Everything But the Baby

I'm now 1 cm dilated and 50% effaced.

I've been feeling Braxton-Hicks contractions for days and the baby has dropped lower allowing me more room to eat (yay!) but less room for the bladder (boo!).

Any day now.

During these days of anticipation, I live in a world of paradox. I'm ready and I'm not ready. I'm excited but I'm terrified. I hope for the best, but try to steel myself for the worst. I sort of know what to expect, and yet it seems all so very very unreal.

You would think I would've been reconciled to the idea of having a kid by now. But I still wake up in the middle of the night, terrified--WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! A human. A person. A kid. We're going to be PARENTS? WHAT? HOW? WHAT? And yes, that is the exact extent of the coherence of my thoughts.

Reading up on birth and baby care only heightens my sense of disorientation. Everything DEPENDS. Your labor may last 2 hours, but it may last 20. Your labor may be excruciating, or it may not be so painful. Getting an epidural might help a lot, or it might really slow things down.

As for your baby, he may be a fussy guy or really calm. He may be a champion breastfeeder, or a lazy eater. Or, he may be that most dreaded of all things--a colicky baby!

Every labor is different. And every baby is different. Great.

For a person who likes to be in control and anticipate everything, this is NOT a comfortable situation to be in.

But I have gotten ready what I could. Look at all the things waiting for you when you come out Judah!

Here's your changing table with the plushest pad and softest cover ever. I can't stop running my hand over its delicious softness. You're gonna love those diaper changes.


And here's your bassinet with a nice firm pad and organic cotton fitted sheet. You can thank Uncle Amazon for recommending all these great items.


And here's your going home outfit and the softest, cushiest baby blanket ever from your only and thus bound to be favorite Aunt.


You'll love going home in your infant car-seat insert--also the softest, plushest thing I've ever felt up.


You have so many hand-me-down clothes, especially from your future-bud Isaac. But I'm most excited to dress you in your Cal onesie this Fall. Now that USC's banned, maybe your favorite team, the Bears (that's right, you don't have a choice) have a chance at the Rose Bowl!


And I'm really excited about putting this little jacket on you cuz your dad has the exact same one which he wears Every Single Day. All I need now is to get you light grey sweatpants with elastic on the bottom (yeah, your dad is stuck in the late 80's) and the mini-me uniform will be complete.


And you know, if you're in our family, you always wear a sun hat.

The Home Stretchhhhhhhhhhh

After 2 weeks of maternity leave, I've pretty much gotten all the baby gear ready.

I'm not going to lie, it was/is awesome. Everyday was like Christmas--getting all these packages from Amazon, Target, Walmart, Diapers.com, etc. The UPS guy is like part of the family now, we see him so often.

Here's a changing table I made, which matches his bassinet (not pictured).



Nesting is fun, but you know what's not so fun? Being a big fat house. As I tell the spouse everyday--I feel so fat, fat, fatty, fat. Because I am. My rib cage has expanded a lot, my limbs are swollen with bloat, and of course, the ol' belly is looking like a huge ripe tomato. And the spouse says, without guile or much wisdom--"Yeah, you are much bigger, everywhere, not just your belly." Ugh. Honesty is over-rated.

When I lumber around the house, I seriously feel like Shrek, just less green.

Here's me in all my 9.5 month glory. Probably, the last belly pic I'll take until D-Day!


And I am so ready. Okay baby, you can come now!

Is that me?!

OMG--I went on this website and got a little shock--this chick looks like me! How'd they get my picture?! Maybe I have a long lost twin out there somewhere...

You can see the website here.


Then I called the hubby over to look at it and he flipped out too.

The Upside of Masochism

A lot of things in life are disappointing once you actually get them. After fervent anticipation, the actual experience just never quite lives up to the hype. (And yes, that's what I plan to tell my future teenagers about the birds and the bees).

But maternity leave is NOT one of those things. The last few days I've been at home, nesting like a crazy woman, being busier than ever, but also being happier than ever.

Despite all the chores and baby prep--re-arranging furniture, organizing onesies by size, taking hospital tours, reading about colic and indigestion, etc. etc., I can only describe my state of being as...blissful.

I'm pretty sure it's all due to the absence of corporate work. I had no idea what a mental and emotional tax my work was until it went away.

It's like I'm living out that old adage--Why do I hit myself with a hammer all day? Cuz it feels so good when I stop.

It really does. It feels. So. Good.

Freedom...sigh

If this is the day I've been waiting for for nearly 9 months, why do I feel so meh about it?

Didn't I hunger, pine, and groan for this blessed day--my last day of work before starting my maternity leave?

Then why do I feel exhausted, apathetic, and even stressed out now?

Because of The List. The long long loooooong list of chores, errands, and baby prep I've been accruing in my head.

Such a massive debt of "to-do's" have accumulated that my brain feels like it's going to hemorrhage. The list is so long and ponderous I can't even begin to record it onto paper. It's just a dark, fuzzy, shadow in my brain--menacing as distant thunderclouds.

All I can think of is--this baby BETTER not come early!

I'm a horrible mother...

...to my office plant.


I was so happy to leave the office for the 4th of July long-weekend that I neglected to water my already saggy plant. So it's no wonder that I came in today and faced this half-dead weed.

But the worst part is, I didn't even water it this morning (just kept forgetting) UNTIL my co-worker came in and gasped in horror, grabbed a nearby water bottle, and doused it quickly as if it were on fire.

I hope this is not an indication that I'll be one of those parents who forget to feed their kids--didn't I feed you yesterday?

Our Lion Judah

So...we decided to name the baby.......(drum roll please)........

Judah!

One day the spouse and I were throwing out Biblical name possibilities, Abraham, David, Zebediah (uh, no way), Isaiah, etc, and then he said, "Judah?"

And we both felt something lock into place.

We like that it's one of those unique names (does anyone know a Judah?) that doesn't sound like it's going WAY out of its way to be unique. And it's a strong name--the tribe of Judah carries the bloodline of the Kings of Israel, including THE King of Israel, Christ himself, the Lion of Judah.

And, just to add a dash of multicultural superstitious fate--the baby will be born a Leo in the Year of the Tiger. If that doesn't scream, big, power-cat, I don't know what does.

So today, my awesome friend extraordinaire, Peg, threw me a lion-safari-themed baby shower, replete with little animals everywhere.


There were the lip-smacking Lion of Judah cupcakes from Teacakes.


And the adorable jungle-animal sugar-cookies from Winnie--almost too cute to eat.


