Gold Earrings

Tim is already shaking his head, I know.

Sure, he could buy me baby blankets, bottles, parenting books, and all typical MTB gear to help me be a good mom, but what I need most is a pair of large, gold earrings. I mean, straight-out-of -the-Bronx, large gold hoops.

This is my last week working at a preschool program, and as my final day approaches, I am reflecting on the experience. There were good times and scary times, but most of all, the program taught me solid principles about parenting. One thing I've learned is that some parents are afraid to parent. There are children who can scream, hit, and spit in their parents' faces and expect a timid, "Honey, please don't do that," from mom and dad. These parents are the ones who pick up their child immediately after class and never ask, "How did he behave?" Mainly, because they sense the reply will be, "Um, the same way he does at home: like a murderous villain."

It's not that these kids were born with a demon gene, it's that parents (a) don't bother teaching their kids the ABCs, let alone the Ps & Qs, (b) think it's 'cute' when kids cuss ... until they're 12-years-old yelling, "Where's my $&*%$#! allowance?", or (c) are too wimpy to discipline their kids.

This is why moms need large hoop earrings. The first time a kid gets mouthy, give her a warning. The second time, take 'em to timeout. The 3rd time, take her to timeout again, but this is just for show, because any kid who has pushed it this far is clearly willing to go all the way. The 4th time, make sure Mom puts on her gold earrings.

Working her neck from side to side (bonus points if the earrings jangle), she should, with one eyebrow raised, say, "I thought I told you to watch your mouth. Can you do that, or do I need to HELP you??"

Silence.

Do this once or twice, and that kid will learn that Mom is a loving and fair, but when her earrings come on, the gloves come off.

Pervs No More

I will not post a picture today, and soon you will understand why. I was watching TV this evening, and Dateline's weekly segment "To Catch a Predator" came on. If you've never seen this show, here's the basic outline: adults, pretending to be teens, lure sexual predators into chats online. They set up a meeting with the predator using a decoy in a rented house. When the predator arrives, the decoy leaves in a matter of minutes, and in walks the reporter. The most astounding thing is, the predators almost always stay to answer the reporter's questions! Are they too stunned to walk out, or just too stupid? Either way, here's what happens next:

Reporter: "Sir, what are you doing here?"
Predator: "Um, I was just going to hang out."
Reporter: "Hang out?" (Pulls out printed copy of online chat) "Is this an appropriate way for a thirty-year-old man to talk to a thirteen-year-old girl?"
Predator: (Begins crying like a thirteen-year-old girl) "I'm so sorry! This is my first time! I'll never do this again." (Proceeds to run out of house only to be tackled by law enforcement).

Sure, the script varies slightly from guy to guy, but this is generally what happens. In tonight's episode, they busted the same guy twice within eight months. As they hauled him away for the second time, I turned to Tim and said, "Our daughter will be living in a world with these kind of guys." Tim said the only thing a reasonable future parent would, "We just won't have Internet." I agreed.

You Be the Judge

DADDY'S PREROGATIVE WARNING: Tim has begged me to warn the world in general that the following entry contains naked baby pictures. Perhaps the last two years working in a preschool program (diaper changes and wet pants) have hardened me against the sight of kid's bottoms/frontals; sorry, they just don't make me blush anymore. As I was saying ...

Above is the baby's hand as pictured in the last sonogram. See the arm on the right hand side (it's at an angle about halfway down the photo)? You can even count five lil' digits. The hands of a professional artist and poet? You better believe it!

Now, onto the picture that requires a more critical eye:

Guessed what it is? It's a view of the baby from bottom up (legs only). This is the picture that led the doctor to claim there was an 85% chance the baby is a girl. Here's the same picture with a little editorial help:

Is Baby Dowdel clearly a girl, or does the doctor clearly need LASIK? You be the judge.

WARNING: Product Placement

Don't worry, I'm not going to try and flash product placements all over this blog to try to win corporate sponsorship for my pregnancy! In fact, I was just thinking to myself earlier this morning, as I was sipping a glass of Tropicana orange juice and enjoying the crunchy goodness of Post Grape-nuts, that movies often abase themselves when they try to promote products in every scene. A movie without product overload would be as refreshing as a bottle of Natural Spring Ozarka water and as needed as Charmin toilet paper. Excuse me while I sip my Starbucks hot chocolate.

Really, though, when a pregnancy product is worth mentioning, I feel obligated to mention it. So, for those of you who know someone who is pregnant (or are pregnant yourselves), it's time to pull out your credit cards, go online, and give those Internet hackers one more time to steal your identity.

Bella Bands, pictured above, are by far one of the best pregnancy products I've used. Instead of using safety pins, rubber bands, duct tape, or whatever other inventive binder a pregnant woman has used to hold up/expand their pants, they should try Bella Bands. The idea is so simple, I wonder why these haven't been around longer. The bands are large enough to fold over to ensure a comfortable fit. They come in 4 sizes and different colors (Size 1: for women who have a pre-pregnancy pants size 0 - 8; Size 2: for pre-pregnancy pants size 10-14; Size 3: for pre-pregnancy pants size 16-22; Size 4: for pre-pregnancy pants size 24+). They're comfortable and will quickly become a much-used item for most MTBs. They're worn under your shirt and over your pants. When they peak out it's OK, because they look like camisoles. They're available online, so all you friends & significant others with a MTB in your life, go ahead and do her a good deed today!

Part II: How I Woke Up with a Rash on My Back ...

... and Cried, "THE VIRUS!"

As I was saying, before my dentist appointment, I was anxious about my anxiety: were my worries enough to bring on Bell's Palsy or shingles?

