I don't know why I ever thought I was missing out on an essential experience of pregnancy by not having nausea. I was crazy! Now I have nauseous off and on all day long. It strikes at the most random times and leaves me hunched over in class with a look of complete disgust (or is it constipation?) on my face. I'm sure if anyone notices, they think I'm going down the mental drain- rocking back and forth to myself and making crazy faces.
Also, I have to pee. Alot. I knew this would happen, but I didn't know how much self control I would lack. I ran a mile downhill to catch my ferry yesterday and each bouncing step of the way I thought I would pee myself. I feel sorry for the poor guy I collided with during my frantic rush to the ferry restroom. Words of advice for unsuspecting third parties: don't EVER come between a pregnant lady and the restroom.
The symptom which has changed my life, or to be less dramatic: my schedule, the most is complete exhaustion. I'm used to going for an entire week off of 5 hours of sleep a night, 6 if I'm lucky. Now I start slowing down at 6:00pm. If I'm at my home or near a couch, I will pass out and wake up at 7:00am the next morning- no joke! I'm so tired by the time I get home that all I can muster is taking off my jacket and walking to the couch before I collapse for 12 straight hours. All I can do during the weekend is lay all day on the couch and take intermittent naps. Oh and these aren't your average cat naps either, these are coma-like, dream-infused naps.
Constipation: wont go away. No matter what I do I can't seem to remedy this symptom. I give up. I'm sick of trying to pour a swiming pool quanity of water down my throat each day. Sick of eating inhumane amounts of fiber. SICK SICK SICK of that nasty tasting, fake "mixed berry" flavored Metamucil. Nothing helps! I feel like I'm walking around with a bowl of poo inside me. I'm even afraid to eat because there is where for it to go...
I don't know if this is a symptom or not, I like to think it is so that I have a reasonable explanation for it, but I dread law school this semester. I hate my alarm for waking me up at 5:05am. I hate the house for being cold. I hate the fact that I have to expunge the energy to get DRESSED for school (I don't even get dressed for my husband) and make a lunch. I hate catching the ferry each morning. I hate the crammed bus rides to my campus. I hate my classes. I hate the students who always know the answers and understand the readings. In fact, I hate everything about law school right now.
I have absolutely no motivation. I do have bitter resentment for my ever increasing student loans though. Today in my 8:30am class, I realized just how much I hated being in law school right now and I started to cry all over myself. I don't think anyone noticed, but I didn't even care anymore. When I realized I was crying, I started to cry more. Before I knew it, there was a low-hanging grey cloud circling above my head and a puddle of tears on my computer.
I hope I'm not fooling myself by saying that it can only get better from here.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Losing Faith in the Big Firms
This week I have been working on a case that never fails to surprise and amaze me. Most surprising is the carelessness of the attorney for the opposing party. This is the same guy I complained about in my post “Even Law Has Its Fools”
Anyway, this guy works for a huge law firm with offices in multiple states- but it would seem from his work that he doesn’t know a thing about practicing law. In his original Complaint he alleges only one claim for relief. However, we just receive a pleading from him in which he provides support for two new claims that are not listed or mentioned in the complaint—you couldn’t even imply them from the facts of the complaint.
Washington is a notice pleading state, so that means all you have to do is give fair notice to your opponent about the nature of your claim and the grounds for relief. This doesn’t mean, however, that you can wait until late in the litigation process, when your original claim seems to be losing ground, to randomly spring new claims on the other side! This attorney blatantly lied in a responsive pleading by saying that we “misrepresented” his original complaint to have only one claim. Rereading his complaint, there are no facts which could be construed in any way to show any elements of the new claims.
I have to add that this guy turned his response in to our office about half an hour before the cutoff. He had several days to turn it in but no, he put it off until the last minute. What if our office had closed half an hour early?
Also, today we caught the plaintiff in a blatant, bold-faced lie. A lie that, had it been true, was necessary to establish her main claim. More importantly we have the documents, the “smoking gun,” to prove that she lied. If the attorney was any good, he would have double checked these documents himself before relying on them in his pleading. I know that’s the first thing I would have done.
Last, but not least, I found at least TWO simple spelling mistakes in his responsive pleading as well as a sentence that was lacking a word- and a verb for that matter! Sheesh! (Ok it may seem like I am nitpicking this guy apart, but seriously an attorney who makes big bucks has no excuse for being so careless- and your spelling and grammar establishes your credibility before the judge- that is what we have always been taught in my school). My faith in these big firms is dwindling ever so quickly.
Anyway, this guy works for a huge law firm with offices in multiple states- but it would seem from his work that he doesn’t know a thing about practicing law. In his original Complaint he alleges only one claim for relief. However, we just receive a pleading from him in which he provides support for two new claims that are not listed or mentioned in the complaint—you couldn’t even imply them from the facts of the complaint.
Washington is a notice pleading state, so that means all you have to do is give fair notice to your opponent about the nature of your claim and the grounds for relief. This doesn’t mean, however, that you can wait until late in the litigation process, when your original claim seems to be losing ground, to randomly spring new claims on the other side! This attorney blatantly lied in a responsive pleading by saying that we “misrepresented” his original complaint to have only one claim. Rereading his complaint, there are no facts which could be construed in any way to show any elements of the new claims.
I have to add that this guy turned his response in to our office about half an hour before the cutoff. He had several days to turn it in but no, he put it off until the last minute. What if our office had closed half an hour early?
Also, today we caught the plaintiff in a blatant, bold-faced lie. A lie that, had it been true, was necessary to establish her main claim. More importantly we have the documents, the “smoking gun,” to prove that she lied. If the attorney was any good, he would have double checked these documents himself before relying on them in his pleading. I know that’s the first thing I would have done.
Last, but not least, I found at least TWO simple spelling mistakes in his responsive pleading as well as a sentence that was lacking a word- and a verb for that matter! Sheesh! (Ok it may seem like I am nitpicking this guy apart, but seriously an attorney who makes big bucks has no excuse for being so careless- and your spelling and grammar establishes your credibility before the judge- that is what we have always been taught in my school). My faith in these big firms is dwindling ever so quickly.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Undergrads: Keep Out
Call me selfish, but I do NOT like sharing my nice law school building with undergrads. Every once in a while I will catch a gaggle of undergrads giggling and blushing at one of the tables in the common area of my law school.
It's easy to identify the culprits. Not only do they tote aroung Biology and Chemistry books, they talk about their boyfriends still in highschool (shock!), and talk loudly on their cell phones while chewing gum (also really loudly). They are also easy to identify because, well, they dress like undergrads. They typically wear their Ambercrombie labels, college organization t-shirts, and sorority outfits and accessories.
Undergrads at my school have the entire campus as their jungle gym- to romp and be rowdy. I, on the other hand, only have the sanctuary of one building. I don't understand what compells them to frequent my building. Sometimes I think they do it just to feel cool or something (I wish being in the lawbuilding was enough to make me feel cool). So undergrads, please STAY OUT!
If I was going to commandeer a table in someone else's school, I would work harder to blend in and follow the unspoken behavioral rules. I would at least respect the people around me who are dwelling in peaceful silence or desperately cramming in between classes. AND I would not eat all the taco bowls on the Thursday menu.
It's easy to identify the culprits. Not only do they tote aroung Biology and Chemistry books, they talk about their boyfriends still in highschool (shock!), and talk loudly on their cell phones while chewing gum (also really loudly). They are also easy to identify because, well, they dress like undergrads. They typically wear their Ambercrombie labels, college organization t-shirts, and sorority outfits and accessories.
Undergrads at my school have the entire campus as their jungle gym- to romp and be rowdy. I, on the other hand, only have the sanctuary of one building. I don't understand what compells them to frequent my building. Sometimes I think they do it just to feel cool or something (I wish being in the lawbuilding was enough to make me feel cool). So undergrads, please STAY OUT!
If I was going to commandeer a table in someone else's school, I would work harder to blend in and follow the unspoken behavioral rules. I would at least respect the people around me who are dwelling in peaceful silence or desperately cramming in between classes. AND I would not eat all the taco bowls on the Thursday menu.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Baby Cuteness Overdose
Today I went shopping for my sister-in-law's baby shower- which is next week. Since I found out that I was pregnant, I have been trying so hard to avoid the baby aisles in every department store. I love baby clothes. Imagining all those tiny outfits on cute tiny baby parts makes me explode from an overdose of warm fuzzies and cuteness. But I was a little afraid that endulging these my baby senses would jinx the entire thing.
Today I had a viable excuse, however, for perusing aisle after aisle of dollsized onesies, hats, bibs, booties, mittens, and those adorable, soft baby towels with the folded corners. I overdosed on baby items of all kinds, breathed them all in, touched the tiny materials and imagined even tinier baby fingers and toes inside them. I have to say that even though newborns look kinda squished and wrinkly, a newborn is my favorite kind of baby. They are so tiny and wobbly. So helpless yet so strong. So incredibly mini in all ways. Even those powerful yet unperfected newborn cries have no comparison. I just want to nurture them to death.
I know there is something seriously wrong with me when it comes to babies. When I was young (like ten or eleven), I would try to fall asleep at night by imaginging me at an animal zoo where all the animals had babies and I would steal the animal babies and take care of them myself. It was a sick fantasy, I know. But this just shows how I have been enamored with babies my entire life.
Newborns are as close to the power/divinity of creation that we will ever get. Living proof that there is some miraculous power behind the design of each human cell, that same power that is orchestrating each step of the complex development process. It's so incredibly amazing that our cells know exactly what to do to shape us into what we become- a self sufficient body of organs and systems with independence, emotions, senses, individuality.
I still can't get myself to buy any baby items for our future baby. I guess I need to know whether it will be a boy or a girl first. Maybe I feel guilty endulging my desire to touch baby clothes and imagine my own baby wearing it. Maybe I still can't fathom the though of having a baby, a baby that is mine to care for.