Down to the little animal-shaped pasta in the pen holders!


Some scenes from the crime:

Marianne is scandalized that baby Sydney's not wearing any pants--Don't they teach decency in nursery anymore?!


Marianne asks Mere if she's scandalized by pant-less infants and Mere's like--well, it depends...


An adorable diaper cake courtesy of Mere and Rachel. Baby Sydney is a girl after my own heart--loves shoes!


Peg pretends she didn't know I was pregnant until today.


Thanks ladies for celebrating the coming of our little lion with me!

My Everloving Spouse

Me: Doulas are supposed to help the mom during birth. They massage you and stuff.

Spouse: That's nice. I'm so sore from sitting in front of the computer all day. Maybe I can have your doula massage me too, you know, while you're in labor.

Me: *exasperated look*

Speaking of which, I've been thinking and learning all about labor and delivery lately, now that the big day is fast approaching.

Of course it goes without saying that the whole ordeal freaks me out. Mostly, I can't believe how much my, um "skin" will have to stretch to accommodate the, uh, yeah, let's leave it at that.

How is that humanly possible?

And yet, millions of women have done it for millions of years, yeah, yeah. So I've been told. That seems to be the number one thing people like to say to comfort a first-time-freaked-out 8 month preggo. And it's a little comforting.

Until you also realize that millions of women for millions of years have been experiencing excruciating pain during the whole process too. And that's the crux for me--the pain.

So now I'm devoting much of my birth prep to pain management--breathing techniques, scents to smell, soothing music (think 8-hour playlist of Enya), acupressure, whatever it takes. I'm on a mission to gain zen-like mastery over the ultimate discomfort. Okay, maybe not zen-like, but at least some level of tolerance that doesn't make me want to reach out and hurt someone. Poor spouse.

Maybe, in the end, I'll even let him borrow my doula...in between contractions.

Pwnage #5: Oh maternity leave, how I long for you

It started Thursday. I thought I could go to Bible study in the evening, but just as I was leaving the office at 5:20pm the client sent us the draft. Perfect timing! (for ruining my plans).

I worked until 10:30 that night on the draft. The funny thing is, all throughout the day, I was forecasting to the spouse whether or not I could make it to the Bible study. The morning started with a 90% chance No :-(. Then around 4pm I realized my workload was lighter than I thought and it became 90% Yes :-)! And then at 5:20, it was 100% No. I'm more volatile than the Dow! Heck, than the market of the least stable country out there!--Greece?

Friday, I worked from 8am to 11pm.

Saturday, I ran errands all day, including taking a 7 hour birthing class. Fun. (That's sarcasm).

Sunday, I unexpectedly worked all day (after church) until 10pm. Key word being "unexpectedly."

All these surprise attacks have inspired me to write this haiku:

Little flashing light

On my blackberry causes

Me fear and nausea

Celebrity Celebrity Dopplegangers

It just struck me today how much Natalie Portman looks like Giada de Laurentis. They're both petite, with a rather large head to body ratio, and have the same facial bone structure. To wit:



If Giada were exciting enough to have a TV movie made of her life, Natalie should totally play it--Not Without My Lemon Zest, The Giada de Laurentis Story.

Incidentally, I'm always delighted to come across a pic of Ms. Portman. I just love her and I love seeing her sartorial choices.

Natalie--if you're reading this, I love you girl! Let's hang out sometime. You, me and Reese.

Trying

Man, this woman has been through hell and back in her quest for fertility. I can NOT imagine the tenacity, frustration, and heartache she's had to experience as she suffered miscarriage after miscarriage. Had to post something so compelling. (Btw, she's the actress that plays George Lopez's wife in his sitcom).

***********************

Constance Marie’s Blog: My Fertility Fight

This week’s topic: My fertility journey. Oy! It was so long, but so worth every second, because at the end of it, I got my sweet little Luna Marie. I always knew I would have a family, but I just didn’t know how I would get there.

I never felt ready to have a baby until I was about 37 years old. I knew I always wanted kids someday, but I needed to be “ready,” ya know? Emotionally, physically, mentally, financially, etc.

Plus, my mother had me when she was 18 — I didn’t want to repeat that. So, like any smart girl I was always careful. Growing up we are told every day, “Don’t get pregnant! Be cautious!” As if just standing next to a boy would knock us up! Right?!

But then, somewhere in our lives that all changes! It goes from, “Make sure to not get pregnant!” to “Oh man! I gotta hurry up and get pregnant!” Honestly, I wish we had a visible meter that would just DING and announce, “It is time to get serious ladies!” That biological clock is a force to be reckoned with.

I do wish I had started earlier, but I never thought I would have a problem! I had read how a lot of women were having kids later in life. I was healthy, in good shape and Latina! I mean come on! We are supposed to be muy fertile right?! For sure it was gonna be easy! Wrong.

When I turned 38, Kent and I decided it was time. We were thinking “Yea! We have to have lots of sex!” And by nine months in, it was, “Ugh, we have to have lots of sex!”

My doctor suggested I have some blood tests done and go to a specialist for a test called a hysterosalpingogram, which I can only describe as a combination x-ray/pap smear. They inject dye into your fallopian tubes to see if there’s a problem. Sounds like fun right? Um … no.

The test did not go well. His diagnosis: blocked fallopian tubes. I was shocked! All these years I had been trying not to get pregnant and I had blocked tubes! What a waste of a lot of birth control right?! I was so shocked and sad. I would not be able to get pregnant naturally.

My gyno suggested I wait a bit and then go for a second opinion. I went to see a different specialist that I nicknamed “Mr. Sunshine.” He was patient, sweet and calm. This time — I kid you not — he injected the dye, it just flew up the tubes and presto! Like a frickin’ miracle, they were fine! I didn’t question it — back to lots of sex! I was on a mission! This time I bought an ovulation kit and I became a pro at peeing on a stick.

After a few months I was pregnant! Kent and I were in shock! Wow! At seven weeks we went for an ultrasound to see and hear the baby’s heartbeat. As we eagerly looked at the monitor, we grew silent. There was no baby. Words cannot express how sad we were. That was a horrible day.

The only thing I had to hold onto was that years earlier a friend of mine had shared her pregnancy journey with me. She told me that she had gotten pregnant three times and that each time, it didn’t work out. She was very matter of fact about it. She knew it was just part of the process when a woman is older. That friend went on to have two beautiful girls. I loved her so much for being honest and sharing that story with me. I needed hope.

