I think I have progressed to the part of the pregnancy where this thing that is growing inside of me (or as the CPH and I like to call it – The Banana) is big enough to rest right on my bladder and can make my body think I have to get up every 20 minutes to relieve myself. It’s not so bad here, at work, seeing as how the bathroom is less than 100 feet from my seat. But at home, where I have to walk up stairs to get to the bathroom…
I am still undecided on the merits of any benefits of the banana hearing music. That said, the banana and I have been sharing my headphones (thank goodness for removable earpieces) today and we have been listening to KEXP’s top 90 of 2005. I do have to say that I find it kind of interesting that the banana seems to enjoy the same kind of music that I do – noticably kicking and moving around to the same songs that I find enjoyable.
Speaking of kicking and moving around, the CPH has still only been able to feel the banana moving around the one time. I, on the other hand, feel movement at least a triple dozen times a day.

Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas. Not counting the Fountain Square Flu that FINALLY got a’hold of me on Christmas Eve Eve, I had a great long weekend. Tons of presents and even a stocking or two (or three if you count the one for the upcoming addition to the Beeler family). Saturday was spent with the CPH’s family. Because I had been so sick the night before (oh my, so sick), I wasn’t really in a very good Christmas Spirit on Saturday. But still it was nice to be around family. And around family that actually appears as if they’re enjoying each other’s company…that’s even nicer.
Sunday, we headed southwest to my hometown for some Christmas celebrating (thank God, I was feeling so much better). My uncle J* and his ex were in town for his ex’s son’s wedding this coming weekend. I haven’t seen my uncle for quite a few years and we had a great visit. He and his partner have been broken up for at least a year now and it was kind of strange seeing them together. Kind of eerily familiar but not quite right. Oh well…gotta move on and all that jazz.
This week, we’re playing catch-up with a house that needs to be cleaned and laundry that needs to be done and tons of gifts that need to find new homes in our already over-crowded house. The SMWB rolls in to town on Thursday. That’ll be fun.

I have a habit of switching up my doctors. I am a fairly healthy individual and my medical history is probably less than a full page.

Anyway.
Shew.
So let’s go back about a year ago, when it was time for my yearly “girl doctor” visit. Having moved to a new town and liking the idea of getting fresh opinions, I knew I had to find a new doctor. So, I asked my wonderful and beautiful (gosh, how I miss her!) friend Nathalie for her suggestions of IU professors/doctors who were especially skilled in the “girl doctor” world. I figured she might have a little expertise in this area, not because she goes to the “girl doctor” like every day or something, because she was at the time working on her MD at IU and may have come in contact with a few of the doctors there.
First, let me say that in all my years of being a girl, I’d never been to a “girl doctor” who is, in fact, a girl. I like the idea of men doing “girl doctor” things. Because they’ve never experienced being a girl, I’ve always had this feeling that men would feel less equipped, if you will, and study more to understand the girl things that they are supposed to be experts at.
She gave me a few names and I worked down the list until I settled on my current doctor. He’s great. He’s sensitive. He makes the CPH feel comfortable in a “girl doctor” visit. So on and so forth, but that’s a story for another time.
The only reason I chose to choose doctors from IU Hospital was because I figured that Nathalie, and medical students like her, would never have been able to learn if it hadn’t been for people like me agreeing to be checked once by a student and then again by the “real thing”. Excuse me, “real girl doctor thing”.
The very first visit I went to with these doctors (one of my current doctors partners who did nothing wrong except being female and moving to the west side hospital in just a few short months), went fine. Just fine. It was billed as an annual visit, which for us girls means lying on a our back while we’re opened up nice and wide so the “girl doctor” can make sure our girl parts are working just like they should. What was great about this first visit was that I got my first taste of how I was helping the next generation of doctors.
I’ve been to the “girl doctor” soooooo many times since then (what with the miscarriage and then complications after the miscarriage and then this very healthy pregnancy) and I had yet to encounter another student.
Until yesterday. And yes it made the appointment go so much longer than it should have, but it was all worth it to see the excitement on the student’s face when she found the heartbeat for the very first time or when she tried to feel around for the little kicks that I am feeling so often now. And when she asked questions, she explained why she was asking them. As if she read her “girl doctor 101 book” right before she came in.
It was fun.