I think newborns appeal to me so much because opportunities to care for them are so scarce. Moms with newborns do not often let babysitters care for the newborns, especially if they are breastfeeding. Newborns don't stay newborns very long either. It's hard to believe that not only will I be able to hold and love and take care of a newborn- but I will have unlimited access to the baby. Finally, a baby I can guiltlessly smother with my love for hours and hours. I won't even have to share! Do I really have to wait seven more months!?! OMG!
Today I had a viable excuse, however, for perusing aisle after aisle of dollsized onesies, hats, bibs, booties, mittens, and those adorable, soft baby towels with the folded corners. I overdosed on baby items of all kinds, breathed them all in, touched the tiny materials and imagined even tinier baby fingers and toes inside them. I have to say that even though newborns look kinda squished and wrinkly, a newborn is my favorite kind of baby. They are so tiny and wobbly. So helpless yet so strong. So incredibly mini in all ways. Even those powerful yet unperfected newborn cries have no comparison. I just want to nurture them to death.
I know there is something seriously wrong with me when it comes to babies. When I was young (like ten or eleven), I would try to fall asleep at night by imaginging me at an animal zoo where all the animals had babies and I would steal the animal babies and take care of them myself. It was a sick fantasy, I know. But this just shows how I have been enamored with babies my entire life.
Newborns are as close to the power/divinity of creation that we will ever get. Living proof that there is some miraculous power behind the design of each human cell, that same power that is orchestrating each step of the complex development process. It's so incredibly amazing that our cells know exactly what to do to shape us into what we become- a self sufficient body of organs and systems with independence, emotions, senses, individuality.
I still can't get myself to buy any baby items for our future baby. I guess I need to know whether it will be a boy or a girl first. Maybe I feel guilty endulging my desire to touch baby clothes and imagine my own baby wearing it. Maybe I still can't fathom the though of having a baby, a baby that is mine to care for.
I think newborns appeal to me so much because opportunities to care for them are so scarce. Moms with newborns do not often let babysitters care for the newborns, especially if they are breastfeeding. Newborns don't stay newborns very long either. It's hard to believe that not only will I be able to hold and love and take care of a newborn- but I will have unlimited access to the baby. Finally, a baby I can guiltlessly smother with my love for hours and hours. I won't even have to share! Do I really have to wait seven more months!?! OMG!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tell Me Now!
I am not a patient person. I'm a sentimental romantic, but definately not patient. I know this frsutrates my husband. The romantic in me sometimes demands surprises. The impatient two year old in me demands to know what the surprise is IMMEDIATELY!
A couple weeks ago my husband took me on a surprise date (I may have asked for the surprise date, but I can't remember). After it became clear that he was planning something, I begged and pleaded and pouted to know what it was. He refused to budge, it nearly killed me. (Really, my head almost rolled off my neck under the pressure of impatient mind spasms). I try not to ask for surprises anymore, but deep down the romantic in me daydreams about them.
At first, I thought it would be cool to wait until our baby is born before finding out the gender. I told my husband we should do this, I told him we should be surprised. He quickly reminded me how practical it is to find out before hand- so you can plan and buy things and decorate the nursery. The selfish, spoiled part of me that likes presents realized that finding out ahead of time was the only way to avoid a million pee-yellow and garbage-brown neutral gender baby gifts. Also, the practical me advised the romantic in me that waiting for it to be a surprise would not end so well anyway. I would end up caving in from my inhumane lack of patience, or throwing curiosity fits or pulling my hair out.
There are alot of phony baby gender prediction tests on the internet. There is a chinese year calendar that claims to reveal the gender of your baby based upon the month of conception and the due date (or something like that). There are many other tests that don't explain themselves unless you pay upfront first.
But today I saw an ad for this Intelligender prediction kit.
http://www.intelligender.com/
I was skeptical at first, but then I saw an article about it in Parenting Magazine. The test measures the amount of testosterone in your urine...you can take it as soon as you are in your 10th week of pregnancy (next week for me!). Some respectable people claim to have used it and it boasts a 90% accuracy rating. Really? Do you think this thing works? Husband called bullshit, but I'm not so sure. Anything to relieve my burning curiosity.
I might just order it and take it for fun....
A couple weeks ago my husband took me on a surprise date (I may have asked for the surprise date, but I can't remember). After it became clear that he was planning something, I begged and pleaded and pouted to know what it was. He refused to budge, it nearly killed me. (Really, my head almost rolled off my neck under the pressure of impatient mind spasms). I try not to ask for surprises anymore, but deep down the romantic in me daydreams about them.
At first, I thought it would be cool to wait until our baby is born before finding out the gender. I told my husband we should do this, I told him we should be surprised. He quickly reminded me how practical it is to find out before hand- so you can plan and buy things and decorate the nursery. The selfish, spoiled part of me that likes presents realized that finding out ahead of time was the only way to avoid a million pee-yellow and garbage-brown neutral gender baby gifts. Also, the practical me advised the romantic in me that waiting for it to be a surprise would not end so well anyway. I would end up caving in from my inhumane lack of patience, or throwing curiosity fits or pulling my hair out.
There are alot of phony baby gender prediction tests on the internet. There is a chinese year calendar that claims to reveal the gender of your baby based upon the month of conception and the due date (or something like that). There are many other tests that don't explain themselves unless you pay upfront first.
But today I saw an ad for this Intelligender prediction kit.
http://www.intelligender.com/
I was skeptical at first, but then I saw an article about it in Parenting Magazine. The test measures the amount of testosterone in your urine...you can take it as soon as you are in your 10th week of pregnancy (next week for me!). Some respectable people claim to have used it and it boasts a 90% accuracy rating. Really? Do you think this thing works? Husband called bullshit, but I'm not so sure. Anything to relieve my burning curiosity.
I might just order it and take it for fun....
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Slacking Already
No more lawshool,
no more books,
no more professor's dirty looks....
for coming in late...AGAIN. Or for generally not caring about class discussion. Or for covering the deficiency in my ability to get dressed with the SAME fleece jacket (it's my default). Or for trying to stab myself in the eye with my pencil each time Annoying Guy tries to impress us all with his pompous and irrelevant comments.
I swear that half of the law students in my school are filled with bullshit up to their necks. They are only able to hide their bullshit through the use of elite and elusive vocabulary words. Do people really use words like "tantamount" on a daily basis? Ok, I have to admit that after I heard Annoying Guy use it in a class discussion, I might have used it once in a paper...but I think that's just a survival tactic for trying to "blend" in. Or I'm jealous.
Personally, I'm still waiting for the day that someone in the admissions office realizes that there has been a big mistake and that I was never actually accepted into law school. I sometimes feel like the only person truly alive among a sea of law school obsessed, professor ass kissers. I made is a point after the craziness of 1L year to NOT let lawschool be my entire life (shocking!). But I do envy people who are better focused and more committed to class work/assignments than I am.
no more books,
no more professor's dirty looks....
for coming in late...AGAIN. Or for generally not caring about class discussion. Or for covering the deficiency in my ability to get dressed with the SAME fleece jacket (it's my default). Or for trying to stab myself in the eye with my pencil each time Annoying Guy tries to impress us all with his pompous and irrelevant comments.
I swear that half of the law students in my school are filled with bullshit up to their necks. They are only able to hide their bullshit through the use of elite and elusive vocabulary words. Do people really use words like "tantamount" on a daily basis? Ok, I have to admit that after I heard Annoying Guy use it in a class discussion, I might have used it once in a paper...but I think that's just a survival tactic for trying to "blend" in. Or I'm jealous.
Personally, I'm still waiting for the day that someone in the admissions office realizes that there has been a big mistake and that I was never actually accepted into law school. I sometimes feel like the only person truly alive among a sea of law school obsessed, professor ass kissers. I made is a point after the craziness of 1L year to NOT let lawschool be my entire life (shocking!). But I do envy people who are better focused and more committed to class work/assignments than I am.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
A Recurring Battle With Subway
The international Subway Franchise operates according to a universal and unwritten rule:
Thou shalt have no more than 5 olives on thy six inch sub.
I love olives (back, not green). I never thought to put them on a sandwich until I saw them among Subway's sandwich condiments. A veggie subway sandwich with olives is one of those little things that makes life so rich and beautiful. For the 2.5 minutes it takes me to devour the sandwich, I am not just content but spellbound, I don't think I'm capable of carrying on a conversation or even retaining any semblance of an intelligent thought.
There is one defect in this blissfull experience, however, and that is that the subway sandwich engineers refuse to put more than five olives on any one six-inch sandwich. This is so frustrating! Why so stingy? I'm not on the Jared diet, and if I was, would a handful of olives really put me over the edge of the calorie count? Would it kill them to have a little generosity with their condiments?? SERIOUSLY. How much money are they saving from skimping on ten or fifteen extra olives?
This has bothered me so much that I started to request "extra olives." Upon hearing this request, the sandwich engineer will faithfully sprinkle a whopping total of SEVEN olives on my sandwich. At first I thought it was a fluke or that they didn't hear me. But then this happened every time I requested extra olives and at different Subway franchises too. I just gave up. You know, I would be willing to pay an extra 50 cents if they would simply put a generous serving of olives on my sandwich. But I have such a hard time communicating to Subway what a normal serving of olives should be that I feel like explaining "generous portion" would be a hopeless task.
Next time I go to Subway, I'm freaking bringing my own sandwich bag of olives. (I'm also considering organizing a mass picket outside my local subway location, but the logistics aren't fully formed yet).
Thou shalt have no more than 5 olives on thy six inch sub.
I love olives (back, not green). I never thought to put them on a sandwich until I saw them among Subway's sandwich condiments. A veggie subway sandwich with olives is one of those little things that makes life so rich and beautiful. For the 2.5 minutes it takes me to devour the sandwich, I am not just content but spellbound, I don't think I'm capable of carrying on a conversation or even retaining any semblance of an intelligent thought.
There is one defect in this blissfull experience, however, and that is that the subway sandwich engineers refuse to put more than five olives on any one six-inch sandwich. This is so frustrating! Why so stingy? I'm not on the Jared diet, and if I was, would a handful of olives really put me over the edge of the calorie count? Would it kill them to have a little generosity with their condiments?? SERIOUSLY. How much money are they saving from skimping on ten or fifteen extra olives?
