncy seat? Do I need a stroller right now or can I get away with a sling? What's the best mat for tummy time? What the hell is tummy time?) I was hoping to get most of this stuff off of Craigslist but because of the bedbug epidemic plaguing NYC, the city is warning people not to buy anything secondhand. Which bites financially and environmentally but after seeing what a friend of mine is going through (she's infested with the little buggers; unfortunately the only thing that kills them is DDT which was outlawed in 1972) I ain't taking any chances.

- According to my last sonogram, Possum weighs in at a hearty 6 lbs, 2 oz. (But according to the doc, he's probably closer to 5 lbs, 5 oz. which is muuuuuch better.) I'm growing increasingly nervous about how little this guy sleeps. During the sonogram the doctor was like, "Wow, he is one active baby". AND I COULDN'T EVEN FEEL HIM! I feel this kid all the time! I assumed he was out cold! Man, if he's awake and I can't feel him... He has to sleep sometimes, right?

Right?

Screw bottles - baby needs THIS!

Eco-Maids in Manhattan Do you ever wish you could live in a five-star hotel – with the thoughtful amenities, turndown service and general spotlessness? Not to mention the staff whose job it is to make your life easier. The idea is almost enough to make you skip the PTA meeting and book a room at the Ritz.

Before you do anything hasty, consider Zen Home Cleaning. Their housekeepers will scrub your apartment from top to bottom – using non-toxic, environmentally friendly products no less. They also burn essential oils while they work. So you're left with air that's fresh and sweet – not suffused with deadly chemicals. And here's the kicker: Upon each visit, they'll change and turn down the sheets, spritz them with chamomile and lavender mist and leave an organic chocolate bar on the pillow.

Now you're just a few 400-thread count linens away from living the high life.

For more information visit zenhomecleaning.com.

Beowulf

So the other night Matt popped this one on me:

"How would you feel if I got a tattoo?"

Um.

Hmm.

Not that there's anything wrong with tats per se (some of my friends have gorgeous ones) but seeing as how my husband is of the geekish persuasion, the image of him sporting a flaming twenty-sided die across his chest didn't exactly warm the wifely loins. Lucky for me he was thinking something a little safer; something to commemorate our upcoming life change. Fear not, no photo-realistic baby faces or anything... He's thinking of getting the baby's name inked on the inside of his forearm.

Is it weird that I find this kind of hot?

I can't help it, there's something about the thought of us both undergoing an intense physical trial that I find really profound. (While I suspect that shoving a pair of shoulders out my Down There kicks getting a tattoo's ass, I hear they're no picnic.) I mean, if I have to have stretch marks for the rest of my life (I sooooo thought I was going to dodge that bullet) it's cool that he'll be sporting our kid's name for all eternity.

Speaking of baby names, until the kid's here we're keeping mum, largely due to the fact that most of the reactions have gone something like this:

Well! (blink, blink) Huh! (blink)

Or:

"Do you mean _____? (insert more common version of name) No? Really? You don't mean _____? Well have you thought about _____?"

Sometimes I just get silence. That's my personal fave.

For the record, the name we've chosen is not at all weird. In fact, we chose it largely due to it's strong, classic feel. No Story or Pilot Inspektor here. (No offense, Jenna Elfman* and Jason Lee*.) Still, until it's written in stone we're keeping quiet. (And for the time being, tat-free.) Who knew choosing a name was so tough?

*FYI: According to Those In The Know, Michael Rappaport was the first guest star on My Name Is Earl who is not a Scientologist.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GEEKSTER!

First and foremost, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the BEST HUSBAND EVER! Although I loathe the fact that you are still - still - younger than me, I take solace in the fact that you have more gray hair.

For now. The kid's not here yet.

HOW COOL ARE THESE?! HOW COOL?!!!

How do I know what size baby bottles to buy?

Wait, week 36 ALREADY?! Wasn't it just week 35, like, yesterday? (Actually, yes.)

