Ways in which being nearly 6 months pregnant is oddly similar to being a hobbit

1. I now indulge unapologetically in second breakfast (and sometimes third.)

2. I am becoming remarkably stout for my height.

3. I seldom wear shoes.

4. My understanding of technology is limited (as evidenced by my attempts to set up the printer last week, and the fact that I am not completely sure how to turn on our television.)

5. My ring is starting to get uncomfortable.

In good news, I have so far not seen any hair growing on my feet.

Parenthood

Me: The baby is kicking! Here, put your hand on my stomach so you can feel it.

Rob: Stop bossing me around.

Crazy Pregnant Woman Wears Pants Inside Out

I made it to the vet and the grocery store before going home and looking down.

Dear Community

I don't ever ask for comments on this blog because it makes me kind of nervous to put that kind of post out there and then--the horror--not get any responses. But I am stepping out on a limb today because the time has come for me to register for baby stuff and I have no freaking clue what I'm doing.

I know there are a few people reading this and I know some of you have babies, have had babies, or know people who know babies. Maybe some of you are babies. If so, I especially need your help.

What are some of the things you registered for (or didn't register for) that you feel you could not do without? Anything that can be skipped? Are there specific brands that are on the top of your list when it comes to strollers, car seats, those comfy spa-like pens that I have seen babies lounging in?

My thanks in advance, as I feel that without your help, it's possible I will be pushing my child around town in a cardboard box on a skateboard and letting her play with cat toys.

Deepish Tuesday

Two things:

1. I made an appointment to get the H1N1 shot this Friday. I thank you all for your concern for my well-being. My plan is not to breathe or touch anything until Friday.

2. I got a manicure yesterday at a salon in the Castro called Hand Job. So perfect for the Castro. When I walked in, the owner was getting a pedicure. He introduced himself to me and shared that he came from a family of 6 brothers. "All boys?" I asked. "Are there any girls?" "Just me," he chuckled.

Nine Lives

I want you to know how I now start and end my day: by chasing both cats around the house and forcing them to drink terrible, vile medication from a little squeeze tube. They gag, grit their teeth, and scream and I have to sit on them and fight to get the antibiotics down their throats. It is so, so not awesome.

Why are we doing this, you may wonder. It's not enough to say that the cats are just old or that we wanted them to see a vet as soon as we got to the west coast to make sure all was well. Those things are true, and eventually we would have taken them to get checked out. Smokey, however, forced our hand by taking it upon himself to jump out of an open window last week on moving day. Rob found him screeching on a ledge outside the 1st floor neighbor's kitchen window. At first, we were more confused than worried. Why would he jump? Does he hate life so much? Should we stop feeding him the same boring food every day so he has more to look forward to? Should we have short therapy sessions before bed each night to reinforce his worth as a cat and family member?

Then we realized that he had a huge fat, infected lip. So not only did he jump, but it was clearly not so graceful. Oh, the shame.

Anyway. I took both cats to the vet last week and it turned out that while Smokey just needed some meds, Emma had to go back in the next day for THE MOST EXPENSIVE DENTAL SURGERY THAT HAS EVER BEEN PERFORMED ON A CAT. She had 5 teeth removed and was with the doctor all day. Hence, the drugs for Smokey's lip and Emma's teeth.

Between his fluids for kidney disease, pills for thyroid disease, and antibiotics for the fat lip, I'm not so sure what will keep Smokey from making another attempt to jump. For now, the windows are all closed.

Keeping it Clean

I still have not gotten the H1N1 vaccine, despite the encouragement from my smarter, more prepared friends. It seems to have gone missing from San Francisco; every site I search says that is is not currently available. I don't feel overwhelmingly worried about it, since I spend much of my day working at home, but I would like to get it taken care of soon. Ellie gave me some good advice recently, which included the line "leave your house as little as possible and try not to touch anything."

I found these to be wise words, and decided to follow them. But I really had to get out of the house, and thought a walk would be harmless. On my walk, I passed the DMV and realized I needed to get my license renewed. So I entered the DMV. This was like spitting on the swine flu gods. The DMV must be the perfect place for the flu to breed. Everyone touches pens and papers, counters and chairs. They sit around just breathing on each other. I waited in a little chair for about an hour, studying the Rules of the Road booklet, because I have basically not driven a car in about 4 years, and I couldn't remember which one was the gas pedal, let alone how far back one's car has to be when stopping at train tracks (15 feet.)