This has bothered me so much that I started to request "extra olives." Upon hearing this request, the sandwich engineer will faithfully sprinkle a whopping total of SEVEN olives on my sandwich. At first I thought it was a fluke or that they didn't hear me. But then this happened every time I requested extra olives and at different Subway franchises too. I just gave up. You know, I would be willing to pay an extra 50 cents if they would simply put a generous serving of olives on my sandwich. But I have such a hard time communicating to Subway what a normal serving of olives should be that I feel like explaining "generous portion" would be a hopeless task.
Next time I go to Subway, I'm freaking bringing my own sandwich bag of olives. (I'm also considering organizing a mass picket outside my local subway location, but the logistics aren't fully formed yet).
Monday, January 21, 2008
Getting Used to the Idea
I still shudder sometimes when I hear people using the word "mommy" to describe the future me. The word mommy makes me think of other older people with kids in highschool or something. It doesn't seem right yet to think of myself as a soon to be mommy. Maybe I just have to get used to the word as a modifier of me- like I had to get used to being called a "teen" when I turned 13, I hated that word! I bet it will all change when I have a baby in my arms, but for me, the concept feels weird.
I remember when it seemed weird to refer to "the baby" when talking about the creature growing inside me. It was weird just talking/thinking about actually having a baby and being a parent. The idea was too new and so foreign to me. Now I'm so used to talking about "the baby" and hearing other people talk about "the baby." It isn't even born yet it already has an identity in this world. I just wish I knew the gender so I could stop calling the baby "it." :)
Warning: the rest of this post is a rant (a respectful one) on my own views on abortion. I don't mean to offend ANYONE, I just want to talk out my views to myself on my own blog (I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to do this).
One way in which I stand out from all of my lawschool friends is that I am pro-life. (Makes it very hard for me to support a democratic candidate for 2008- but I've decided to do it anyway because you can't chose a president over just one issue). I have lived among a sea of pro-choice friends for years though and I truly understand why they feel the way they do. Sometimes law has to be based upon practicality in being carried out and its affect on society. Although I disagree with pro-choice decisions of the Supreme Court, they make sense to me from a rational stand point. It seems to be a good way to balance interests and freedom. Sometimes I feel so swayed by the practicality of pro-choiceness (I know, not a word) that I almost forget that I am pro-life. Then I quickly remember that, wait, the thing isn't just a lump of tissues (well technically it is), but it's actually a life of its own.
Being pregnant has solidified my pro-life views. I know I would feel different in other circumstances- ex: being single, not wanting a baby, not having support, rape. But I think wanting to terminate a life is just a reaction made out of fear. Fear of not having enough money, or time, or not being ready, or not having hope that you can get through it (for rape, I am willing to make a concession even though I still would think a life has been lost). When I heard the baby's heartbeat at six weeks -- the actual baby, of course, had only been in existence for four weeks-- I was amazed. How can this not be considered a life? I know there are many arguments for this, such as: the baby can't live on it's own, it's not viable yet and there is still a chance of miscarriage, etc. While I understand these arguments, I will never be able to accept them. It's more than just a gut reaction to hearing a heart beat, and it's more than thinking life is precious at any stage and in any form, and for me it's not connected with any religious views because I am currently apathetic or in disillusionment regarding the idea of God. It's more than just reading the books showing what a fetus looks like each step of the way (yeah, starts out like a sea monkey but quickly takes a somewhat human form) or books on how meticulously a fetus grows and how the female body reacts to it- which by the way, is a very intricate and amazingly complex process, it's hard to believe it happens at all!
For me, it also comes down to the general indignation of accepting that humans are capable of killing their own kind and not just anyone of their kind, but one of their own future children. It pains me to see people who have endless love and respect for animals and pets of all kinds (we all love our animals- I know, I have two cats) but who could care less about other people on this planet. A fetus/baby is an living organism created from the genetic material of two people, it's something amazing that we create. But it's also a separate being. It's not for either parent to own or control, it has some level of autonomy. I personally can see the resemblence of the "tissue" to a human as early as seven/eight weeks old (maybe I have a great imagination)- how can we end the life of something that is so much like us? It seems to defy any sort of loyalty to innocent humanity.
Perhaps one in five pregnancies do end in miscarriage, but usually the life ends on its own because of a genetic mutation or other defect. I do not take this statistic as justification for ending a seemingly healthy life. Yes, it wouldn't survive on it's own. But neither do babies, they need someone to care for them and feed them. It's just a baby in a more vulnerable state and that is why we have a greater duty to protect it.
Prolifers and Prochoicers can dance around the issue of when life begins for the rest of time. By defining when it begins in different ways, each side can rationally and logically justify its view on the subject. Personally, I will always know where I stand on when life begins- because I think I'm a glass half full kind of person. I am more willing to risk accepting that a life has begun earlier rather than waiting until the baby is in the clear and completely viable. However, I do respect the views of my peers because I find those views to be persusive and rational and I can logically see why people would want a society which allows abortion, even if I don't.
I remember when it seemed weird to refer to "the baby" when talking about the creature growing inside me. It was weird just talking/thinking about actually having a baby and being a parent. The idea was too new and so foreign to me. Now I'm so used to talking about "the baby" and hearing other people talk about "the baby." It isn't even born yet it already has an identity in this world. I just wish I knew the gender so I could stop calling the baby "it." :)
Warning: the rest of this post is a rant (a respectful one) on my own views on abortion. I don't mean to offend ANYONE, I just want to talk out my views to myself on my own blog (I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to do this).
One way in which I stand out from all of my lawschool friends is that I am pro-life. (Makes it very hard for me to support a democratic candidate for 2008- but I've decided to do it anyway because you can't chose a president over just one issue). I have lived among a sea of pro-choice friends for years though and I truly understand why they feel the way they do. Sometimes law has to be based upon practicality in being carried out and its affect on society. Although I disagree with pro-choice decisions of the Supreme Court, they make sense to me from a rational stand point. It seems to be a good way to balance interests and freedom. Sometimes I feel so swayed by the practicality of pro-choiceness (I know, not a word) that I almost forget that I am pro-life. Then I quickly remember that, wait, the thing isn't just a lump of tissues (well technically it is), but it's actually a life of its own.
Being pregnant has solidified my pro-life views. I know I would feel different in other circumstances- ex: being single, not wanting a baby, not having support, rape. But I think wanting to terminate a life is just a reaction made out of fear. Fear of not having enough money, or time, or not being ready, or not having hope that you can get through it (for rape, I am willing to make a concession even though I still would think a life has been lost). When I heard the baby's heartbeat at six weeks -- the actual baby, of course, had only been in existence for four weeks-- I was amazed. How can this not be considered a life? I know there are many arguments for this, such as: the baby can't live on it's own, it's not viable yet and there is still a chance of miscarriage, etc. While I understand these arguments, I will never be able to accept them. It's more than just a gut reaction to hearing a heart beat, and it's more than thinking life is precious at any stage and in any form, and for me it's not connected with any religious views because I am currently apathetic or in disillusionment regarding the idea of God. It's more than just reading the books showing what a fetus looks like each step of the way (yeah, starts out like a sea monkey but quickly takes a somewhat human form) or books on how meticulously a fetus grows and how the female body reacts to it- which by the way, is a very intricate and amazingly complex process, it's hard to believe it happens at all!
For me, it also comes down to the general indignation of accepting that humans are capable of killing their own kind and not just anyone of their kind, but one of their own future children. It pains me to see people who have endless love and respect for animals and pets of all kinds (we all love our animals- I know, I have two cats) but who could care less about other people on this planet. A fetus/baby is an living organism created from the genetic material of two people, it's something amazing that we create. But it's also a separate being. It's not for either parent to own or control, it has some level of autonomy. I personally can see the resemblence of the "tissue" to a human as early as seven/eight weeks old (maybe I have a great imagination)- how can we end the life of something that is so much like us? It seems to defy any sort of loyalty to innocent humanity.
Perhaps one in five pregnancies do end in miscarriage, but usually the life ends on its own because of a genetic mutation or other defect. I do not take this statistic as justification for ending a seemingly healthy life. Yes, it wouldn't survive on it's own. But neither do babies, they need someone to care for them and feed them. It's just a baby in a more vulnerable state and that is why we have a greater duty to protect it.
Prolifers and Prochoicers can dance around the issue of when life begins for the rest of time. By defining when it begins in different ways, each side can rationally and logically justify its view on the subject. Personally, I will always know where I stand on when life begins- because I think I'm a glass half full kind of person. I am more willing to risk accepting that a life has begun earlier rather than waiting until the baby is in the clear and completely viable. However, I do respect the views of my peers because I find those views to be persusive and rational and I can logically see why people would want a society which allows abortion, even if I don't.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
That Sounds Good
I was looking at baby names for girls online (I have an abundance of boy names, but my girls list is pretty weak) when I came across the name "Poppy."
I definately do NOT like that name for a human baby.
But now I really REALLY want to sink my teeth into a fluffy poppy seed muffin. I may have to make a trip to the supermarket....
I definately do NOT like that name for a human baby.
But now I really REALLY want to sink my teeth into a fluffy poppy seed muffin. I may have to make a trip to the supermarket....
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Can You Get Bed Sores From Napping All Day?
Either the first week of school has finally caught up with me or pregnancy has finally caught up with me. This was the laziest Saturday of my entire life.
I had high hopes for this weekend and a long lost of "to do's" to accomplish. In addition to reading over 300 pages of homework, I have to finish a legal memo for one of my clients AND create drafts of the documents necessary to form her limited liability company. I have to do all of this before I go back to class on Tuesday.
Um, not so much.
Yesterday I hit the "eight week pregnant" milestone. I felt great, a little too great. I began to wonder if something was wrong. But today I feel more pregnant than I have ever felt. Aside from the one week during my sixth week, I still haven't been nauseous yet, but today I woke up feeling like a boulder had been dropped on me.