Once more we got pregnant! Once more, it did not work out. Another horrible day.

I tried the holistic approach, doing research on toxins that could impede my getting knocked up. I eliminated coffee and fish from my diet. The pesticides in coffee and fish, as well as the mercury in the latter are considered possible contributors to birth defects in fetal tissue. I also stopped drinking out of plastic bottles, because the plastic releases a toxin called Bisphenol A (BPA), a known hormone disruptor. Lastly, I did a few cleanses. I was not kidding around!

We decided to get even more serious. My doctor suggested Clomid, a drug that helps a woman produce more than one egg each cycle, along with the most common type of Artificial Insemination, Intra-Uterine Insemination (IUI). We did this about six times! One of the times, our substitute doctor — because of course, I only ovulated on major holidays and weekends, especially Sundays — spilled the specimen all over the floor! Dammit! After all of Kent’s hard work. Then he had the nerve to say he wouldn’t charge us!

So far, none of this was working. I was getting tense. I was running out of time and knew I needed to bring in the BIG GUNS!

In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) was our next step. I asked around and my friends suggested the rock star of the IVF game, Dr. Richard Marrs. I LOVE this guy! I started a regimen of injections — Yes, I injected myself. Eek! — plus meticulously timed sex. Romantic right? Not so much.

This did not work.

Then we upped our game. Major hormone injections helped me to produce up to 13-18 eggs each cycle — that will bloat a girl! — that they would then harvest like I was a frickin’ orange tree while I was under anesthesia. I was nervous but trusted Dr. Marrs.

Afterwards, they would take my egg and thin the outer layer — because it had grown hard and bitchy over my 38+ years — and Kent’s sperm and introduce them to one another. When they weren’t looking, they’d SHOVE them together! When they formed an embryo, we would wait to see how it developed, literally calling in every day to see how our lil guy/gal was doing. When it had developed far enough, it was time to be put back in my uterus.

I also included acupuncture into this method because it has been reported to increase the ability of the embryo to implant into the wall of the uterus.

We did the IVF process two times. Each time, my odds looked so great, but each time it did not work out.

At this point, Dr. Marrs started to realize that something was wrong. I was able to get pregnant naturally but because the fetal tissue wasn’t great quality, the baby wouldn’t develop. Now they were putting in the A-team embryos and still nothing! I had eight embryos left, so Dr. Marrs started thinking outside the box.

He believed that the IVF medicines were messing with my own natural implantation process. That part I could do fine on my own, so he decided that we should freeze the remainder of the embryos and just wait, allowing my body to clear out from all the hormones and get back to normal.

Me? I did not like this concept! I was panicking and feeling pressed for time. I wanted that baby NOW. But who was I to argue with an IVF rock star?

I detoxed, relaxed and cleaned out mentally and physically. Whew! During a regular ovulation cycle two and a half months later, we defrosted a few of my little popsicles and put them in the oven, followed immediately by acupuncture. To ensure implantation, I literally laid down on the couch for two days until one of those little buggers took hold.

And take hold one did! One little embryo survived the ice age and implanted! That little embryo was and is little Miss Luna Marie, the love of my life!

I cannot tell you how depressing, frustrating, difficult, sad, lonely and just plain crappy the whole process was. However, I can say that I would do it ALL OVER AGAIN! As I sit here listening to those little puffy pickle toes running upstairs and screaming “Mama!” while I sit here and type away, I can tell you that it was all worth EVERY minute!

That is my story, as condensed as I possibly could. I hope it is helpful to some of you who are just beginning or mid-process, or maybe you can forward it to a friend. Just know that you are not alone. We women need to support each other!

My last thought — if you want a family, it can and will happen! One way or another!

The Seat Less Taken

So I finally did it today. For the first time ever.

I sat down on the BART.

I hate sitting on the dirty BART upholstered seats, and my commute is only 1 stop, and I like to be the first one to hop right off when we pull up to the station, so I never saw the point of sitting before.

But ever since the belly has been ever so obviously protruding, kind strangers have been wobbling over to me while the train is en route and pointing to their vacant seat.

I usually waive my hand and say "It's okay. I only have one stop. It's okay, really," and feel guilty for rejecting their kind offer and making them feel slightly...well, rejected. I think it's hurtful when you offer something and you get rejected. But I really don't like sitting on the BART!

That's why I've recently started to wear scarves to work. I drape them strategically over the belly area and they seem to obscure my body just enough to make me look merely fat.

But not today. The scarve did not work its voodoo well enough for this observant young lady who shot up out of her seat and insisted I sit down. I started my automatic response, "No, it's okay..." but she would have none of it.

And the train announcer said we would be delayed for at least 10 minutes due to some hold up on the track.

And my feet do get sore if I stand for more than a few minutes at a time.

So I sat down. At the very tippy-top edge of the dirty, smelly seat.

I think I could get used to this.

Getting My Baby Butt in Gear

Towards the end of my 7th month I started to panic because I had done absolutely nothing in preparation for the baby's impending arrival. Absolutely. Nothing.

I hadn't read a page, considered my registry, taken any hospital classes, made room in my cramped apartment. We're talking nothing.

But now, thanks to some providentially free weekends, I've made a lot of progress, and feel a lot less like jumping out a high-story window.

To conquer the baby-gear gauntlet (and what a crazy gauntlet it is, let me tell you) I read through Baby Bargains (aka, the alpha and omega of baby consumer product reports). With the friendly authors and my good friend Peg to guide me (and hundreds of kind reviewers on Amazon and Target), I finally finished registering for all the stuff I think I'll need for at least the first 4 months. Check!


I also put away 2/3 of my clothes to make room for baby furniture--his drawers, bassinet, and changing table. That was a little heartbreaking cuz I love my non-preggo clothes and honestly, one of the hardest things about pregnancy has been not being able to wear them and add to them! So now baby has his own wall of furniture in our room. Check!

I also finally signed up for some all-day Saturday hospital classes and told my boss that I can't work those Saturdays. It's kind of ridiculous to be like, "Can I have those NON-WORKDAYS off?" Who has the ask for permission for non-workdays?! Only corporate lawyers! Check!

And researched and found a good pediatrician. Check!

And got a bassinet at a baby consignment shop at 66% off the normal retail price. Score! Every time I look at it in my room, I melt into an expectant goop of sentimentality. It's so adorable and sweet looking with all its quilting and non-frilly bows. And did I mention I got it for 66% off?!