Oh, and I had to take the test because my California license expired on my birthday last week. If you charted my life solely using my driver's license, it would actually appear that I never left California to go to New York.

When my number was finally called, the guy behind the counter looked at my paperwork, which included a voter registration sheet. "Democrat," he said. "Aw yeah, Barack Obama."

"Ok." I said, because the only other appropriate option seemed to be a high five, and that didn't strike me as the greatest idea, flu-wise. I am not above high-fiving DMV employees, though, especially this one, because after talking at length about why Kim Jong Il wanted Bill Clinton to come to North Korea recently "Because of the WEED!", he let me get my license without having to take the test.

I walked to the line to get my picture taken, secure in my newfound knowledge on the best light for driving in fog (low beams), the appropriate speed limit when near a school (25 mph), and the DMV guy's thoughts on Obama's cigarette smoking habits, "He's not quitting now!"

Monday Dispatch from the Home Front

We officially live in San Francisco, although I think both Rob and I still feel like we're on some sort of extended vacation. He went on a long bike ride yesterday, through the park and across Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Headlands, where the view from the cliffs is city and ocean. It's hard to believe you're allowed to live somewhere so beautiful.

I stayed home and got my own exercise unpacking boxes, and we are very slowly making progress. We have now met the two other families who live in the building. We've been entertained by the observant 4-year-old Jackson, who called out from the back seat of his car yesterday to Rob, "You have two shirts on!"

"Three!" Rob said proudly, unzipping his fleece vest to display a t-shirt. Jackson was blown away. It's so easy to thrill kids; I myself was probably not suitably impressed when Rob dressed himself that morning.

Back to the East Coast

Let's see...what was I supposed to do today?

Get into a cab at 4:30am with Tom Waits's long-lost drunk and crazy cab driver brother? Check.

Fly back to New York at the crack of dawn? Check. (It was a first class ticket--thank you, Rob! All other flights will now pale in comparison.)

Eat a bagel that was quite possibly made of rubber? Check.

Get in a fight with another cab driver over the ridiculous fare to Jersey City, and then end the fight by trying unsuccessfully to bribe him? Check.

Take myself shoe shopping in Soho because I packed every pair of black shoes I own and they are now all traveling together across the country with a big, red-nosed man named Dave? Check. As an aside, before I realized that Dave was going to be driving the truck with all of our belongings in it (I thought he was just the Leader of the Moving Guys), I gave him a full and unopened bottle of rum, which Rob and I were never planning on drinking. "I'm no rummy dummy," said Dave, pocketing the bottle in his giant pants. Later, I reconsidered the intelligence of this particular gift, and I really hope Dave and our stuff make it to San Francisco unscathed.

Dine solo at the bar in an Italian restaurant in Tribeca? Check. Do NOT feel sorry for me. I don't mind eating alone and the risotto was really good.

Sit through the hotel fire alarm for 15 minutes, while a voice intermittently told us to "stand by" for further instruction? And finally become so frustrated, that I called the front desk to demand that they decide whether or not there was a fire, and, if not, to stop tormenting the guests? Check.

Get tons of calls, emails and texts from all of my wonderful friends and family wishing me a happy birthday? Check. Thanks guys. I love you. I am letting the cab rides, alarms, and moving stress go. I'm too old for that.

A Room with a View

We are in our hotel room in Burlingame. Smokey and Emma have spent much of their time out on the balcony, watching birds fly over the bay. I think they like it here, now that the sedatives have worn off and Emma has sort of stopped freaking out over the fact that Smokey smells weird. She tried to attack him repeatedly for about 2 days, but now it's just random hissing here and there.

The drugs we gave them didn't work exactly the way I had expected. We slipped them into tiny, ingenious snacks called Pill Pockets. Smokey, being Smokey, ate his right away. We could have put it on a chip, a piece of salami, or a garbanzo bean and he would have eaten it. Emma was not fooled, though. Rob had to hold her down and force her to swallow the pill. Not pretty.

Anyway, I thought the cats would pass out. But instead they just started yelling, and yelled all the way to the airport.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" yelled Emma.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" yelled Smokey.

Over and over. Then Smokey started bashing himself into the sides of his soft carrier. I was reminded of the warning from the vet. "Definitely test out the sedatives before you leave on your trip," she said wisely. "Sometimes they have the effect of making the cats more hyper."

So I confess that we did not test out the drugs. Obviously. But the bumpy cab ride seemed to be the worst of it. Once we got into the plane and put blankets over their carriers, they seemed to calm down. Or maybe it was just that we couldn't hear them.