I only have enough energy to make food (slap sandwiches together and operate the microwave) and digest it. Ok, sometimes I have enough energy to check my email, oh and my favorite blogs. But I tried doing homework and feel asleep within 20 minutes. I wanted to go to the gym today but just driving my husband to the ferry left me feeling wiped out. My arms and legs are so heavy, it's like they are trapped under a boulder. I think I took three naps today- the rest of the time I laid across the couch, flipped through Martha Stewart Living, and competed with the cats to see who could come up with Most Ridiculous Lethargic Position. I can't even remember what I did that made today go by so fast.
I had high hopes for this weekend and a long lost of "to do's" to accomplish. In addition to reading over 300 pages of homework, I have to finish a legal memo for one of my clients AND create drafts of the documents necessary to form her limited liability company. I have to do all of this before I go back to class on Tuesday.
Um, not so much.
Yesterday I hit the "eight week pregnant" milestone. I felt great, a little too great. I began to wonder if something was wrong. But today I feel more pregnant than I have ever felt. Aside from the one week during my sixth week, I still haven't been nauseous yet, but today I woke up feeling like a boulder had been dropped on me.
I only have enough energy to make food (slap sandwiches together and operate the microwave) and digest it. Ok, sometimes I have enough energy to check my email, oh and my favorite blogs. But I tried doing homework and feel asleep within 20 minutes. I wanted to go to the gym today but just driving my husband to the ferry left me feeling wiped out. My arms and legs are so heavy, it's like they are trapped under a boulder. I think I took three naps today- the rest of the time I laid across the couch, flipped through Martha Stewart Living, and competed with the cats to see who could come up with Most Ridiculous Lethargic Position. I can't even remember what I did that made today go by so fast.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A Full Schedule
I have a pretty full schedule this semester. In addition to working 20 hours a week and babysitting every friday from 3- 9 (I think I am finally willing to admit that I may be too old to keep up this babysitting stuff), I am also taking a full load of classes.
I envy the law students that live close to campus. I commute 1.5 hours each way to get to school. It wouldn't be so bad except that I have to take an hour long ferry ride. The ferry doesn't run very frequently, so I have to catch super early boats to get to class on time. At night, I get out of class and down to the ferry in enough time to catch one of the late boats. If I miss my morning boat, I miss my first class. If I miss my late boat, I have to wait for hour and a half for the next one (which is at 10:30pm!).
Basically, I have to leave my house at 6:07 am to school in time for my 8:30am class. And although my last class ends at 8:20pm, the next boat doesn't get me home until 10:15pm. If I miss the bus to the ferry, I get to walk uphill for over a mile. But enough complaining- I chose to do this to myself so that I could work 3 days a week (I'm insane).
My classes seemed interesting when I signed up ,but after the first week of class, they don't seem very promising.
My classes:
- International Business Transactions Law (too technical!)
- Public Benefits Law (depressing!)
- Advanced Topics in International Law (turned out to be a political theory course)
- Construction Law (interesting topic but boring professor)
- Community Development Clinic (year long course- I'm doing a lot for my client but it's way too much work for a 2 credit/semester course!)
- Constitutional Law (required)
"O" Dreams!
Ok, here is another post about dreams, but at least its not another post about "poo." [cheers of applause]
This may be TMI, and for that, I am sorry.
More than once this month I have had a crazy sex dream. I wont go into the details of these dreams except to say that there is usually the factor of doing something forbidden and either being caught or feeling ashamed. Once I was even a man in a sex dream (seriously, what have I been eating!?) During a couple of these dreams I've had an orgasm. Sometimes I wake up not knowing if I just dreamt the feeling or if my dream was so intense that I actually experienced one. But each time the feeling is so strong and accurate that I would swear it was the real thing.
It's very odd to not have control over your sleeping subconscious.
Why are my dreams obsessed with sex? Where did their innocence go? I used to dream of baby animals, or barbies, or people's brains falling out of their heads as they walked down the street. I wish I could send my dreams to their rooms for a night or two. Or force them to watch 7th Heaven marathons.
This may be TMI, and for that, I am sorry.
More than once this month I have had a crazy sex dream. I wont go into the details of these dreams except to say that there is usually the factor of doing something forbidden and either being caught or feeling ashamed. Once I was even a man in a sex dream (seriously, what have I been eating!?) During a couple of these dreams I've had an orgasm. Sometimes I wake up not knowing if I just dreamt the feeling or if my dream was so intense that I actually experienced one. But each time the feeling is so strong and accurate that I would swear it was the real thing.
It's very odd to not have control over your sleeping subconscious.
Why are my dreams obsessed with sex? Where did their innocence go? I used to dream of baby animals, or barbies, or people's brains falling out of their heads as they walked down the street. I wish I could send my dreams to their rooms for a night or two. Or force them to watch 7th Heaven marathons.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The Power of Dreams
Even though I haven't been through the process yet, I know this whole chilbirth labor thing is definately not for me. I faint when I visit OTHER people in the hospital. I have never seen a full episode of ER- my eyes always find their way into the crux of my elbow. I lose my appetite (even for popcorn!) when I watch CSI. I can't hear about other people's injuries without my gag reflexes kicking in. I can't even read the "labor" chapters of pregnancy books without feeling lightheaded and weak.
I have a weak stomache, to say the least.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, the one thing that has dominated my every waking moment (even more so than excitement) has been the fear of pain and the expulsion of my own bodily gunk that inevitably follows 9 months of pregnancy. I am even tormented by something as small as being poked by an IV during my stay at the hospital. Under no circumstances do I want to see the umbilical cord or the placenta- shoot me first please. Just give me a clean, unattached baby. Thank you. The thought of being "on display" in front of medical staff, makes me want to shrivel in my own skin. I will have absolutely no visitors! Maybe Husband, if he promises not to look- I don't want him to be scarred too.
I know I sound like a really bad pregnant person and future mom. All the people who talk about the joys of pregnancy and the miracle of life would probably throw stones at me if they knew that it has ALMOST crossed my mind once or twice to pray for a miscarriage. I pray every night for a medical advancement that will allow doctors to turn babies into temporary ghosts so that they might just "float" out of their mom. Ok, maybe compared to prayers from starving Somalia children, my own prayers are not high on God's priority list.
I have to say that recently, I have been less fearful and neurotic. I had a dream this week that I was holding my baby. The eruption of love that I felt for the baby was just overwhelming. I actually "felt" what it was like to be a "mother" in that dream. All I remember was that it was powerful. I felt so blessed that I was the one charged with caring and loving the baby. I felt a strong bond and connection with the baby too. I think what I experienced in the dream resonated with me on a deeper level. Ever since that dream I have been able to overlook the once "terrifying" aspects of pregnancy and birth and have been so anxious and impatient to be able to actually have the baby
I have a weak stomache, to say the least.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, the one thing that has dominated my every waking moment (even more so than excitement) has been the fear of pain and the expulsion of my own bodily gunk that inevitably follows 9 months of pregnancy. I am even tormented by something as small as being poked by an IV during my stay at the hospital. Under no circumstances do I want to see the umbilical cord or the placenta- shoot me first please. Just give me a clean, unattached baby. Thank you. The thought of being "on display" in front of medical staff, makes me want to shrivel in my own skin. I will have absolutely no visitors! Maybe Husband, if he promises not to look- I don't want him to be scarred too.
I know I sound like a really bad pregnant person and future mom. All the people who talk about the joys of pregnancy and the miracle of life would probably throw stones at me if they knew that it has ALMOST crossed my mind once or twice to pray for a miscarriage. I pray every night for a medical advancement that will allow doctors to turn babies into temporary ghosts so that they might just "float" out of their mom. Ok, maybe compared to prayers from starving Somalia children, my own prayers are not high on God's priority list.
I have to say that recently, I have been less fearful and neurotic. I had a dream this week that I was holding my baby. The eruption of love that I felt for the baby was just overwhelming. I actually "felt" what it was like to be a "mother" in that dream. All I remember was that it was powerful. I felt so blessed that I was the one charged with caring and loving the baby. I felt a strong bond and connection with the baby too. I think what I experienced in the dream resonated with me on a deeper level. Ever since that dream I have been able to overlook the once "terrifying" aspects of pregnancy and birth and have been so anxious and impatient to be able to actually have the baby
Monday, January 14, 2008
Even Law Has Its Fools
Today at work I sat in on my first deposition ever. For non-law students, a deposition is when one party's attorney questions the other party, or people involved/witnesses, in order to collect information. It's all conducted in front of a court reporter who transcribes the entire thing.
An attorney from a huge law firm came to our office to depose three people involved in one of our land use cases. The three depositions took five hours! I have to say that although this attorney worked for a large, respected firm, this guy was totally unprofessional and ineffective. He asked the lamest questions, he acted like he was questioning a witness in court rather than taking a deposition. He kept asking leading questions and he kept having to rephrase questions because he wasn't getting the answers he wanted.
Most of the time I knew exactly what answers he was trying to pull from our clients but he simply couldn't phrase the question properly. I know I am just a lowly lawstudent, but I kept coming up with better questions in my head and I wanted to end the pain and just give him my own, less stupidly phrased questions.
Before and after the depostion, the attorney started making small talk with me- but I figured out right away that he really just wanted to word vomit all over me and didn't care at all about having a two-way conversation. Like I was too low to speak back to him or I was too unworthy to be listened to/have a respectable conversation. I have run into a number of attorneys and other professionals like this. Drives me crazy. I just sit back, shut up and try to imagine them on the toilet with their pants around their ankles. Even their shit stinks.
At one point during the deposition, the court reporter announced that she needed a 15 minute break around lunch time. Eventually it got out that she needed to "pump" -- she has a little one at home. After that, during random pauses in the deposition, the attorney kept making random remarks about "pumping." Things like, "I remember when my sister got pregnant and I saw a pump for the first time-- it was scary" and "you have to buy expensive pumps because I heard cheap ones can really hurt." He wouldn't drop the whole pumping business- he kept bringing it up in front of his client and our own clients. It was so awkward....you have no idea!