I got my new glasses yesterday. And as soon as I put them on, I could tell a difference. Maybe it sounds crazy, but I felt just a little bit more like me.
Only two and a half days more of work this week and then it’s Christmas. I’ll be going home to Kentucky on Christmas Day – something I was supposed to do last year, but was unable to do because of the 12+ inches of snow that fell between my moms and me the night before we were supposed to leave.
But the weathermen have promised me that there is no snow in the forecast this year – at least no heavy snow. So far all those who were hoping for a white Christmas this year, be happy to know that you not seeing the snow means I can see my family on Christmas Day.

Okay, I admit it. I was very glad last night, when the CPH left at 2 in the morning for another round of dumpster diving, that I was in fact pregnant and that dumpster diving is just too unsafe for someone in my condition.
Because it was f’ing cold in my bed, let alone in a sub-zero dumpster.
But that CPH and his friend, James, toughed it out and got well over the amount of cups needed for a trip to DC. Now here’s hoping that we get the tickets back before I can’t travel.

This weekend was nice and relaxing. Friday night, I was supposed to go to a Christmas Party. Instead, I left work half an hour early and went straight to bed. I stayed there until about 7. Saturday, we were supposed to drive to Louisville to see some old friends. Instead, we cancelled because the CPH was making himself sick with stress. Saturday came and went without much to mention. I did take off on Saturday evening and enjoyed a lonely time of dinner and a movie all by myself. It is so rare that I do this that I find it enjoyable every single time. If you want to know, I went and saw this and thought it enjoyable. I’d definitely see it again. Sunday the in-laws joined us at our church and afterwards, we ate lunch with them and the famous Kyle Ragsdale and some other not so famous but just as enjoyable friends.
As soon as the CPH and I arrived home, we climbed into bed for a Sunday nap. Before we fell asleep, I had my hand on my stomach (it’s there a lot of the time – friction and all, right DH?) and I felt the baby move, from the f’ing outside. I had begun to feel some “fluttering like” movement last Thursday, but this was the first time I could actually see my hand, pressed on my tummy, move. It was quite exciting. The CPH got to feel it too. He thought it was “freaky” and “surreal”.
Sunday night, we went to a semi-regular meeting of people at our friends, the A*’s. The CPH, feeling a bit less stressed because he hit his goal on the much-abhorred GRE, actually got to come along and even stayed after I had caught a ride home with a friend.
Good times. And this week promises to be fast. I’ve got my monthly doctor’s visit on Thursday (have I mentioned how much faster the weeks are going by). And Friday we get to leave work at noon. And then it’s Christmas!

I am in the middle of my 20th week. That means I’m halfway to the end. I can’t believe how fast the months are progressing. I can still remember how slow the month of October drug by. Waiting for my first trimester to be over was worse than waiting for anything else in the world. Waiting to go to bed after a 10+ hour road trip is almost worst, but not quite.
But now, I’m clearly pregnant. I’ve got people coming up to me and rubbing my tummy. I’ve got friends telling me how adorably pregnant I am.
I don’t think I’ve felt the baby move yet (apparently I will be well aware of it when it does happen), so there’s still room (at least in my crazy head) for worry. It seems like there’s a never ending amount of milestones that I have to climb over before I’ll actually be certain that nothing will go wrong in this pregnancy. Actually, I’m not sure I’ll ever be totally confident that everything will go as it should.
But my stomach is getting bigger by the day and pretty soon I’ll start having appointments with my doctor every two weeks instead of every four. And pretty soon, I’ll feel the baby moving on a regular basis. See, I’m optimistic!
On a slightly more fun note, the CPH and I have started looking at houses to buy. If it’s all in the cards, we’re pretty sure we want to stay close to where we are now. We’re particularly excited about one particular house that is within (very close!) walking distance to our local grocery mart, a wine bar we like a lot, and the neighborhood diner. Talk about convenience! The plan is for us to go take a look at it once the CPH’s school work slows down (another story for another time – OH how busy he is!).