The consignment shop also had tons of baby clothes, which I know is going to draw me back like catnip. Who can resist little-man clothes?


Now all I really need is a changing table. That can't be too hard to find on Craigslist. Oh, and maybe a diaper genie...

But despite all that I've gotten done, I still had a panic attack last night. It just dawned on me that the baby could come as early as next month. And it shall begin.

The trauma of childbirth, the tortured sleep-deprivation, the exploding poop, the endless fountain of pee, the frustration of breastfeeding, and the constant guilt, fear, and vulnerability that is parenthood.

Oh momma.

The one in which I'm just talking to myself like an office-crazed cubicle monkey

I usually know what I want to blog about before I write my entries. Some idea has fascinated me, made me feel an urgent need to make my opinion know, compelled me, like an itch to scratch.

But today I have no topic.

None. Nothing. Nada.

I'm just going to freestyle it. Like an OG rapper. Straight up.

Okay, I'm stalling.

But seriously, I have no topic, but I just feel the need to write. About anything and nothing. I think it's because I work for hours a day without much human interaction and I just need to talk to someone-one-un-n! (empty office wall echo)

So, pregnancy. That's been going okay. I just turned the corner into the 8th month and mother-freaking-load-of-goodness, the belly is big. During the 2d trimester I was all cocky, like, pregnancy is no big deal. I live a totally normal life and nothing's different. But you turn that corner into the 8th month and it gets unwieldy, let me tell you.

First, I go to the bathroom, literally, every 30 minutes. That's exacerbated by the extra water I have to drink to make sure my "system" stays "regular." Getting up and down from the floor is now a major undertaking requiring some prep, some props, and some deep breaths. Putting on socks and pants requires a lot of mental prep too, and props, and grunts.

And the craziest thing is trying to remember to NEVER point your toes, EVER. Why? Because that leads to the most mother-freaking-nature-worst-death-grip-of-pain-ever--a foot or leg cramp. Those suckers come straight from the bowels of hell and completely wake-up your tired butt in the wee hours of the morning, cursing and foaming at the mouth.

And let's not forget the indigestion. The irony of being so big is that you consume so much more food, but your stomach is the smallest ever because it's being so squeezed. So you eat a lot and then wish you hadn't cuz you can't digest it properly!

I realize this all sounds rather physically uncomfortable, but it's really not so bad. These are minor annoyances compared to much worse things like getting a rash, having bad allergies, a sore throat, etc. I'd still much rather be pregnant that experience any of the foregoing.

Not sure if I'll still be saying that in the 9th month though...

My greatest struggles these days consist of deciding when to start my maternity leave. Start too late and I won't have time to prep for baby's coming and get all the gear ready. Start too early and I'll waste my precious maternity leave and have less time with the baby afterwards. What's a girl to do?

And I'm starting to realize more and more the dark side of having kids. The dark side is the sinking feeling of dread and sorrow and fear over things you can't control. Just the other day I was reading my bedtime novel in which the main character's baby was delivered stillborn. And I swear I was depressed for the whole next day.

I often think of some friends who've had miscarriages, stillbirths or difficulty getting pregnant and see it all in a different light now.

Okay, wow, who knew one topic would take so long to ramble on about. Moving on...

So, the BP oil spill, what a mess. Hopefully they cap that sucker soon.

I wonder how the whole Israeli attack on the Palestinian aide-carrying flotilla is going to turn out. Will Israel apologize? Pay off some arab leaders under the table to make atonement and save face at the same time? That was a real clusterf**k.

And what about N. Korea's "alleged" attack of a S. Korean naval ship? The quotes are there cuz N. Korea denies it, but COME ON! Is there anyone who believes that N. Korea didn't do it (other than maybe China and N. Korea...and maybe Iran)?

Um, can you believe it's June already?! Half of 2010 is almost over!

Pwnage #4: Memorial Weekend Edition

This weekend is full of suspense.

Although work has taken up a good chunk of my Saturday, there is a chance that work might swallow up even more days!

The delightful (that's sarcasm) thing is that I just don't know. The boss said the client MAY need us to do stuff on Sunday or Monday. Keep an eye on the blackberry.

So just like that, work has managed to completely straddle my weekend with its hulking shadow. The sword of Demosthenes dangles over me precariously. At least I can hope that it will just be an empty threat. Fingers crossed.

I've had so many pwnages so close together I've become a little numb. Kind of like victims of repeated assault. You just close your eyes and passively let it happen without even struggling. What's the point?

Toddy, your wife is so fancy

This episode of Giada at Home had me laughing harder than any SNL show I've ever seen. Giada decided to make some of her husband Todd's favorite midwestern dishes from his childhood and in the process, made her in-laws look like boorish unsophisticates.


How? Before making each dish, Giada had Todd's mom explain how she made the dish for Todd as a kid. Never did such well-intentioned plans go so wrong. To wit:

Spanish Rice
Todd's Mom: Todd just loved when I made a box of rice and dumped in ketchup and hamburger meat. We called it Spanish rice.

And then, without meaning to, Giada shows what uncultured hicks they were by make HER version of "Spanish Rice" with pancetta and saffron rice (with no boxes or ketchup of course).

Orange Cake
Todd's Mom: Todd's favorite dessert growing up was orange cake. I just used a Duncan Heinz box cake mix. He loved it.

Giada continues her damning with faint commentary by baking a cake from scratch with lots of fresh orange zest.

I wonder if there's any tension in the kitchen at family get togethers? Does Giada have to keep her face from blanching when Todd's mom asks her to please pass the aerosal cheese whip? Ha ha ha ha.

No, but really, I do like Giada's cooking show and I think she's adorable. Although she looks really wierd when she flashes her toothy grin (not unlike a hot Italian Cheshire cat), it's hard not to like someone who is so obviously genuinely excited and delighted by food. I LOVE food (not love, but LOVE), so anyone who LOVES food is automatically accepted in my book.


And her baby Jade is always on the show and she's tooooooo cute!

Eat, Pray, Love, Barf

I know I'm violating the timeless tenet--don't knock it until you've tried it. But I just can't help it.

I haven't read the book so beloved by Oprah that she's done 3 shows on it, but I just can't help hating it anyway. Why am I such a hater?


Ironically, every time I see the author, Elizabeth Gilbert, I actually think she comes across as intelligent, sympathetic, articulate, and likeable. But the whole premise of the book just makes me roll my eyes.

