Bouncy, bouncy

It is way too much fun to bounce on the exercise/birth ball.

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Ultrasound

Well, we are having an ultrasound tomorrow for 41 week testing. Just to make sure he’s still thriving in there. I think it will be fine, although I am a little nervous. However, I hope we don’t discover it’s a girl instead of a boy after picking out a name and decorating the room and everything.

I have discovered that I love bouncing on the birthing ball. It’s supposed to help bring on labor, too. A win-win.

Fun with servers

It was really fun to tell the server at Chili’s tonight that I’m five days overdue. Her eyes got so big! I’m going to tell as many people as possible until the baby comes. In fact, I might get a T-shirt made or a sign to hang around my neck. This is unexpectedly awesome.

Maybe Uncle Ben was stubborn, too

He is still refusing to come out. Maybe today will be lucky. It is the anniversary of my Uncle Ben’s birthday. He was a musician who lived in Austin. He loved cats and Garfield and could play almost every instrument. It seemed like it anyway. He died almost twenty years ago of a brain aneurysm, so I didn’t get to know him very well, but I thought he was cool. He taught me how to blow bubbles with bubble gum and gave us McDonald’s gift certificates for Christmas. I feel connected to him whenever I play the piano, although I can’t play rock ‘n’ roll on it like he could. I’m better at classical. Thanks to him, my brother and I discovered Nermal (the cutest cat in the world) and garnered hours of entertainment from that and marveling how cute his cat was all hunched up behind the curtain on the windowsill. It’s actually amazing how alike we are. I wish I’d gotten to know him better, but I’m glad for the time we got. Thanks, Uncle Ben. Hope you’re still rocking out up in heaven.

Why?

Why won’t my son come out? Doesn’t he want to be squeezed and pushed in to a glaringly bright, stiflingly hot new world full of drivers on cell phones and oblivious smokers who think being outside negates the effects of their secondhand smoke? (Yeah, I’m talking about you ladies outside the Alamo Village last Friday night, who didn’t seem to realize that the ceiling fans were wafting your cigarette smoke directly towards my unborn child’s pristine lungs.)

Tales from Grandpa, part 2

So, Grandpa has a lot of great stories about his time serving in World War II, but it’s hard to get him started telling them. He did tell me once about a bunkmate of his who had that famous pin-up of Betty Grable pinned up over his bed. Every time they would leave, the guy would kiss his fingers and then press them on Betty Grable’s rear end in the picture. Grandpa asked him why he did that. He replied, “Because if I die, I want to be able to say that the last thing I did was kiss Betty Grable’s ass!”

Tales from Grandpa

I’ve been thinking about my Grandpa a lot lately. He was quite the raconteur in his day, but he has been declining somewhat lately. I feel like I want to preserve some of my favorites of his stories.

In my previous post, I mentioned that I am supposedly related to Jesse James on my mother’s side. My grandfather’s mother’s maiden name was James. This was Grandpa’s main proof of the relationship when we got older, but his proof was slightly more colorful when we were younger and more gullible. He told us that Jesse James used to come by his house and his mother would give him a bag of cookies, which he would then sling over his saddle and ride off! Grandpa later admitted this wasn’t true, but he still insists we are related to Jesse James.

Weird (and some wonderful) factoids about my family

1. An inordinate number of people in my mom’s family go by their middle names. My mom, grandfather, younger brother, uncle, aunt, and two cousins, to be exact. In fact, my step-grandmother’s and late uncle’s chosen monikers aren’t part of their name at all. If my uncle, aunt, and cousin went by their proper names, they would be Rady, Alma, and Stephanie, rather than Tom, Jane, and Michele. If my step-grandmother and uncle went by their proper names, they would be Ila and Charles Michael, instead of Tiny and Ben. In fact, Ben was named for my great-uncle Ben, who was also named Charles Michael. No one knows why anymore.

2. My younger brother and two first cousins all have the same birthday (albeit in different years).

3. I am supposedly related to Jesse James on my mom’s side, as well as Brigham Young. In fact, Young is a family name on both sides. I don’t want to look too closely at that.

4. Five of my dad’s six sisters have a form of “Mary” as their first name. My paternal grandfather was a devout Catholic and, after one of my aunts died at the age of two weeks, he promised God that any other daughters he was blessed with would be named after Mary. He got six more.

5. An inordinate number of people in both of my families have the same name. My grandfather and uncle, my niece and first cousin once removed, my mom and my paternal grandmother, my first cousin and me, and soon, my son and another first cousin once removed. Oh, and my stepfather and my older brother. That’s the most confusing one.

6. My mom’s first and third husbands have the same name. Which is why my stepdad and older brother have the same name. My older brother was named after his biological dad. (Before you start thinking my mom gets married every time she turns around, she was married to my dad for over 20 years and has been married to my stepdad for almost 16 now.)

7. I have a niece who is 13 years younger and an aunt who is 13 years older than me. In fact, the age difference between my youngest aunt and my older brother (oldest grandchild) on my dad’s side is 3 years.

8. My uncle’s first wife’s second husband was the son of Ross Barnett, former governor of Mississippi. My former aunt and her husband called the governor and his wife “Big Momma” and “Big Daddy.” To quote Dave Barry, I swear I am not making this up.

9. My stepdad, older brother, and I are all left-handed. (Well, I think my older brother is ambidextrous.) In fact, both of my stepsister’s parents are left-handed, but she is right-handed.

10. My stepsister is four days younger than me. We always refer to each other as “sister,” so you can imagine the confusion we caused when we told people that. So much fun.

Top 10 Most Annoying Things Said to Expectant Parents

In no particular order:

1. It will change your life forever. (If they are too stupid to know this, they shouldn’t be having a baby.)

2. Sleep when the baby sleeps. (Every baby book says this. You need to think up better material if this is your best advice.)

3. Anything prefaced with “It was good enough in my day…” (Moms get VERY huffy about the changes in child-rearing since they raised their own children. They seem to take them as a personal insult.)

4. “You’re going to get the drugs, right?” (Followed by a polite “Oh” when you tell them you are, in fact, crazy enough to want to try natural childbirth.)

5. Retelling a friend’s horrific birth story to a first-time mother. (Why did the checker at HEB, a complete stranger by the way, think I wanted to know about her friend’s emergency C-section?)

6. “You’re not a Mommy yet!” (In response to the “Mommy and Me” shirt I wore at my baby shower. My uncle should try saying that to me after he lugs a baby around inside him for six months.)

7. “Say good-bye to a good night’s sleep.” (Oh, REALLY? Babies don’t sleep much? They wake up at night?? Why did no one tell me this???)

8. “Are you going to lock her up till she’s 30?” (Sexist humor never gets old.)

9. “I wonder if you’ll still be as crazy about your cats after the baby comes.” (Oh, yes, that’s an excellent trait for a parent. Ceasing to care about living creatures who depend on you after you get a new, more demanding one.)

10. “I know this isn’t what you registered for, but this worked so much better for me.” (Why don’t you just come right out and say that you think my carefully researched parenting decisions are stupid?)

Angry yoga??

In my previous post, I mentioned that someone had taken one of my props accidentally. (Namely, a bolster.) Oddly enough, my anger and annoyance over this discovery (Hey, I practice yoga, but I’m no saint. Especially when I’m nine months pregnant and it’s over 100 degrees outside.) helped me with the endurance exercises we do in class to simulate contractions and get us ready for labor. I think I’ve discovered a new branch to this ancient discipline!! Angry yoga! Who would have ever thought that anger might help with yoga?

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