Today I was interviewed by The Tennessean for an article that is coming out in Sunday’s paper on midwifery in Tennessee. How was I found, you wonder? Because I constantly open my big fat mouth and splurt about midwives all over the internets. For fun.

I am sooooo excited about this article (the second newspaper article I’ve been interviewed for… EVER!) because I really enjoy reading this health reporter’s columns as she’s very fair and balanced. And I think we could all use a bit more health reporting that is balanced. Something along the lines of OMG! SWINE FLU = THE APOCALYPSE!

Plus I love that she’s bringing attention to midwifery – a subject that sadly very few women know anything about. I know that I personally knew nothing about midwifery until I started doing my own research because it’s just not in the public eye.

At any rate, this is all falling on the week that we returned from a fun trip to the East Coast. Meaning I had no food in the house and the house was a mess. We had just finished painting the kitchen floor, so the kitchen was ripped apart. And the drywall for the upstairs gets delivered tomorrow morning with the crew right behind ready to start working. Tomorrow morning Matt has his board certification exam, which is just a tiny little bit important. Meaning if he passes he gets a nice fat raise. And the letters behind his name will now say “M.A.  B.C.B.A.”

Then we’ve got Matt’s climbing buddy coming in from Massachusetts on Saturday to go rock climbing for the weekend, and my mom arrives on Monday morning to hang out with me for a week. Which means I will frantically clean every nook and cranny of my house only to have her arrive and clean it all much better than I did the first time. And I will love and adore her for it.

And somewhere in there, I need to finish the nursery because the photographer from The Tennessean will be coming by to take a picture. Of me. At seven months pregnant and heavy enough to be a mean and competitive contestant on The Biggest Loser.

Strangely enough, all of this hectic activity is actually really good for me. I work best under tight deadlines, and frankly get a rush from anything that feels a little bit like a high school theatrical production.

But if I completely crash and forget to pick my mom up from the airport on Monday morning, can someone please tell her it was all because I opened my big fat mouth? She’ll roll her eyes and understand.

I really didn’t sleep last night. I may have been laying in bed for five hours, but I remember most of it, which leads me to believe that no sleep was had.

It was a late night – Matt accidentally downloaded a bad file that sent trojan viruses through the computer, which I stayed up late trying to repair. I think all is well now, but I will not be surprised if a window pops up with an African-American basketball player rapping about my credit score – I’ve already seen him once today.

When I did finally lie down for the night, Pendragon wouldn’t stop squirming around. Overall she’s a pretty mellow chica, but last night she was wide awake. There really must be something to the “sleep when the baby is sleeping” since she really, honestly kept me awake. Downside is I’m fairly certain “the baby” hasn’t slept in 24 hours.

I was up early to go to a friends house for a women’s prayer group and got absolutely lost on my way over there. So much for going into it “totally knowing how to get there.” I was calling her every five minutes for directions which seriously inhibited my driving as I’m not good at multi-tasking while driving a manual yet. I kissed the sky that I was in Tennessee as Mass drivers would have slaughtered me with my erratic behavior.

Overall it feels like a day that is challenging me to stay posicore. Just as I was about to kick the cat out of frustration, Matt texted me saying  ”Extra fun surprise coming!!” When I inquired further he responded, “Special treat.”

Instantly, out of nowhere, my mind ran to “I hope he’s won $250,000.” I’m not sure why that figure came to mind, or how exactly Matt would have won that sum of money, but that’s what I thought.

I’d also settle for a bouquet of flowers.

OR A WHOLE BOTTLE OF PINO GRIGIO ALL TO MYSELF.

Whaddya think it is? Bets and/or affirmations of the wine/$250,000 theories are welcome in the comments.

For those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter, you’re already well aware that I may or may not have spent the very early portion of Sunday morning in an emergency room at a posh hospital in the Chicago suburbs. I may or may not have gone to the hospital after spending seven hours of Saturday evening vomiting promptly every thirty minutes for a total of fifteen pukes and two unfortunate changes of underwear. I also may or may not have found out that vomiting in your third trimester is made easier by being on all fours, and that in moments of desperation I will beg the nearest ER nurse for an IV to rehydrate me – things I never would have assumed before this weekend.

I caught a stomach bug that was goin around, and I’m pleased to say that it gave the Hof and I some good preparatory experience for what I’d imagine D-day will entail: multiple calls to the midwife (who was kind enough to coach us through my stomach bug in the midst of delivering babies), many, many clean towels, and my exclamation to everyone I was wheeled past in the hospital that “I’M TWENTY NINE WEEKS PREGNANT!” for fear they would inject me with some drug unsafe for my daughter in utero.

You hear these horror stories of people who were given a drug they were allergic to because their emergency medical band fell off, or a dosage gone wrong because the nurse was overworked, underpaid, and just needed a vacation forheavensake! Well I was determined not to be one of those people and questioned everything that went into my IV – what would the side effects be and um, hi, but my face is tingling, just as an FYI. At one point, when I reminded the nurse that “I’M TWENTY NINE WEEKS PREGNANT! And is this safe for the baby?” she responded with a snarky, “the doctor wouldn’t have prescribed it if it wasn’t safe for the baby.”