Perhaps my dislike is more a function of how I feel toward people who are trying to find themselves through luxurious navel-gazing. There's something immensely unattractive to me about a woman who spends a lot of time and money focusing on making herself feel better when she, by many standards, already lacks for nothing...except inner peace.

It just seems like a fool's errand--to fill up your emptiness by navel-gazing intently. If you're empty inside, doesn't looking within just make you more...empty?

For Gilbert, her navel-gazing was done with a $200,000 book advance so no, it didn't make her empty. It allowed her to write her next book, to stay employed, and unexpectedly to hit the big times...a movie adaptation!

But for the rest of us, who are deluded enough to think such navel-gazing may be the answer to our lack of inner peace...well, we'll just keep on gazing into the void.

I hate snake-oil saleswomen. Always cashing in on the poverty and desperation of others while adding no value to society in the meantime.

Preggo Primer

Have you ever wondered what you can or can't say or do to a pregnant woman? I've wondered that many times myself (before I was pregnant). But now that I've been preggo for 7 solid months, perhaps I can shed a little light on this. (Of course, this is just one woman's opinion, not to be seen as a representative sample by any means. The survey pool was 1!)

FAQ (that I used to wonder about)

Is it okay to touch a preggo's belly?
Yes, absolutely. I love when people feel my belly. My only complaint is they don't REALLY feel it. It's all very light touching, as if your belly is one large, fragile eggshell. Go ahead and give it a good push. It's really really hard! Like the washboard abs I never had. Oh the irony.

Is it okay for guys to touch a preggo's belly?
Yes, but only lightly.

What about strangers?
Hell to the no. Strangers should not touch, comment, discuss, stare, etc, unless said stranger is a sweet, older lady.

Do preggos ever get tired of talking about their pregnancy and impending motherhood?
Nope. It's a vast topic of fascination that never gets old. Even now, I find myself saying (to myself) everyday, "What the heck is going on? I can't believe I'm pregnant. What the?!"

Do preggo's get annoyed if I ask when their baby is due (or what the baby's gender will be) for the 5th time?
Nope. I don't expect people to remember little details like that. I frankly don't even know what week I'm in! Unless you are a very very close person (and really, I just mean the spouse), you are allowed to forget and repeatedly ask about any baby-related thing.

Do preggo's get annoyed by unsolicited advice?
Not at all. I love unsolicited advice. How else are you suppose to find out about stuff that you're completely clueless about (which, in my case, is everything because I'm not a voracious baby-book reader and I've never been around babies).

What is a preggo feeling during the pregnancy period?
Let me break this down by tri-mesters:

First trimester--excitement, exhaustion, nausea, and fear of a miscarriage.

Second trimester--excitement, excitement, excitement.

Third trimester--excitement and terror, because your life is about to change drastically and giving birth is commonly agreed to be the most painful experience a person can endure.

And fat, you feel really really fat. You are super-grateful for any encouraging words your friends may say about your (fat) appearance.

The Stranger in Our Midst

Me: I wonder what parts of your personality the baby will have. Will it be mostly you and slightly mitigated by some of me?

Spouse: You know the kid might have a completely different personality than the both of us, right?

Me: *shocked look* What?! What do you mean?! He's our kid!

Spouse: You know genetics has nothing to do with personality right?

Me: *puzzled look*

Spouse: *patient condescending look* Like twins...they have identical genes...

Me: *lightbulb look*...but different personalities...oh yeah...

Me: *disturbed look*

A Tip Top Tam Time

The corporate law gods smiled down on me this weekend and I FINALLY got to hang out with Tammy and do what we had planned to do months ago--eat fried chicken sandwiches at Bakesale Betty's!

The first time we tried, Tammy cancelled cuz she stubbed her toe and broke it!

The second time we tried, I had to cancel to work all Saturday.

The third time we tried, I also had to cancel to work all Saturday.

The fourth time we tried, WE DID IT!!!! And here are the pics to prove it. (Fourth time's the charm?)


Mmmm...it doesn't get better than fried chicken and pickled cole slaw. Tammy came prepared with her own saracha and garlic-infused mayo (which I sadly forgot to try!)--yes, those little containers are from her, not from the restaurant! Notice also, the dee-licious, fresh-squeezed, zingy lemon slush drink.


And of course, we (okay, really, I) had to have dessert. As a preggo, dessert has become mandatory with every meal. Fresh strawberries and whipped cream on buttery, flaky shortcake. Aka, heaven.


And as if fantastic food and great company wasn't enough, I spotted something I've been coveting ever since moving to the east bay--a (really good) knitting store close to where I live!!!!!! Um, I know where I'm going to spend the majority of my maternity leave time.


We spent the whole time rubbing our oily cheeks against their super expensive cashmere and angora yarns--oohing and aahhing. Sorry knit store! But they're so soft. So so so soft. Yeah, we kinda turned into Lenny in Of Mice and Men.

Check out these beautiful natural yarns. Made my hands shake and itch for some size 13 needles.


Love these nubby textures and deep colors. (Just ignore the fact that these kinda look like dreadlocks).


And cute-as-a-button buttons!


The best part is they have classes and free drop-in help. I can FINALLY ask somehow how to finish my half-abandoned projects!

And because it was a beautiful day and we both went to Cal, we just had to take a stroll on campus. We noticed this huge billboard of Cal students and, because we're shallow lookists, spent about a half hour looking for hot guys and girls. Yeah, some things never change.


Btw, Jen, if you're reading this--Is this a pic of your sister Carol?! (The top asian chick, second to the left). But she didn't go to Cal, did she? She has a twin somewhere!

Preggo? No Preggo?

Now that I'm in my 7th month, it's harder to play my favorite guessing game, "Preggo? No Preggo?" wherein yours truly tries to dress in a way that makes others question whether she's pregnant, or just fat.

I don't know why I get perverse pleasure in hiding my belly, but it's fun to see how long I can go before my coworkers actually realize I'm pregnant.

This jacket is always good at covering up the massive belly bump:


And wearing all black is also a great shrinking trick:


As a result, I'm in my last trimester and some people still just think I've gained a bit of weight! But, as you can see, the belly is ginormous now. I'll never stop being in awe at how the right clothing can hide so so much!



So now that I'm in the final stretch, I've been pleasantly shocked at how easy pregnancy has been. It's like a non-event. Other than giving up jogging (and caffeine and cold medicine when I'm sick) it really hasn't intruded much on my life. It's just like having a beer-gut I imagine. And in fact, when I look in the mirror, I reminded of this old pastor I used to know who had one of those bellies that hung over his belt.