I wonder how people like this can practice law... I'll be keeping my eyes on the local bar association newsletter for news of him being disbarred or sanctioned.
An attorney from a huge law firm came to our office to depose three people involved in one of our land use cases. The three depositions took five hours! I have to say that although this attorney worked for a large, respected firm, this guy was totally unprofessional and ineffective. He asked the lamest questions, he acted like he was questioning a witness in court rather than taking a deposition. He kept asking leading questions and he kept having to rephrase questions because he wasn't getting the answers he wanted.
Most of the time I knew exactly what answers he was trying to pull from our clients but he simply couldn't phrase the question properly. I know I am just a lowly lawstudent, but I kept coming up with better questions in my head and I wanted to end the pain and just give him my own, less stupidly phrased questions.
Before and after the depostion, the attorney started making small talk with me- but I figured out right away that he really just wanted to word vomit all over me and didn't care at all about having a two-way conversation. Like I was too low to speak back to him or I was too unworthy to be listened to/have a respectable conversation. I have run into a number of attorneys and other professionals like this. Drives me crazy. I just sit back, shut up and try to imagine them on the toilet with their pants around their ankles. Even their shit stinks.
At one point during the deposition, the court reporter announced that she needed a 15 minute break around lunch time. Eventually it got out that she needed to "pump" -- she has a little one at home. After that, during random pauses in the deposition, the attorney kept making random remarks about "pumping." Things like, "I remember when my sister got pregnant and I saw a pump for the first time-- it was scary" and "you have to buy expensive pumps because I heard cheap ones can really hurt." He wouldn't drop the whole pumping business- he kept bringing it up in front of his client and our own clients. It was so awkward....you have no idea!
I wonder how people like this can practice law... I'll be keeping my eyes on the local bar association newsletter for news of him being disbarred or sanctioned.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Recovering Runner
I'm a recovering long distance runner. I ran my first mile during middle school PE. Our teacher told us that we would be graded at the end of the semester on how fast we could run a mile. Well, the non-athlete in me (I quit after half a season of eight grade basketball because I couldn't take the humiliation anymore) was worried sick. The overachiever in me decided I was going to get my ass in gear and earn my A. The beginning of PE we had to jog for ten minutes to warm up. While my cool classmates walked, talked about boys, and tried not to get sweaty, I took this time very seriously and used it as my opportunity to get closer to an A. Each day I worked on lowering my mile time. Before I knew it, I was running 6:05 minute miles while my classmates were trying to break the eight minute mark. I was definately considered a freak -- both because I actually cared and because I didn't just settle for a 7:30 mile which would have earned me the A that I wanted so badly. Each person's mile time was posted in the hallway of our school, so everyone could witness my freak-ness. From seventh grade through ninth grade, I was the fastest girl in my entire school.
From that moment on, I was a running adict. The pain began to feel so good. I was obsessed with lowering my mile time each week. I fell in love with running shoes. I ran in highschool and realized that competing in highschool is way different than running for grades in middle school. People in highschool actually cared. It tooke me two years to actually become competative. My weekly milage increased. I ran on weekends. I started wearing running clothes to class. I donned my first pair of track shorts- ugh!
In college, running was just insane. I would often hit 50-55 miles a week. I would run 12-14 mile long runs aroung Roger's Park and along Lakeshore Drive. I spent more time with team mates than roommates. If I missed one day of running or if coach made me take a day off, my whole day was gloomy and ruined. I loved my chiseled leg muscles. The way my running shoes shaped my feet. I loved my little running shorts. I loved the feeling of my feet rhythmically pounding the concrete sidewalks. I loved whizzing by pedestrians and slow vehicles. I love the ache in my lungs and the pain shooting down my quads. I loved the status of being a "runner." I loved running in a pack down the sidewalk at highspeed--all twelve of us moving together, giggling and gossiping or in complete silence. I loved how we were so different than any other athletes or college students. I loved having personal workout goals from my coach each day-- like my own mini missions-- and trying as hard as possible to go beyond them and to win the favor of my coach. I loved my body's physical capacity for running miles at a time without flinching. Most of all, I loved the way my body felt after a run-- completely exhausted and used up. It's the best feeling in the entire world.
Ok, I didn't mean to rant that much about running. But after going through years of all that, you can see how it's hard for runners to find a new non-running identity after college. I've kept up with running of course, but when you don't have to run 55 miles a week, it tends to slip off the priority radar.
Sometimes I'm so grouchy or moody that only a good solid run will fix me. I'm glad I have running to keep me going through this pregnancy. Its usually the only thing that makes me feel good and clears my mind of worries. Plus, if I didn't have running, I wouldn't have met the crazy old gym lady who wears ONLY spandex shorts and a sports bra and brags about how she is still able to use a treadmill even though she's turning 60 this year. She just happens to mention it to me EVERY time I see her. And she babbles at me while I'm running out of breath beside her. Oh and did I mention that she knows everything. I'm not kidding-- she has an opinion about everything. Thanks to her I learned that lawyers are the most depressed people on the entire planet.
The only bad thing about running during pregnancy is that it's so hard to try to run only 4 miles at a time AND it's so hard to stay under 7 miles/hour. I need to ask my doctor how much and how fast I can run (since I need to make sure the baby has enough oxygen and blood). Today I cheated and ran 7.2 miles/hour....the pain just felt so darn good.
From that moment on, I was a running adict. The pain began to feel so good. I was obsessed with lowering my mile time each week. I fell in love with running shoes. I ran in highschool and realized that competing in highschool is way different than running for grades in middle school. People in highschool actually cared. It tooke me two years to actually become competative. My weekly milage increased. I ran on weekends. I started wearing running clothes to class. I donned my first pair of track shorts- ugh!
In college, running was just insane. I would often hit 50-55 miles a week. I would run 12-14 mile long runs aroung Roger's Park and along Lakeshore Drive. I spent more time with team mates than roommates. If I missed one day of running or if coach made me take a day off, my whole day was gloomy and ruined. I loved my chiseled leg muscles. The way my running shoes shaped my feet. I loved my little running shorts. I loved the feeling of my feet rhythmically pounding the concrete sidewalks. I loved whizzing by pedestrians and slow vehicles. I love the ache in my lungs and the pain shooting down my quads. I loved the status of being a "runner." I loved running in a pack down the sidewalk at highspeed--all twelve of us moving together, giggling and gossiping or in complete silence. I loved how we were so different than any other athletes or college students. I loved having personal workout goals from my coach each day-- like my own mini missions-- and trying as hard as possible to go beyond them and to win the favor of my coach. I loved my body's physical capacity for running miles at a time without flinching. Most of all, I loved the way my body felt after a run-- completely exhausted and used up. It's the best feeling in the entire world.
Ok, I didn't mean to rant that much about running. But after going through years of all that, you can see how it's hard for runners to find a new non-running identity after college. I've kept up with running of course, but when you don't have to run 55 miles a week, it tends to slip off the priority radar.
Sometimes I'm so grouchy or moody that only a good solid run will fix me. I'm glad I have running to keep me going through this pregnancy. Its usually the only thing that makes me feel good and clears my mind of worries. Plus, if I didn't have running, I wouldn't have met the crazy old gym lady who wears ONLY spandex shorts and a sports bra and brags about how she is still able to use a treadmill even though she's turning 60 this year. She just happens to mention it to me EVERY time I see her. And she babbles at me while I'm running out of breath beside her. Oh and did I mention that she knows everything. I'm not kidding-- she has an opinion about everything. Thanks to her I learned that lawyers are the most depressed people on the entire planet.
The only bad thing about running during pregnancy is that it's so hard to try to run only 4 miles at a time AND it's so hard to stay under 7 miles/hour. I need to ask my doctor how much and how fast I can run (since I need to make sure the baby has enough oxygen and blood). Today I cheated and ran 7.2 miles/hour....the pain just felt so darn good.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
I Had a Sad Baby Dream
I had a dream last night that I had my baby. The dream was really odd and I only remember parts of it. In the dream, everyone I knew was flooding me, all wanting to hold the baby at the same time. So I let them take turns, but the throng of people wanting to hold it keep growing. As they passed it from person to person, like a hot potato, I started to feel anxious and worried. Suddenly, I wanted my baby all to myself. But at the same time, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and I wanted everyone to have an adequate turn. I was trying to balance these feelings in my dream but it was just turning me into a wreck.
At the end of the dream, we were suddenly on a beach. My brother was sitting on the shoreline and he had asked for his turn to hold the baby. I tossed the baby to him as he held out his hands to catch it. Suddenly, the baby was gone. It seemed like the baby landed on the sand next to my brother, but we couldn't find it. We searched the water and combed the beach. The only explanation we could come up with was that the baby was carried out to the ocean by a wave. I was horrified that it was all my fault. I was dissapointed that I went through nine months of hell and now didn't even have a baby. I was so sad that the cute helpless baby was now dead. The worst part was, I had to tell everyone that the baby was dead or lost and that it was my fault.
At the end of the dream, we were suddenly on a beach. My brother was sitting on the shoreline and he had asked for his turn to hold the baby. I tossed the baby to him as he held out his hands to catch it. Suddenly, the baby was gone. It seemed like the baby landed on the sand next to my brother, but we couldn't find it. We searched the water and combed the beach. The only explanation we could come up with was that the baby was carried out to the ocean by a wave. I was horrified that it was all my fault. I was dissapointed that I went through nine months of hell and now didn't even have a baby. I was so sad that the cute helpless baby was now dead. The worst part was, I had to tell everyone that the baby was dead or lost and that it was my fault.
Pregnancy Food Pyramid
I don't remember the last time I ate chocolate. People who know me would be shocked into a coma if they could see what I have been eating lately.
Before I was pregnant, I ate chocolate all the time. I craved chocolate. I dreamed chocolate. I thought chocolate. Chocolate was my favorite food group. I would stock up on Symphany bars everytime Safeway had a 3/99 cents sale, and I would not be ashamed to eat half of my purchase on the ride home. I often would spend 40-60 minutes at the gym to justify my daily chocolate intake. That's commitment right there!