Home stretch, kids! Let me tell ya, this boy wants out. Frankly I'd be perfectly happy to let him to stay in until the stroke of week 40. I'm finding it difficult to get into the swing of this whole "relaxing" thing.

Day 1:

- Lugged a surprisingly large baby tub to UPS because Amazon wrecked it during shipping
- Hit the bank and the drugstore
- Bought myself a nursing bra
- Swept and Swiffered the apartment
- Shuffled the 30 minute walk to the chiropractor
- Braved the Monday afternoon crowds at Trader Joe's (FYI: according to the preposterously attractive Checkout Slacker, Mondays are even busier than weekends. Who knew?)
- Had maintenance re-caulk the sink and tub

Day 2:

- Hit the gym for the first time in over four months
- Did five loads of laundry
- Started an article for Dramatics Magazine
- Made beef stew from scratch

Hmmm... Overcompensate for feelings of inadequacy much?

So week 35 was pretty much like week 34, only with more constipation. (And moodiness! Don't forget moodiness!) Still waiting for my boobs to come in. (I was hoping for Mammary Mountain but I'm more of a ski slope.) Still eating everything in sight. Still unable to sleep. But I am farting a whole lot so that's... something.

I'm also trying to convince my husband that Beowulf will not be the Best. Movie. Ever. (Angelina Jolie naked! And ANIMATED!) I suspect this is a battle I will not win.

I still can't figure out what this kitten is trying to eat...

It's a sad day when I'm reduced to posting cute kitten videos but I have watched this thing at least five times today and every single time it makes me laugh.

http://myspacetv.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=21677688

Harumph.

Britney. Oh BRITNEY.

Why do I even care? Why do I care that she left her kids in the car so she could go chandelier shopping while being monitored by her court appointed parenting coach? Or that she was videotaped running a red light with her kids in the car? Or that she just failed her latest drug test? Seriously, why do I care?!

Because even with all this, she'll probably still get to keep the kids.

In the real world - the non-celebrity world - this would never happen. In the real world those kids would have been ripped away faster than a pair of velcro panties and it just steams me when laws get bent for famous people. Free clothing, party invites, private islands - fine, you can have 'em. But you don't get the laws too!

Oh it steams me. IT STEAMS ME.

Here she goes...

Sorry I disappeared. A loved one had a very scary brush with a very scary medical diagnosis that turned out to be (praise everything) benign, so now I'm back and ready to celebrate! Or have an identity crisis, whichever comes first!

We all know which is coming first.

Friday was my last day as a working woman. I am officially a Stay At Home Mom. A Stay At Home Mom. A SAHM.

Yep.

Can you smell it? The pungent, nostril-curling smoke spewing from my brain? That, my friends, is the heady scent of panic.

I'm embarrassed that I'm even bringing this up, what with all the women who'd love the chance raise their child instead of shuffling off to a crappy 9-to-5, but there's something about bringing in income - providing something tangible - that my ego won't let go. While this pre-baby period is awesome in many ways (free time! nesting privileges! sleep!) it's the first time in my life that I haven't brought in income and it feels very selfish. (Who am I to sit at home nesting while my husband works eighty-two jobs to make ends meet? Why can't I keep the house clean, just because I have a baby? Who am I not to put my child into daycare, even though it will cost as much as I bring in, negating my pay?) Sure, I've spent the bulk of my adult life unemployed but it was government subsidized unemployment which is a whole different thing. This feels... dangly. Obviously it works both ways (if you go back to work are you neglecting your child? If you stay at home, will you neglect yourself?) but I'm curious if any of you other mothers experienced this. And if so, how did you deal?

Peace, yo.

Down to the final five, peeps. Yowza.

Had my last bi-monthly doctor's appointment - now it's down to every week. I'm not sure what they're going to do each time, although they mentioned something about checking dilation which sounds terrifying. If they're checking dilation that implies that that I might actually be dilated which means that I'm actually going to have to birth this baby, which I know... intellectually. It's probably best that I stay in denial about the magnitude of what's ahead. Best to keep the freak at bay.