I am however, starting to grow terrified at (a) the impending actual birth and (b) the reality of having to take care of a very demanding fragile human.

And also, I'm a tad shocked at how my baby will likely look. Just today I found a picture of my hubby when he was a baby, and...well, I'm still adjusting to it. The baby version of him is just so uncanny...he looks like him, just imprinted on a soft pudgy face. It's so trippy...like some genetic optical illusion.

Pwnage #3--The Tsunami Strikes

This pwnage was so deep and devastating I haven’t even been able to blog about it until a full week after. It started mid-week, crescendo-ed to a frenzy on Saturday, and slowly ebbed out to sea sometime on Friday of the next week.

I’m still suffering from PTSD.

I especially resented the Saturday pwnage since the assignment came literally, Friday night at 11:30 pm and was due Saturday night. And, of course, it was the equivalent of at least 3 days’ work crammed into one (read: I was stressed out of my mind). Towards the end of Saturday I had devolved into a pile of bitter primordial goop, muttering curses to myself under my breath every 10 seconds like a mentally deranged person with tourettes. Not pretty.

Although I know that many litigation associates work much longer hours than I do, it’s really not the same. As a corporate associate, as I’ve emphasized many a time to my litigating counterparts, YOU CAN’T PREDICT WHAT’S COMING. There are no schedules, no fixed court deadlines, absolutely no way to plan. That makes everything at least 10 times more miserable and a lose-lose situation almost every time.

Take any given Saturday. If I DON’T plan anything, I may discover that I actually HAD time and COULD’VE done something. If I DO plan something, I may discover that I have to cancel.

You just can’t win. Either way, you’re going to kick yourself. How do people live like this?!?!

Pwnage #2 of 2010

And, soon after the March 26th first pwnage of the year, comes the second.

This Friday (and NOT before then), I found out I had a tight Saturday night deadline. I worked until 10pm on Friday and from 9am to 11:30pm on Saturday, and barely made it. Just barely.

So far, statistically speaking, pwnages come when I've got major plans for the weekend. The first one dropped when I was supposed to drive an hour away to celebrate my grandfather and dad's birthdays which happened to be on the same day. This second one happened when I had lined up some fantastic eating opportunities with friends and a hobby class.

I'm expecting a third pwnage soon since I've been warned that I've been put on 3 big ugly projects simultaneously. But, it wouldn't be a pwnage if you KNEW when they would hit and exactly what your crazy schedule would be. No, that would just be called "having a lot of work to do." In true pwn-like fashion, these projects are massive, but I have NO IDEA when they will happen, what schedule I'll be on, and thus, what personal plans I can or cannot keep.

That whooshing you hear is the sound of my soul being flushed down the toilet.

Go-go Granny

I saw the coolest granny on the BART today.

She had a perfectly flipped out bob of blonde hair (not one speck of white), but you could tell from her face she was at least 80.

With an expert sense of balance, she "surfed" the train car as it lurched to the next stop, reading her fashion magazine the entire time (fantastic taste in literature). As the doors opened, she lept out and ran up the escalator stairs, light and sprightly.

What a testament to life after 60. Go granny!

Predator Island

Oprah recently re-aired a story about a special confinement center informally dubbed Predator Island, in the beautiful Puget Sound.

It’s a facility that houses sexual predators, 60% of which are child molesters. This is not a prison, however. The unique twist is that all these predators have already served their sentences, but a judge has assigned them to be civilly committed because they are too likely to re-offend. If these predators elect to go through treatment, and are declared “cured,” they can get off the island.

But why would they want to?


Oprah’s cameras panned around the facility and it seriously looks like a state-of-the-art dormitory. There are recreational rooms with brand new basketball courts, flat-screen tv’s, computers, libraries, comfortable beds, etc. This facility is not like a run-down nasty inner-city public school. It is pretty darn posh. Oh yeah, and free health-care!

If I ever find myself down-and-out and about to be homeless, I'm going to pretend to molest someone, plead guilty, and spend the rest of my life in ease and comfort, courtesy of Uncle Sam. Inmates can knit, sew, do woodworking, all kinds of hobbies. Sign me up!

It is reported that federal tax payers spend $165,000 per offender each year to put them up in these nice digs!

That just seems wrong to me. Why can’t we just chemically castrate them and then release them back into society? It would be so much cheaper and, *bonus* they would never offend again. Problem solved.

Just another case of our tax dollars “hard at work” subsidizing the Washington State economy. FAIL.

You can read more about this depressing topic here.

Not Cute

My outfit today is so sad. So dumpy, frumpy and just...sad.

To the untrained eye, I look like I'm wearing the exact same thing I wore yesterday. But in fact, everything's different except for the fuschia scarf around my neck.

The sameness is an illusion brought on by the fact that all my clothes are drabby. I don't wake up early enough to put together a thoughtful outfit and I don't fit into anything that I used to rely on. Sigh.

This clothing rut thing has become endemic ever since the belly started expanding. Now I know how mom-jeans begin. How getting behind in your fashion starts. And how women in their mid-thirties can end up looking like life has totally passed them by.

IT'S ALREADY BEGUN! ACK! SAVE YOURSELVES, IT'S TOO LATE FOR ME!

The Why

Recently, a commenter left this message on an old post I wrote last year (in which I basically said I don't feel the need to have kids):

"Just reading your blog and I was wondering what happened to change your mind about having kids. I relate with this blog post, so was just curious about what moved you to change your mind (as I see from your more recent posts that you are expecting a baby)."

This is a great question. And actually I've been wondering this myself for the last couple weeks and wanted to post about it. So, gentle reader, your timing is impeccable.

Causation is a tricky animal and it has many forms. The glib and proximate cause of my deciding to have a kid was that, quite frankly, I wanted to go on maternity leave. I hope my employer is not reading this.

But really, that's not a good enough reason. The short-lived boon of maternity leave hardly outweighs the years of dedication and nurture it takes to raise a kid. But it did provide the perfect opportunity to execute on a plan that I felt was inevitable.

Even though I never had an urge to procreate, the spouse had an altogether different take on the matter. To say he was gung-ho about having kids would be like saying Tiger Woods is an a-hole--a huge understatement. In fact, anytime I would talk about a hypothetical future with no kids in it, I would see his face fall into the saddest puddle. So I knew. I knew, eventually, one day, the spouse had to have kids otherwise he'd be quite miserable, and I couldn't bear to be the cause of that.