So that’s when I just shut up, told her she had gorgeous hair, and turned on the tele to watch Ben Harper on Austin City Limits. About five minutes after that miracle-working hydrating IV, I was ranting to Matt about how STUPID Reliant K was, how Ben was just letting it all go to pot, and myohmy how I LOVE THIS IV!

The whole ordeal was really rather comical (aside from the moments when I really feared my daughter was in danger), and we had a stupendous weekend with family although it was cut short. My biggest regret? Not being able to eat my sister’s slow-roasted Chicago beefs. I cut all of that meat the day beforehand and didn’t even get to taste it!

Now that we’re home, my system is slowly returning to normal. And frankly, as I head off to the grocery store today to fill our empty fridge, I look forward to doing so with a non-existant appetite – something I haven’t experienced in seven months. You really can’t imagine how nice it will be to walk past the bakery and not fight with myself over whether or not I need to buy five chocolate cakes… one for each workday BECAUSE I WORK SO HARD!

Wow, what a week. It has been equal parts wonderful, equal parts hectic, and equal parts strange all mixed thoroughly and poured into a bundt pan that never releases a perfectly baked cake no matter how much you grease it. Yes, Matt’s birthday cake was destroyed when it finally finished baking last night at 11pm. And no, I am not at all bitter towards THAT PAN.

I never posted on his actual birthday because I was busy doing things with him that are not at all birthday-like whereby increasing the intense contractions of my guilt complex by T to the fifty-fourth. But I’m moving on, because I’m chalking it all up to being twenty-eight weeks pregnant and unable to shave my legs without an entire team of assistants.

This weekend he’s going to be at a motorcycle safety training course which means that he can then get his motorcycle license and buy a bike – his birthday gift. I’m guessing opening that Target bag with SIX HANES UNDERSHIRTS! on his birthday was almost as cool as buying a new cruiser. That’s what I told myself when I purchased them for him.

So for Matt’s thirtieth birthday, here are thirty things you didn’t know about my husband. I’ll try not to embarrass him too much, but isn’t that kinda the point of turning thirty?

1. He seems to have a strong opinion about illegal immigration according to a phone call I overheard last night, although I couldn’t really tell you what his opinion IS.
2. It bothers him to do any work (such as reading) close to his eyes without taking off his glasses first.
3. He then stores his glasses perched on his neck and just under his chin.
4. Or he loses them on the coffee table under magazines and the newspaper.
5. Losing his glasses doesn’t seem to bother him, but the new high-end scratch-resistant lenses really DO bother him because they smudge so easily. He wishes he hadn’t sprung for the expensive lenses.
6. While he enjoyed the television show “Flashforward” when it first came out, he told me last night in bed that “we’ll never watch that show ‘Flashforward’ again because it’s scary and I don’t want you to have nightmares.” Awfully kind of him, if you ask me.
7. He has nearly the complete discography of Miles Davis but rarely listens to it. When we sit down to read in the evenings, he inevitably puts on Bill Evans.
8. I always ask him to make the mac and cheese because he actually makes it according to the instructions on the box. I always leave out the butter. No wonder his is much better than mine.
9. Watching “Wipeout” stresses him out because the contestants let their butts hang down when climbing sideways on the rock wall. This is, apparently, not the best way to rock climb. Something about center of gravity.
10. Most Ben Stiller movies stress him out because absurd things keep happening to Ben Stiller over and over again and he just can’t catch a break. This is Matt’s worst nightmare.
11. The only juice he really likes is orange juice.
12. His favorite beer is Corona with a fresh lime slice. But he also loves a Harpoon UFO.
13. His favorite wine is Spanish Quarter Cab Sauvignon.
14. He probably hasn’t done a load of laundry since we got married. Likewise, I haven’t taken out the trash once.
15. He is extremely easy to feed. Nearly every day I make his lunch and pack it in his lunch bag for him. He takes it out of the fridge the next morning and has no idea what is in there until he eats it at lunch time. He has yet to complain about this system.
16. He gets really recalcitrant when his hair gets too long and hangs in his face. It’s been like that for about a week now.
17. He would collapse into a pile of anxiety if I ever purchased him a different anti-perspirant.
18. He wears a size 13 shoe, but a bit smaller in rock climbing shoes.
19. His favorite color is orange.
20. He prefers water-based frozen treats to milk-based frozen treats.
21. As soon as Berlin hears his key in the front door each evening, her tail starts wagging. He is her favorite person.
22. He wants to live in Colorado someday.
23. He prefers the NKJV translation of the Bible.
24. He plays a five-string bass because he loves “having that low D.”
25. He thinks John Mayer is a good guitarist and will be very embarrassed that I’m writing that here.
26. He has been known to sacrifice huge things for me.
27. He loves better than anyone I’ve ever met.
28. He will make the world’s greatest father – this coming from the girl who currently HAS the world’s greatest father.
29. He’s extremely ticklish and does NOT find it amusing when people try to tickle him.
30. He’s six feet, three inches of absolutely delicious yummitude, and I’m excited to bury my face into his chest for the next thirty years of his life… and more.