When I was a kid, I would often blame my brother for something I did. Sometimes, I wouldn’t even have to do the blaming. My mom would guess the culprit and guess wrong.
These are just some of the reasons that I find it so hard to support the death penalty.
Yes. Some people do some terrible things. But some people don’t do terrible things and still get blamed for them.
I can’t say for sure where the man executed as yesterday turned to today fell. But doesn’t it make you think, just a little?
And where does rehabilitation fit in? He and a friend have written several anti-gang books. He has apologized for his part in inventing his (oh my so! – even Jamie knows their sign, go on ask her) well-known gang.
But he refused to apologize for the crimes for which he was convicted saying that he can’t apologize for something he didn’t do.
And according to the governor of California, no redemption can be given without an apology.

No. Really. They’ll just walk up to me and rub my tummy. Buddha-style. Like they’re hoping to receive a blessing.
And I can’t really say I blame them. I can’t stop touching it either. And at least it’s not strangers that are doing this.
Now that would be weird.

This past weekend, I broke my glasses. Maybe I acted in foreknowledge when I called for a eye doctor visit the week before I broke my glasses. Maybe my glasses felt it was finally okay to let go since I had begun my search for a new pair. Regardless they’re broken. Unfixable, actually. The CPH tried, but didn’t succeed. Luckily, I have a pair of quite old glasses that I never wore much. They were the product of a buy one, get one free deal and I bought them as my “practical” pair. They are ugly and they were quite cheap. They don’t have any anti-reflective coating on them and I can definitely tell a difference. So much so that when I went in to order my new glasses, I made sure to get the most expensive, state-of-the-art, high-technology anti-reflective coating (teflon, actually. Isn’t that the stuff that killed my biology teacher’s bird?).
When I’m wearing my old, “reflection please come out to play” glasses, my mood changes. I get more anxious. I get more paranoid. I feel more rushed.
Maybe I would do best to wear sunglasses all the time.

The house is all decorated. and clean. Well, at least the bottom half of the house is clean. If anyone is still thinking about a Christmas present for me, how ‘bout hiring a maid?

Sometimes I worry that my compassion is lacking. I know some of you who read that will question my statement. But still I worry. Sometimes, I see that the ferrets’ water bottle is running low, but i’m leaving the room and I figure the CPH will see it and fill it. Sometimes, I know I should wash the skillet after I use it so the CPH can have a clean pan to make his breakfast in, but I’m running late and so I don’t clean it.
So sometimes, I worry that my compassion will fail when my husband or my (future) children need it most. Sometimes I worry that I will know that my child is playing with a semi-dangerous object but I will ignore my instinct and move on. Isn’t that scary? Believe me when I say I don’t want to feel this way and I recognize it is a product of my laziness.
But then something happens where you realize you have to act now to stop someone you love from hurting and all your worries go away….at least for a while.
Last night, the CPH took our newly purchased Christmas Tree out of the van and slid the door shut. Unfortunately, he miscalculated where his hands were located and where the door would slam shut and two of his fingers got stuck between the door frame and the now closed door. I had carried the tree stand up the stairs and was just about to unlock the front door when I heard him screaming for me. I ran down the stair and tried my hardest to unlock the sliding door (why must he be so good about locking the door every single time?) so that he could get his fingers out of the jam.
So sometimes, when the people I love are really hurt, I step up. And that makes me relieved.
Oh yeah – Just so you’re not too worried. He seems to be okay. He’s having a hard time typing, which is a bummer since that is what he does most of the day, but, as he said this morning, “it will heal.”

The CPH, in one of his ever-so-common delirious stages of late night/early morning hysterias, started a google search last night on the name that we have chosen if we happen to have a girl. He found out that if our little girl ever decides to travel to France….well it might be better if we pick another name. Apparently, the name is a very popular dog name in Paris. I’m told that the author of the book where we first became acquainted with it, invented the name. Someone said it’s the equivalent of naming your child, in the U.S., Cindarella.
I’m not really that worried about it. Maybe, because I’ve just got this feeling that we’re going to have a boy. But I’d hate to be surprised with a girl and have no name for her!
Any suggestions?

I can’t count the number of times over the years that I’ve found a perfect present for the CPH but it’s just a little bit more than I’m able to spend on one particular present. The great thing about being married though, is that you can let your mom or his mom know about it. Voila! He’ll still get the present and you’ll not be breaking the bank by trying to get him everything you know he wants.