Last month, my obsession for chocolate quit-- cold turkey. I started to pass up the candy aisle at the supermarket. I instinctively found myself reaching for something chocolate, but when I realized what I was doing, I felt a sudden repulsion towards it-- like I had just picked up a handful of rotting broccoli florets. For three weeks, two mega-sized chocolate bars have been hiding on the refrigerator, untouched. I really have no explanation for my abnormal behavior.
Instead of wanting to eat chocolate all the time, or even at all, I have been craving diversity in my food. My hand keeps wandering into the vegetable tray in our fridge, in search of corn, carrots, broccoli, edamame, snow peas or even onions. Along the "diversity" line, I have been craving food that I haven't had in a really long time. This week, I convinced my Husband to go to a Mexican restaruant with me so I could eat tortilla soup. The next day for lunch, I ate fish and chips at Skippers. I hadn't been to Skippers since I was ten. Skippers was the only place my grandpa would go out to eat, so every other Sunday, my family would meet my grandparents at Skippers. The kids would get our own table where we would pretend to be pirates, play with our kid's meal toys and pick on each other. Even though it was a seafood place, I always only ordered chicken strips. I got a lot of flack from my grandparents for that one. Sadly, I had forgotten that only the kid's meal comes with jello...I really wanted to eat fish AND jello.... (it's just not the same when you separate them!).
Last night, I went to the grocery store so I could stock my fridge with edamame and to buy ingredients to make broccoli cheddar soup. So, there I was, in the kitchen at 10pm making broccoli cheddar soup from scratch.
The only bad thing about this "diversity" kick, is that I find it really hard to eat leftovers- my body is like a pouty teenager-- "hmph, I already ate this yesterday!" So, I have a fridge full of left over broccoli soup, a half eaten pizza, and the pulled pork that I made last weekend.
Before I was pregnant, I ate chocolate all the time. I craved chocolate. I dreamed chocolate. I thought chocolate. Chocolate was my favorite food group. I would stock up on Symphany bars everytime Safeway had a 3/99 cents sale, and I would not be ashamed to eat half of my purchase on the ride home. I often would spend 40-60 minutes at the gym to justify my daily chocolate intake. That's commitment right there!
Last month, my obsession for chocolate quit-- cold turkey. I started to pass up the candy aisle at the supermarket. I instinctively found myself reaching for something chocolate, but when I realized what I was doing, I felt a sudden repulsion towards it-- like I had just picked up a handful of rotting broccoli florets. For three weeks, two mega-sized chocolate bars have been hiding on the refrigerator, untouched. I really have no explanation for my abnormal behavior.
Instead of wanting to eat chocolate all the time, or even at all, I have been craving diversity in my food. My hand keeps wandering into the vegetable tray in our fridge, in search of corn, carrots, broccoli, edamame, snow peas or even onions. Along the "diversity" line, I have been craving food that I haven't had in a really long time. This week, I convinced my Husband to go to a Mexican restaruant with me so I could eat tortilla soup. The next day for lunch, I ate fish and chips at Skippers. I hadn't been to Skippers since I was ten. Skippers was the only place my grandpa would go out to eat, so every other Sunday, my family would meet my grandparents at Skippers. The kids would get our own table where we would pretend to be pirates, play with our kid's meal toys and pick on each other. Even though it was a seafood place, I always only ordered chicken strips. I got a lot of flack from my grandparents for that one. Sadly, I had forgotten that only the kid's meal comes with jello...I really wanted to eat fish AND jello.... (it's just not the same when you separate them!).
Last night, I went to the grocery store so I could stock my fridge with edamame and to buy ingredients to make broccoli cheddar soup. So, there I was, in the kitchen at 10pm making broccoli cheddar soup from scratch.
The only bad thing about this "diversity" kick, is that I find it really hard to eat leftovers- my body is like a pouty teenager-- "hmph, I already ate this yesterday!" So, I have a fridge full of left over broccoli soup, a half eaten pizza, and the pulled pork that I made last weekend.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Emotional Oscillation at Grades Time
I have only received two grades so far, but they are bad enough to make me want to bury my head in elephant droppings for a whole semester if it means I don't have to step foot into another law class.
I know, I know, for 363 days a year I practically preach that law school grades don't determine who you are and that overcoming them is the easiest way to keep your sanity. But for those other 2 days out of the year (when spring and fall grades come out), my guard comes down and I am as dependent on my grades as Miss Straight A- Law Review Editor.
I was so devastated this time around because I spend a LOT of time and energy on studying for these two tests. I worked really hard on my outlines, re-read the cases, took practice tests and created diagrams and timelines...what more could I have done? I expected to do pretty well because of all my hard work, but as I have to re-learn every semester, hard work in law school does not always translate into equivalent grades. Or is it just me? Am I doomed to be a failure?
Times like this, I am certain that I should have gone to art school instead.
So I let myself cry and pout for a day. I let myself throw pillows at the wall and stomp on my law school books. I allowed thoughts of quitting and un-registering for all my spring semester classes rush through my mind. I let myself HATE with a vengeance my law school friends who commented about their good grades on online chat programs and facebook.
Then, there was a new day. These thoughts slowly trickled out of my brain. I stopped clenching kitchen knives while repeating the names of my straight A lawschool rivals. I reminded myself that I had only seen two grades so far and that better grades were yet to come. I received an email telling me that spots had opened in Construction law and I was the first on the waitlist (probabaly the only one on the waitlist). Yay!
Without fail, I am now back to my normal determined self. I promise to work three times harder than anyone else in my classes. I WILL study every saturday to create and update my outlines weekly. I'm going to buy all the study aids I can and answer practice questions. I will try to forget that I was this determined last semester too and it did me no good. I am summoning every ounce of self confidence that I can recover in this lawschool-broken mind.
In the end, we have to spend our time enjoying every second of life. I will not waste my time worrying and stressing out. Insert Personal Mantra: "Everything always works out for the better."
Maybe I'm Schizophrenic?
I know, I know, for 363 days a year I practically preach that law school grades don't determine who you are and that overcoming them is the easiest way to keep your sanity. But for those other 2 days out of the year (when spring and fall grades come out), my guard comes down and I am as dependent on my grades as Miss Straight A- Law Review Editor.
I was so devastated this time around because I spend a LOT of time and energy on studying for these two tests. I worked really hard on my outlines, re-read the cases, took practice tests and created diagrams and timelines...what more could I have done? I expected to do pretty well because of all my hard work, but as I have to re-learn every semester, hard work in law school does not always translate into equivalent grades. Or is it just me? Am I doomed to be a failure?
Times like this, I am certain that I should have gone to art school instead.
So I let myself cry and pout for a day. I let myself throw pillows at the wall and stomp on my law school books. I allowed thoughts of quitting and un-registering for all my spring semester classes rush through my mind. I let myself HATE with a vengeance my law school friends who commented about their good grades on online chat programs and facebook.
Then, there was a new day. These thoughts slowly trickled out of my brain. I stopped clenching kitchen knives while repeating the names of my straight A lawschool rivals. I reminded myself that I had only seen two grades so far and that better grades were yet to come. I received an email telling me that spots had opened in Construction law and I was the first on the waitlist (probabaly the only one on the waitlist). Yay!
Without fail, I am now back to my normal determined self. I promise to work three times harder than anyone else in my classes. I WILL study every saturday to create and update my outlines weekly. I'm going to buy all the study aids I can and answer practice questions. I will try to forget that I was this determined last semester too and it did me no good. I am summoning every ounce of self confidence that I can recover in this lawschool-broken mind.
In the end, we have to spend our time enjoying every second of life. I will not waste my time worrying and stressing out. Insert Personal Mantra: "Everything always works out for the better."
Maybe I'm Schizophrenic?
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
I Do Important Things Sometimes
Sometimes the tedious days of trying to look busy at my law office are actually replaced with productive days. Sometimes I have to create work for myself to do (like updating my blog and checking facebook and registering for classes), othertimes, I swear my supervisor is creating useless work for me to do. More than once an assigment I had completed for him was tossed to the side because he really didn't need it.
Yes, I guess I am still learning, but it's frustrating. I am an end-product worker. I strive off of being able to see and hold a final product at the end of my hours of precious labor.
Today, however, was a productive day! My supervising attorney had me review one of his motions and asked me to "beef it up." It looked pretty complete to me but I researched more cases anyway and drafted a couple paragraphs explaining why we should be granted summary judgment. I even put my atrophic legal writing skills to use writing "analogous case" arguments!
The best part was that at the end of the day I walked into my supervisor's office and saw him typing my paragraphs into the motion. This may not be a big deal to other law students who get to do Important Things everyday, but for me, this is HUGE :)
Yes, I guess I am still learning, but it's frustrating. I am an end-product worker. I strive off of being able to see and hold a final product at the end of my hours of precious labor.
Today, however, was a productive day! My supervising attorney had me review one of his motions and asked me to "beef it up." It looked pretty complete to me but I researched more cases anyway and drafted a couple paragraphs explaining why we should be granted summary judgment. I even put my atrophic legal writing skills to use writing "analogous case" arguments!
The best part was that at the end of the day I walked into my supervisor's office and saw him typing my paragraphs into the motion. This may not be a big deal to other law students who get to do Important Things everyday, but for me, this is HUGE :)
Monday, January 7, 2008
A Probe, A Bean, and Vomit Painted Tiles
Today, surprisingly, I got a call from our doctor (whom I haven't even seen yet!). She made an appointment for us to have an ultrasound- today! We got to the ultrasound office where they made me wear a backless hopsital gown, without underwear! This was really unfair considering that the old man I passed in the hallway wearing a similar gown was allowed to wear his white briefs. I really don't know why I didn't look away. When the coast was clear, I ran from my changing room to the ultrasound room, clutching the gown around my behind.