And after all, having kids is a positive thing in general. It's a productive way to contribute to society--who else is going to pay for my medicare and social security benefits? It's also a humanizing experience, an opportunity to learn more about the human and the divine.

It's not something I would've jumped into myself, but heck, it's not a bad thing and it makes at least one person in this world very happy. I'll never forget the day I decided to take the plunge and not take my contraceptive pill for the first time in 6 years. It was scary. I had to have my mom talk me through it. "Really mom? You think I should do this? Really? You think now is a good time?" Doubts, doubts, and more doubts.

But you know the deep irony of having a kid? I've only begun to realize this myself--the little bugger comes with it's own "don't worry, just love me" hormone package. It's like what everyone, including my mother, told me would happen--when you realize you are having a kid, something naturally kicks in. All of a sudden, my years of apathy has turned into complete and utter excitement and unadulterated joy.

After years of weighing the pros and cons of child-rearing, I can no longer see the cons. The downside has miraculously and deliriously disappeared. Somehow, it's as if half my brain has melted away, overtaken by this baby hormonal craziness. Amazing how nature just hijacks you both physically and emotionally.

I don't even know myself anymore. Whatever happened to the person who, just one year ago, thought having a kid would be a total drag? Who looked at young moms with pity and a sense of relief that that was not me.

Apparently, this alien invasion is complete. I'm overcome, body, mind and soul.

Annoyed

Today I'm going to b*tch about my client.

My stupid client, who sent out an email last night at 10:30PM--that's bedtime people--to schedule a conference call for the next morning at 8:30AM.

That's a wierd time, 8:30AM. Most people wait until 9 before requiring good folks to be in their offices. (But most folks don't actually come in until 9:30, shhhhhh.) This client is on West Coast time as well so there is no good reason to schedule an IMPROMPTU meeting that early. Really. No reason.

But here's the kicker folks!

The same crazy client then CANCELS the scheduled meeting at precisely 8:16AM in the morning, a mere 14 minutes before we were supposed to get on the call. YOU CANNOT SET UP A CALL AT A WIERD HOUR WITH LITTLE NOTICE AND THEN CANCEL IT!!!

I won't get into the varied and sundry ways this messed up my morning commute. But it was very very annoying. Let's just say it involved paying 6 extra bucks for parking, a LOT of panicking, and no time to put "my face" on.

And He Talks Too!

I don't talk about the spouse much, but I just have to post this video of him talking about our new church start-up in the East Bay.

Each time I watch it (and I've watched it a lot), I just want to pinch his cute little cheeks and plant a huge smooch on my computer screen. Who cares what he's saying in the video. Just kidding. Of course I think the content is great too.



It's been over 11 years since we first dated and 7 years since we got hitched, but he's only gotten more adorable over time. Okay, I know, TMI. See, that's why I shouldn't write about the spouse. I'd make y'all gag!

Evil Friday

It was midnight in the garden of good and evil,
And evil prevailed.

As I was sleeping soundly, swaddled in down and cotton,
He was sweating blood.

As I awoke to morning coffee and a rerun of Oprah,
He was unjustly accused and flogged.

As I rode the subway, trying to avoid the snotty, sniffly guy beside me,
He shouldered a heavy beam down dusty streets, now mixed with blood.

As I sit in my temperature controlled office, surfing the web,
He hung there.

All day I will draft contracts and surf the web and worry about pleasing the bosses,
And all day he will hang there in agony.

Why should I gain from his reward?

Can I Just Register for Clothes?

Now that I know I'm having a boy, I've been perusing infant boy clothes on the interwebz. Since it's no longer fun to shop for myself (I refuse to buy expensive maternity clothes, and it's no fun buying cheapy versions)...it's time to shop for my boy.

I love the doodling-feel of this cartoon onesie, perfect for a summer baby (Old Navy):


and this preppy little patchwork romper (bonus points cuz it's not blue!) (also Old Navy, I think):


I also find jokey-onesies hard to resist (Old Navy):


Here's a jokey-onesie for mommy (some t-shirt site):


And one for daddy! (same t-shirt site)

Peon-0; Firm-1

I've decided to keep score.

I'm going to count and record all the times my job unexpectedly pwns my weekend or vacation.

Last weekend is Pwnage #1 of 2010. I got a warning Friday morning that an assignment will drop in my inbox at around 5pm that day. And I'll, unfortunately, have to work for about 10 hours on the weekend to finish it up.

The irony is the document did not come in Friday night. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. But I still cleared my schedule and lived like I was under house arrest.

Okay, truth be told, it wasn't that bad. I still went shopping, played board games, visited a friend, and ran errands. But if the circumstances were different, it could've been a total disaster!

In other news--I got really depressed this weekend thinking about how my days of freedom and frolicking on a whim are soon to be over. With an infant, it will no longer be possible to live a care-free, unfettered existence. :-(

Just As I Suspected...

Well, it came and went, the big gender revealing ultrasound.

It is, as I hoped, as I intuited from the beginning, a boy! At least that's what the technician assured me. She said it was definitely, definitely a boy. I said, really? How can you tell? Because seriously, other than seeing some vertebrae and fingers at certain points, everything else just looked like blobby fuzz to me.

I am, much to the spouse's frustration, severely directionally and spatially challenged. So trying to make out what was appearing on the screen was like telling a dyslexic monkey to write backwards while looking in a mirror.

The technician would point out different body parts--see, there's the kidneys--and I would feign understanding with a weak--oh, yeah, uh huh. But really, in all truth, I had no idea what I was looking at. It didn't help that the fetus was moving around like a astronaut in zero gravity--doing flips and somersaults constantly. I guess I drank too much coffee and sugary fruit juice beforehand (deliberately) so I could be sure that it moved enough for us to peer into its privates.

Here's a pic of him with his feet in the air, attempting a back flip.


I never realized how anxiety prone the whole experience would be though. I thought we'd check out the gender real quick, get some measurements and breeze outta there. Instead it took over an hour as the technician catalogued every major organ and made sure all the limbs were present. I found myself holding my breath for long periods until the technician would say, "all there" or "all normal."

Thankfully, so far, so good.

Poop

I heard the best quote today on NPR.

They were doing some story about a laid off dad who now spends everyday at home with his infant, which he really enjoys. And then the narrator said something like, but every situation has its downside...

"Poop," said the dad's voice, "Poop is the major downside."