This basically wraps up the birthday celebrations for the week, although we still have lots of crumbled lemon poppyseed cake in Tupperware in the kitchen… and that giftcard to go out to dinner. Just think, next year we’ll need a babysitter for that dinner date.

I love you, and happy birthday, babe.

I just got an awesome gift from Angie the other day, a book on how to make your own baby food. I dove right in and read, I think, half of it this past Sunday. Told a friend I was going to try to cloth diaper and make my own baby food, and she shot me down saying that I was trying to be a super-mom and had to lower my expectations of what was actually achievable when you are home all day with a baby. Um, how you say… disagree?

I’m excited to try my hand at making baby food because 1) I love to cook, 2) I love to save money, and 3) I think I have no excuse not to. I have fourty hours a week that I’m not in an office, so my full-time job will be taking care of Penelope and managing our budget. And by saving money on things like diapers (by cloth diapering) and home-pureed carrot grossness (by making it myself), I’m going to be able to buy plane tickets to visit my family, thankyouverymuch. Also, really? Do you recommend I spend that time watching General Hospital instead? Because is it just me or has Jax not aged a day in the past ten years? THAT’S believable!

So I picked up the book to find out just how complicated this whole making-your-own-baby-food thing really is. About halfway through Super Baby Food the author mentions that an ice cube is the perfect size for one portion of smashed up frozen veggies or fruit, and you just might want to pick up some more ice cube trays.

And here’s where I need to confess a sin. Nearly every apartment we have lived in has had a few ice cube trays in the freezer when we arrived. And when we moved out I took them – every single one. I am swimming in ice cube trays. In fact I’ve never actually purchased one. Only when we moved to Nashville did I finally have a fridge with an icemaker. But even after Matt installed said icemaker, I stashed my ice cube trays in the pantry cabinet, because guys, YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU’RE GOING TO NEED MORE ICE.

Just watch. Penny won’t want anything to do with food that doesn’t come in a Gerber screw-top jar. Something about karma?

If you were to come over to our house today and peek in our bathroom there are three things you would notice right away.

From Daily Daguerreotype

1. It’s about time for the bathroom’s weekly cleaning, but I’m sorry… I’m too busy compulsively working on my 3 year old quilt to realize, care, or do anything about it.
2. There is still no door. Matt found five layers of paint on the door that he was painstakingly trying to strip using The Worst Chemicals Ever before we decided to spring for a heat gun to peel off the old paint. As strange as it may seem, the bathroom door is low on his priority list because he’s a notorious Project Finisher and wanted to complete the laundry room first to fill his deep internal void. At least this is what he claims. I have a feeling he is putting off the bathroom door until LOST is over to prevent me from inviting people over for weekly LOST parties. He claims I “chitchat” too much during the tv show when we watch it with other people. WHATEVER.
3. And then this one… a grody tennis ball sitting on the pedestal sink. Shall I zoom in for you?

From Daily Daguerreotype

Yes, a drooly, filthy once-bright-pink tennis ball. Anyone who has spent five minutes with Berlin has figured out that she is OBSESSED with fetch. It could be considered clinical… or just the “golden retriever” in her. So every time I’m in Target and they have tennis balls in the $1 section, I pick up a bag. Or two. Or two hundred.

Well they seem to get lost in the backyard frequently, so we’re always pulling out new balls for her to play with. But then out of the blue she’ll find an old ball, and it’s always at the most inopportune of times. Like this morning when she was up and ready to go outside at 6 am. Matt walked her over to the back door and opened her doggy door which she quickly bounded through. Five minutes later I got out of bed for my 911th trip to the bathroom, and who should come in to join me but Berlin with her dirty, stanky backyard find. Knowing full well that when I headed back to bed she would lay down next to me on her own bed and tear the ball to shreds leaving felt and rubber pieces all over the bedroom floor, I quickly confiscated the ball and placed it out of her reach… on the sink.

She was devastated and went back to her bed to pout. Until she found another ball out of reach under my dresser which kept her occupied for about an hour.

So is a nasty tennis ball sitting on our bathroom sink unusual? Not at all. Just stroll through our downstairs and you will find them everywhere. On top of bookshelves, the fireplace mantle, hidden in drawers. Inevitably when I go into labor and need to be packing up my hospital bag, instead I will be frantically running around the house collecting old tennis balls and sanitizing the surface they were sitting on because MY MOTHER WILL DIE AND KICK ME OUT OF THE FAMILY WHEN SHE SEES THESE!