The nurse made me lay down on the bed, rubbed warm goo all over my tummy and tried to take an external ultrasound. Guess what? I have another reason to hate my bowel movements. Since I was so "full," which the nurse was kind enough to point out several times, they couldn't see the baby. "Looks like we have to do a vaginal ultrasound" she said calmly.
WHAT? WHAT THE HECK? NO WAY! NOTHING GOES IN THERE THAT I DON'T APPROVE OF!
"gulp, um, ok" I replied. I'm pretty sure I looked like I was going to die along with all my modesty.
In the end it turned out ok, well, considering....We found out that I'm actually only six weeks pregnant. It's frustrating that I have to add days to my pregnancy ticker. Here I thought we were almost 8 weeks closer to the end and turns out I was two weeks off. Two weeks is a long time- a fortnight to be exact- alot can happen in two weeks. darn...
It was weird to see the picture of the baby, he/she just looked like a bean-size dot with a bright center. Apparently the bright center was the baby's heart and I could see it flicker with each beat. The best part, however, was listening to the heart beat. 120 beats/minutes. Wow, there is an itty bitty drum inside me....amazing. I know I cried but I don't know if it was because of hearing my baby for the first time- having actual proof that we really made a baby- or because of the cold, uncomfortable probe poking around inside me.
When the whole ordeal was over, after I recovered my decency and my panties (after Husband suggested I get a "sexy" hospital gown to wear at home and I punched him in the arm), I stopped at a cafe to get lunch. That's when I started feeling dizzy and light headed. After I paid for my salad I plopped into the nearest chair. I put my head between my legs, grabbed the paper bag my lunch was packed in (took out the lunch first, of course) and enjoyed my first pregnancy vomit.
I can't actually be sure if it was from being pregnant or from being inside a medical facility. I have a history of fainting after getting physical exams, trips to the orthodontists, and after receiving shots. One time, twenty minutes after a Hep B immunity shot, I was walking down the school hallway to my class when, according to some gawking fifth graders, I lost all life in my limbs, turned white, and fell to the floor like a paper doll.
I'm destined for an exciting labor....is it possible to faint multiple times in a row and still successfully give birth.
The nurse made me lay down on the bed, rubbed warm goo all over my tummy and tried to take an external ultrasound. Guess what? I have another reason to hate my bowel movements. Since I was so "full," which the nurse was kind enough to point out several times, they couldn't see the baby. "Looks like we have to do a vaginal ultrasound" she said calmly.
WHAT? WHAT THE HECK? NO WAY! NOTHING GOES IN THERE THAT I DON'T APPROVE OF!
"gulp, um, ok" I replied. I'm pretty sure I looked like I was going to die along with all my modesty.
In the end it turned out ok, well, considering....We found out that I'm actually only six weeks pregnant. It's frustrating that I have to add days to my pregnancy ticker. Here I thought we were almost 8 weeks closer to the end and turns out I was two weeks off. Two weeks is a long time- a fortnight to be exact- alot can happen in two weeks. darn...
It was weird to see the picture of the baby, he/she just looked like a bean-size dot with a bright center. Apparently the bright center was the baby's heart and I could see it flicker with each beat. The best part, however, was listening to the heart beat. 120 beats/minutes. Wow, there is an itty bitty drum inside me....amazing. I know I cried but I don't know if it was because of hearing my baby for the first time- having actual proof that we really made a baby- or because of the cold, uncomfortable probe poking around inside me.
When the whole ordeal was over, after I recovered my decency and my panties (after Husband suggested I get a "sexy" hospital gown to wear at home and I punched him in the arm), I stopped at a cafe to get lunch. That's when I started feeling dizzy and light headed. After I paid for my salad I plopped into the nearest chair. I put my head between my legs, grabbed the paper bag my lunch was packed in (took out the lunch first, of course) and enjoyed my first pregnancy vomit.
I can't actually be sure if it was from being pregnant or from being inside a medical facility. I have a history of fainting after getting physical exams, trips to the orthodontists, and after receiving shots. One time, twenty minutes after a Hep B immunity shot, I was walking down the school hallway to my class when, according to some gawking fifth graders, I lost all life in my limbs, turned white, and fell to the floor like a paper doll.
I'm destined for an exciting labor....is it possible to faint multiple times in a row and still successfully give birth.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Operation "Mama, JD"
I guess I need a plan...I feel like a world-sized junk drawer has been turned upside down on my head and I have to organize my way out of the mess. Not that it isn't a pleasant mess.
If I play my cards right, there will be ONE baby in August (god, I hope there is just one). :)
I need a total of 90 credits to graduate. So far, assuming I pass all my classes from fall, of course, I will have 47 credits. I added an extra class for spring once I found out I was pregnant (makes complete logical sense, right? Add EXTRA classes when you discover that you will soon be large and tired and craving Chick'n Patties every waking moment). After spring semester I will have 63 credits, and if I can get a full summer schedule, I will have 70 credits under my belt by the time August rolls around (along with me, because I'm pretty sure by August the most effecient means of tranportation for me will simply be to roll down steep hills of Seattle to catch my ferry). So after baby Indiana Jones Palmer (just kidding Husband!) is born, I will only need 20 credits to graduate.
The rest of "Operation Mama, JD" goes like this:
Take next fall semester off. No work. No school. Just me and baby bonding over messy diapers and the Baby Mozart series...oh and Justin Timberlake- no, it's never too early. Next spring I would like to take a couple night classes and find someone who can watch the baby on campus while I rush in and out of class. By summer, I hope to work part time again- if my law office will have me. Hopefully between fall '10 and spring '10 - if not sooner, I will get all my classes out of the way in time to graduate just one year behind.
After that, is the bar exam of course, but then I have no idea what I will do. I would like to work part time but I have a feeling its not easy to find part time attorney positions. I worry that if I take off a couple years to wait until the baby is in school then it will be too late to find a legal job because I would have missed out on valuable work experience right out of school. On the other hand, I do not want to have a baby just to let someone else raise it. I love babies and if I have to go through all the work to have one, dang it, I'm going to enjoy him/her while he is still little, cute, without weird body piercings and not asking me for money all the time.
If I play my cards right, there will be ONE baby in August (god, I hope there is just one). :)
I need a total of 90 credits to graduate. So far, assuming I pass all my classes from fall, of course, I will have 47 credits. I added an extra class for spring once I found out I was pregnant (makes complete logical sense, right? Add EXTRA classes when you discover that you will soon be large and tired and craving Chick'n Patties every waking moment). After spring semester I will have 63 credits, and if I can get a full summer schedule, I will have 70 credits under my belt by the time August rolls around (along with me, because I'm pretty sure by August the most effecient means of tranportation for me will simply be to roll down steep hills of Seattle to catch my ferry). So after baby Indiana Jones Palmer (just kidding Husband!) is born, I will only need 20 credits to graduate.
The rest of "Operation Mama, JD" goes like this:
Take next fall semester off. No work. No school. Just me and baby bonding over messy diapers and the Baby Mozart series...oh and Justin Timberlake- no, it's never too early. Next spring I would like to take a couple night classes and find someone who can watch the baby on campus while I rush in and out of class. By summer, I hope to work part time again- if my law office will have me. Hopefully between fall '10 and spring '10 - if not sooner, I will get all my classes out of the way in time to graduate just one year behind.
After that, is the bar exam of course, but then I have no idea what I will do. I would like to work part time but I have a feeling its not easy to find part time attorney positions. I worry that if I take off a couple years to wait until the baby is in school then it will be too late to find a legal job because I would have missed out on valuable work experience right out of school. On the other hand, I do not want to have a baby just to let someone else raise it. I love babies and if I have to go through all the work to have one, dang it, I'm going to enjoy him/her while he is still little, cute, without weird body piercings and not asking me for money all the time.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Success is Relative
Sometimes I question my goals in life. I worked hard throughout highschool and undergraduate school. After that I worked hard to get into a good law school. Most of my life has been full of "go-go-go," deadlines and stress. There is no doubt that I worked so hard because I wanted to be successful.
But now I'm not sure. What do I really think success is? Do I really want to work my butt off just to land a high paying 60+ hours a week legal job? Once I get the job, I will just be working even harder. Am I even competative with other law students seeking the same job?
I'm starting to realize how fast life has gone by so far. It will just go by faster. I don't want to waste it doing something that gives me an ulcer in exchange for reputation, status and a fancy paycheck. No, I think I'd prefer to savor each year, spending my life doing something that really makes me happy. I guess a fancy, high paying job could end up being fun and enjoyable, but I wont kill myself to get one. Maybe I'm cut out for being a mom first, then pursuing a career later in my life (my Husband might faint if he reads this).
But now I'm not sure. What do I really think success is? Do I really want to work my butt off just to land a high paying 60+ hours a week legal job? Once I get the job, I will just be working even harder. Am I even competative with other law students seeking the same job?
I'm starting to realize how fast life has gone by so far. It will just go by faster. I don't want to waste it doing something that gives me an ulcer in exchange for reputation, status and a fancy paycheck. No, I think I'd prefer to savor each year, spending my life doing something that really makes me happy. I guess a fancy, high paying job could end up being fun and enjoyable, but I wont kill myself to get one. Maybe I'm cut out for being a mom first, then pursuing a career later in my life (my Husband might faint if he reads this).
A Good Book - For Me to Poop On.
I read in a pregnancy book I picked up at the Ghetto Library that if you don't feel nauseous in your sixth week it is unlikely that you ever will.
Damn, damn, damn that book for giving me a false sense of security~! At exactly seven weeks I started to feel nauseous throughout the day. Luckily I discovered a temporary cure for my nauseous in a box of perfectly breaded Boca Burger Chick'n Patties. For two whole days I wondered around the Puget Sound with a plastic wrapped chick'n patty stuffed in my pocket, "just in case." The whole time I had to keep asking myself: "really!? This isn't real chicken!?"