My dental visit was only half an hour. I was on my back, which was uncomfortable. Mainly, because I haven't laid on my back for three months (doctors recommend MTBs sleep on their sides to have better circulation). As the minutes went by, I kept thinking, "Is the baby uncomfortable?" It didn't help that she(?) was kicking more than usual. So my mind kept on one cycle:

"Is the kicking a cry for help? I better calm down, or my anxiety is going to bring on the virus. Man, I hope I don't get the virus. The baby's still kicking. I better calm down, or my anxiety is going to bring on the virus. Man, I hope I don't get the virus ..."

The next morning, I woke up with an itch on the center of my back. The back is a prime location for a shingle attack, so immediately I started bugging Tim, "Do you see anything weird on my back?" Of course, I knew he would because I could feel it, but still. Tim confirmed I had a red patch of bumps smaller than 2 inches across.

I wanted to panic, but I kept thinking, "What else could it be? What else could it be?" I've never had sensitive skin, really, except I can't wear fake earrings because they cause redness/discharge.

Finally, it came to me: "The paperclips!"

Paperclips? I know, let me explain. For MTBs, the two most irksome things about being pregnant is (1) finding clothes that fit, and (2) finding clothes that fit. There is a time, for instance, when a woman's regular pants won't fit, yet maternity pants are too large. My ob-gyn says women come in with everything from tape to rubber bands to expand their regular pants. Regular shirts make tummies peek out like Pooh Bear, so those have to be replaced in the second trimester, too. The last, and most distressful, type of clothing that must be expanded is, well, (*blush*) undergarments.

Two weeks ago, I noticed that some of my things were getting a bit snug. The next day, I read a great tip in a parenting magazine. It recommended using paperclips as an inexpensive, quick way to expand the width of bras. So, I raided Tim's home office supplies and voila! Unlimited expansion possibilities! I had solved one problem ... and created another.

Apparently, the cheap metal used in the paperclips caused a reaction as it rubbed against my skin for 10-12 days. I didn't notice the extent of the irritation until the day after my dental visit. So, just like my ears, my back won't take less than gold or silver! (Did you hear that, Tim? I need lots of gold and silver.) Who'd have thought?

Mah Ehul Ahoi-ent

That's Dentist Speak for, "My Dental Appointment." Before I continue, here's my viewer discretion recommendation: if you already have issues going to the dentist, don't read today's entry. Unless, of course, you like to hear the truth. In which case, may we all hear a bit of Stephen Colbert's--um--toothiness.

So, last week my little brother's face began to go Picasso on him (every part doing its own thing). He had trouble controlling his eye, part of his mouth, and eventually, the muscles in half of his face. He was perplexed, and even more so when my brother-in-law informed him he was probably having a stroke (if you haven't figured it out already, my brother-in-law is many respectable things, but a doctor he is not). My older brother remarked that my brother's mouth looked a lot like Rocky's, and that didn't seem to help, either.

When my brother told me his symptoms, the first thing I told him was that two people I knew had the exact same problem last year: Bell's Palsy. Bell's Palsy is a condition caused by a common virus (the same virus that gives you Chicken Pox). It shows up in adults as shingles and Bell's Palsy (among other things), though I don't think they know exactly why. It causes paralysis in half, if not all, of the face for 2-12 weeks.

The two people I knew who had it were all under excessive stress for weeks when the Bell's Palsy manifested itself. Here's where it gets shady: my friend who had it last year (as well as her friend) both developed Bell's Palsy days after their last dental visits.

Pum-pum-pahhhhhh!

So, I tell my little brother, "Out of curiosity--and I'm not trying to start any rumors or anything--but, have you been to the dentist lately?"

"Actually," he said, "I was in there this week."

Pum-pum-pahhhhhh!

The obvious deduction from this coincidence is that dental professionals across the country are, in fact, testing patients with chemical warfare products derived from alien technology (for more on this subject, contact my brother-in-law). My second theory isn't nearly as plausible: if this particular virus can be triggered by high levels of stress, perhaps going to the dentist (which many people dread anyway) is simply the 'straw that broke the camel's back'? Maybe the dental visit itself causes no harm but is merely a tipping point for anxiety? I know, I should hush my nonsense and beware of the aliens.

Now to the crux: how does this all affect my pregnancy? I mean, sure I'm pregnant and we just moved into a new apartment this weekend and I'm training my replacement at work and my body is changing all the time and I'm worried how I will contribute financially to our family and we have to house-hunt now, but what's a little stress? Well ...

At my last dental appointment six months ago, I scheduled my next visit for ... yesterday.

Pum-pum-pahhhhhh!

Part II: How I Woke Up with a Rash on My Back and Cried, "THE VIRUS!" tomorrow.

It's a ...

WARNING: This entry contains spoilers as to the gender of Baby Dowdel. If you do not want to know the sex of the baby, then move to Alaska, because once my sister finds out this info ... If you have not put in your official name suggestions, you may do so now at the entry entitled "Care to Get in the Pool?" You may not continue reading and then post your guesses, because that would make you a CCPE (cheater, cheater pumpkin-eater).

Monday we went to find out the sex of the baby. I was nervous, mainly, because I was sure the kid would not show us 'the goods' again, which would be a waste of cash, time, but mostly, anxiety. I realize guessing the sex of the baby is exactly that, a guess, but this baby is like a science project for me sometimes: what is it doing, is it healthy, does it already have a personality, if not, how can I make it calm like Tim? And so on. I want to learn everything I can about him/her to prepare myself mentally. Like I said, I was anxious.

The first images on the sonogram were almost comical. The child did not have its legs crossed this time, but instead had its back to us! It sat there, sucking its thumb, with its body posed like "Do you mind?"

I knew at that point that whatever the doctor told me would surely be a guess. As expected, the doctor freely admitted that he was giving his best GUESS, but, he was 85% sure that Baby Dowdel is, brace yourselves (I had to): a girl.

Hold me.