Feeling rather grizzly-like recently. The urge to hibernate (and eat) is intense. Emails are going unanswered (but read! I loves the reading!), cards are unfinished, bags are not packed. Making dinner seems like an exhausting proposition at this point. I'm also really, really grouchy. Today I lost my shit on a woman who almost hit me with her goddamn SUV . Did I scream numerous obscenities and use not one, but both hands to display aggressively foul finger gestures? Oh HELL yeah! I had the walk sign! Bitch was on her cell phone! Then she had the nerve to flip me off which... oh man, I'm hopping mad just thinking about it. (My poor kid. Between yelling at potential vehicular manslaughterers and stewing over inconsiderate subway seat horders, I fear he's going to come out an anxious, colicky mess.)

Anyway, the doctor's appointment went well. Possum is six pounds now! SIX POUNDS! That's how big I was when I was born! Considering that he's supposed to gain another 1/2 pound a week, we're looking at an 8 1/2 pound baby! How the hell am I supposed to birth an 8 1/2 pound baby?! I thought we had an agreement: I'd give him a crib and some comfortable onesies and in exchange he'd be a nice, manageable 6 to 7 pounds. Clearly we need to have a talk.

I did get to watch him give the peace sign to the sonogram wand which was fun. At least it looked like the peace sign. Either that or he was going gangsta, hard to tell...

Highlights

Halfway through week 34 already?! I swear this kid's gonna be here in a minute and a half.

- So far week 34 is pretty much like week 33, except with less sleep and more yeast infections. I keep waking up in the middle of the night with a tearing, stretching feeling in the skin on the top of my bump. The pulling is so intense it feels like it's actually going to rip. So far no stretch marks but tons of ouch. Any other mamas experience this?

- Gifts have begun arriving, thank you very much! Needless to say, the cards still aren't done. (Along with everything else baby related.)

- The crib is assembled (it has been since we got it, complements of the guy who gave it to us) but the hospital bag is nonexistent. For some reason I can't bring myself to pack it. Partially it's because I'm not sure what I need to bring (feel free to pass along any tips) and partially because it means that I'm actually going to have to birth this little guy. And that's just crazy.

- Trying to hunt down a glider. God I hate those things. Ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly - and yet so comfortable. I hate the thought of spending $400 for something I know we'll be throwing out in two years. I'd normally insist on going the "gently used" route but since gliders tend to be germy places, what with all the spitting up that occurs, I feel compelled to go new. But why, why do they have to be so hideous?

- According to all the pertinent websites, Possum's approximately 5 lbs and 19 inches long now, or roughly the size of a small schnauzer. He's busy putting on some much needed fat which translates into a ravenous mom. My day now consists of breakfast, a pre-lunch snack, lunch, a pre-dinner snack, and dinner, followed by a nightly raiding of the Halloween candy pail. Best not get between me and the refrigerator, that's all I have to say.

- Homeless people love me. I can't pass a homeless person without them shouting words of encouragement. ("Keep a-going, little mama!") It's kind of lovely.

Yick.

Four words you never want to hear, especially coming from your neighbor down the hall:

"Do you have mice?"

Mice. MICE. Ohgodohgodohgod. Don't get me wrong, I'm not naive. Living in a 46-story box filled with hundreds of people in the middle of the one of the most congested cities in the world, there's bound to be rodents. JUST NOT IN MY APARTMENT. Roaches? Fine. There isn't a single place in this city that's roach-free. (Luckily we seem to keep them at bay. Fear not, visiting guests.) But trust me, nothing is guaranteed to send shudders down the spine of a soon-to-be-parent faster than the implication that their home might be filled with the pitter-patter of tiny non-human feet. I'm hoping the scent of our two vaguely porcine house cats will discourage them from entering but who knows? So far I haven't seen any evidence of mousiness. No icky little droppings, no chew holes in our Cheerios... Trust me, I'll be keeping an eye out.

Cry me a river, indeed.

Okay here's the thing - I've put off writing about Britney because, really, what else needs to be said? But this... THIS... I just...

Oof.