[End scene]

I laughed hysterically. That is pure poetry.

By the way

I just have to say 2 things really quickly.

(1) It is really unbelievable how often I need to pee. Un-freaking-believeable. Literally, I've gone 4 times in the last hour, and that's when I'm really really holding back and waiting until I feel like I'm going to burst. (Even now, as I write this, I'm debating whether to suck it up or make it 5 times before the hour's up!) And I didn't even drink any water yet! I hear this alarming trend is only going to worsen as the bladder gets ever more squished. In which case, I will just shoot myself. Or get really really dehydrated in an attempt to stay at my desk.

(2) It's so funny to live in a land of "quarter-clothing". I have clothes that only fit me during my first trimester. Different clothes that will fit me correctly in the second trimester (which are not maternity, just loose and long normal clothes). And clothes that will only fit in the third trimester (cuz they're too huge and tent-like prior to). And then, of course infant clothes follows the same 3 month schemes from 0-3, 3-6, 6-9, and 9-12. I'm so used to buying "classic" clothing that will stand the test of time. So it's just wierd to think of clothing as so short-lived it can't even survive half a year. Wierd and kinda' wasteful.

Boiz v. Goyls

I don’t know why this Wednesday is such a big deal to me.

I’ve been awaiting it eagerly for 10 weeks now and it’s kind of driving me crazy with anticipation.

Why does it matter so much to me to find out the fetus’ gender? Both genders have their trade-offs and luckily I live in a society that doesn’t limit the potential of either one.

Girls
Are calmer, less rowdy, easier to watch over
(But are insane drama queens during puberty)
Have much prettier clothes
Are more nurturing as adults
The spouse would slightly prefer a girl over a boy

Boys
Are emotionally less complicated than girls
Would fulfill my long-held desire to have a mini-version of the spouse, complete with matching outfits.
Little man clothes are really cute

I guess in my more lucid and introspective moments, I’d admit it’s such a big deal to me cuz deep down, I want a boy slightly more than a girl. Girls kinda freak me out. I'm afraid of them. They are mysterious creatures who have befuddled me throughout my life. They often don’t say what they mean and don’t mean what they say. They are sweet one day and cold the next. They make passive aggressiveness an art form. They get angry at me and I have no idea why--and it’s worse to ask. And I just never know if I’m coming or going.

I need explicitness. I need logic and reason and bluntness. I’ve always found guys to be refreshingly obvious and, well, simple (in a good way). Although they can be frustratingly non-verbal, at least you always know where you stand with them. If they are not cool with you, they’ll tell you so, to your face, and they’ll tell you exactly why. And they have such simple needs--to be fed, to be praised, and to be, uh, exercised…much like a household pet.

But it’s not that I’ll be disappointed if it’s a girl. I’ll just need a little more mental preparation to embrace the idea, I suppose.

And in other news, the belly continues to protrude. 4 weeks later, it’s still not that big, but definitely grew. It’s like a reverse before-and-after diet picture. Now none of my old pants fit at all. I officially live in a land of no zippers.

Bonus points to anyone who can guess the gender just by looking at the belly! Taking bets until Wednesday 5pm PST.

Four Entries for the Price of One

So I've had some random-ish thoughts lately, which apparently, I just HAVE to share:

Random Thought #1: How I Lost Out on Making Thousands of Dollars on Sunday

Stupid me. Stupid, stupid, uninitiative, passive me. Why oh why can’t I think more like Warren Buffet and less like, well, like my unambitious self. Once again, for the 2nd time in my life, I’ve passed up on a sure bet. A Sure Bet.

I know that sounds like a Vegas-junkie talking to his rehab counselor, but seriously, it was a sure bet. I just saw Roger Ebert on Oprah give his predictions for the Oscar winners TWO days before the awards show and he said it was the easiest Oscars for him to predict, ever. EVER. The man has been doing this for a very long time. And of course, every single one of his predictions came true--best supporting actress, best supporting actor, best actor, best actress, best director, and best picture.

I’m tearing up as I type this. I could’ve bet money on each of these categories and become a pretty rich lady. Sigh.

Random side note--Did you know Ebert married a wonderful black lady named Chaz? They are the cutest couple.

Random Thought #2: Will Gabourey Ever Work (as a lead) Again?

Howard Stern says Gabourey is “enormous” and will never be in another movie. As crass and unnecessarily vicious as Stern sounds (trust me, I did not quote the worst of it), weren’t we all wondering that same thing? What kind of roles will she get in the future? Starring roles? Best actress nomination roles? I’m not saying she’ll never work as an actress again, but she won’t be up for the lead role.


Sadly, I think the most she may be nominated for again is best supporting actress. Since when has a plump girl ever been nominated for best actress? Even the slightly fluffy ones don’t get lead roles--Jennifer Hudson, Mo’nique (okay, Kathy Bates is an exception), but you get the idea. But maybe, just maybe they’ll make Precious, the sequel.

Random Thought #3: The Right to Know Who We Are

There are 2 shows about to premier featuring celebrities tracing their ancestry and tearing up in front of the camera, so moved are they to find out their lineage. Although, at first, such detective work seems like the ultimate act of narcissism, I’ve now come to appreciate how strongly our identity is linked to the family members who came before us. We are not an island, shaping our identities from a tabula rasa. We have histories and traits and imprints that have begun shaping us before we even grew to be self-aware. That’s why people universally want to know and are so moved when they find out about their family histories. They are finding out about themselves. I imagine it is the burning question of all adopted children at some point in their lives--who are my birth parents?

Which makes having children through anonymous sperm donation all the more tragic and heartbreaking. Out of ignorance (at best) and delusion (at worst), the women who choose to have kids through anonymous donors are cheating their children out of a fundamental human right--to know who they are. It made me think of this story I read years ago, written by a child of just such a union.

(Not So) Random Thought #4: Name Pains

So, naturally, people have been asking the spouse and I if we have any names picked out for the child. At first we blithely blabbed the names we liked (well, the one name we liked) to anyone. But after being given faces of discouragement (ranging from confusion to down right disgust, DISGUST I tell you) we’ve given up.

Not on the name, but on telling people. Of course it’s a bit of a Catch-22. Maybe everyone’s right and the name we picked does suck. If we don’t take into account the critical comments we might end up damning our kid forever with a bad name. But if we do take into account all the criticism we’ll, well, get an earful of criticism that is just plain annoying.

Actually, people can change their names, so I’m not so concerned about saddling my kid with a bad name from birth.