Needless to say, I want to rip the pages out of that book, stomp on it, and take a dump all over its glossy pages. Of course, I wont! Because despite having three bowls of Kellog's All-Bran breakfast cereal in 24 hours, I still can't function like normal "regular" adults. How much fiber can you eat before it becomes unhealthy? Can you die from not being able to "empty" yourself?
Now for the New Year's resolution: I promise to focus less on poop in my subsequent posts.
Damn, damn, damn that book for giving me a false sense of security~! At exactly seven weeks I started to feel nauseous throughout the day. Luckily I discovered a temporary cure for my nauseous in a box of perfectly breaded Boca Burger Chick'n Patties. For two whole days I wondered around the Puget Sound with a plastic wrapped chick'n patty stuffed in my pocket, "just in case." The whole time I had to keep asking myself: "really!? This isn't real chicken!?"
Needless to say, I want to rip the pages out of that book, stomp on it, and take a dump all over its glossy pages. Of course, I wont! Because despite having three bowls of Kellog's All-Bran breakfast cereal in 24 hours, I still can't function like normal "regular" adults. How much fiber can you eat before it becomes unhealthy? Can you die from not being able to "empty" yourself?
Now for the New Year's resolution: I promise to focus less on poop in my subsequent posts.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Why He is Still Cute
Husband: "Was that you or the cat?"
Me: "What?"
Husband: "I smell a fart."
Me: "I think she tutors small children."
Husband: "You said 'toot'!"
Me: "What?"
Husband: "I smell a fart."
Me: "I think she tutors small children."
Husband: "You said 'toot'!"
"Backsight"
As my grammatically correct and vocabulary rich friend reminded me today... the colloquial word for "backsight" is "hindsight." I reserve the right to invent my own words.
I've been married for seven months (in the Catholic Church, I have only been married for two months because we eloped first-- we still don't know which anniversary to use). It took me a long time to adjust to living with a husband. Although I have had plenty of roomates, living with a husband is very different. Husbands hog covers and take up valuable bed space-- of these minor nocturnal crimes, I am equally guilty. Husbands don't like when you wear a pair of their socks and lose one. Husbands sometimes listen to weird music at the decibal level of Musical Notes Are Penetrating My Every Thought and Dripping Out of My Eyeballs.
Husbands don't like when you attempt to throw something in the garbage can, miss, and walk away without picking it up. Husbands don't like when your laundry piles up into mountains the size of dino droppings. I have to admit that I haven't met these new conflicts with complete grace. In fact, I'm pretty sure I pursed my lips into a heavy pout, crossed my arms and made loud obnoxious sighs. Either that, or I proceeded to not speak to my husband for hours except to exclaim loudly, "did you hear something? must have been the wind."
I wish in my slightly childish moments I could just pause to remember how awesome my husband is and that I need to grow up, even if its just a very teeny bit.
In fact, he is a very amazing person and I look up to him alot. The pieces and qualities that make up who he is are so special that I cannot imagine being married to someone without any one of his qualities. He is so rational, organized, calm and logical. A good balance to my irrationality and my chaos. He is kind and gentle and has a sense of civic and family duty. But probably one of the things I admire about him the most is something I feel that people either have or they don't have. I really think its hit or miss. I don't really know how to describe it but I think it comes from a possessing a blend of rationality, responsibility and the highest degree of propriety. This quality makes him easy to trust and easy to place within a decision making role. I feel that in any situation, when faced with a choice, he would always do what is most decent and proper and not necessarily what is the best outcome for himself. There are not many people whom I can feel this way about, including myself.
Of course, he loves me which means he also has good taste. And I already know he will be a great dad.
I've been married for seven months (in the Catholic Church, I have only been married for two months because we eloped first-- we still don't know which anniversary to use). It took me a long time to adjust to living with a husband. Although I have had plenty of roomates, living with a husband is very different. Husbands hog covers and take up valuable bed space-- of these minor nocturnal crimes, I am equally guilty. Husbands don't like when you wear a pair of their socks and lose one. Husbands sometimes listen to weird music at the decibal level of Musical Notes Are Penetrating My Every Thought and Dripping Out of My Eyeballs.
Husbands don't like when you attempt to throw something in the garbage can, miss, and walk away without picking it up. Husbands don't like when your laundry piles up into mountains the size of dino droppings. I have to admit that I haven't met these new conflicts with complete grace. In fact, I'm pretty sure I pursed my lips into a heavy pout, crossed my arms and made loud obnoxious sighs. Either that, or I proceeded to not speak to my husband for hours except to exclaim loudly, "did you hear something? must have been the wind."
I wish in my slightly childish moments I could just pause to remember how awesome my husband is and that I need to grow up, even if its just a very teeny bit.
In fact, he is a very amazing person and I look up to him alot. The pieces and qualities that make up who he is are so special that I cannot imagine being married to someone without any one of his qualities. He is so rational, organized, calm and logical. A good balance to my irrationality and my chaos. He is kind and gentle and has a sense of civic and family duty. But probably one of the things I admire about him the most is something I feel that people either have or they don't have. I really think its hit or miss. I don't really know how to describe it but I think it comes from a possessing a blend of rationality, responsibility and the highest degree of propriety. This quality makes him easy to trust and easy to place within a decision making role. I feel that in any situation, when faced with a choice, he would always do what is most decent and proper and not necessarily what is the best outcome for himself. There are not many people whom I can feel this way about, including myself.
Of course, he loves me which means he also has good taste. And I already know he will be a great dad.
Here's to 2008: A Long Sober Year
It's really hard coming up with excuses to NOT drink on New Year's Eve. Husband and I planned on not really announcing our baby news until I see a doctor to make sure everything is ok and in the right place. So I had to be clever and avert all opportunities to be served alcohol. Turns out, I'm not that clever.
To start the evening off, we took a mini road trip to visit some friends for the night. The party started before we even arrived at our destination. The last carpooler we picked up was waiting outside with a bottle of champagne. He popped that bottle seconds before getting inside our van. Before we knew it-- we became a six person Party Caravan with plastic cups of cheap boos spilling everywhere, singing along to Michael Jackson and Beyonce. Of course I had one teensy tiny sip of bubbly before making up a lame excuse about not finishing it.
We got to the party and played guitar hero before heading off to a bar with live music. I have decided that it's just not possible to not drink on New Year's Eve unless you happen to be an invalid, infant, pregnant, or the world's lamest geek. Since we didn't tell people I was pregnant, of course I came off as the latter. But people just don't take no for an answer. I was really annoyed I had to feel so guilty and uncool for not wanted to drink. I mean I didn't flaunt that I wasn't drinking, and I did have a cup in my hand. Usually, I'm The Drunk so I've never had the opportunity to step back and realize how great the social pressure to get drunk really is.
In the end, I had to crack to one or two people to explain to them why I really couldn't drink (otherwise I'm sure they would have tied me up and force fed me alcohol).
Friend: Let me get you a drink
Me: Oh, I'll just have a diet coke for now
Friend: No, you have to drink something with ALCOHOL in it!
Me: maybe in a bit.
Friend: Come on, what do you want?
Me: no thanks, really....(Yo, get the hint yet? this girl doesnt want a drink!!)
Friend looks at me in astonishment. I have become the person I used to dread in college: the WORLD'S LAMEST GEEK- the person who never touches a drink at any party and for no good reason.
Peer pressure kicking in....
Me: well, I can't drink.....right now.
Friend: why not...are you pregnant or something.
Me: yes.
It was interesting to view the whole New Year's Eve event in a sober light. I felt awkward dancing without stumbling and with somewhat normal coordination around all the drunk people. Instead of being in the middle of the action (where I usually try to be) I was mostly an observer. I just couldn't get into the craziness, I was too worried about being near second hand smoke and drinking enough water. I had fun, don't get me wrong, I was just at the party on a different level than other people, I guess.
I have to say the best part of the evening was coming back to the house where we all crashed for the night and watching the drunk people stumble around, try to carry on coversations, pass out, and relief themselves in inappropriate places.
To start the evening off, we took a mini road trip to visit some friends for the night. The party started before we even arrived at our destination. The last carpooler we picked up was waiting outside with a bottle of champagne. He popped that bottle seconds before getting inside our van. Before we knew it-- we became a six person Party Caravan with plastic cups of cheap boos spilling everywhere, singing along to Michael Jackson and Beyonce. Of course I had one teensy tiny sip of bubbly before making up a lame excuse about not finishing it.
We got to the party and played guitar hero before heading off to a bar with live music. I have decided that it's just not possible to not drink on New Year's Eve unless you happen to be an invalid, infant, pregnant, or the world's lamest geek. Since we didn't tell people I was pregnant, of course I came off as the latter. But people just don't take no for an answer. I was really annoyed I had to feel so guilty and uncool for not wanted to drink. I mean I didn't flaunt that I wasn't drinking, and I did have a cup in my hand. Usually, I'm The Drunk so I've never had the opportunity to step back and realize how great the social pressure to get drunk really is.
In the end, I had to crack to one or two people to explain to them why I really couldn't drink (otherwise I'm sure they would have tied me up and force fed me alcohol).
Friend: Let me get you a drink
Me: Oh, I'll just have a diet coke for now
Friend: No, you have to drink something with ALCOHOL in it!
Me: maybe in a bit.
Friend: Come on, what do you want?
Me: no thanks, really....(Yo, get the hint yet? this girl doesnt want a drink!!)
Friend looks at me in astonishment. I have become the person I used to dread in college: the WORLD'S LAMEST GEEK- the person who never touches a drink at any party and for no good reason.
Peer pressure kicking in....
Me: well, I can't drink.....right now.
Friend: why not...are you pregnant or something.
Me: yes.
It was interesting to view the whole New Year's Eve event in a sober light. I felt awkward dancing without stumbling and with somewhat normal coordination around all the drunk people. Instead of being in the middle of the action (where I usually try to be) I was mostly an observer. I just couldn't get into the craziness, I was too worried about being near second hand smoke and drinking enough water. I had fun, don't get me wrong, I was just at the party on a different level than other people, I guess.
I have to say the best part of the evening was coming back to the house where we all crashed for the night and watching the drunk people stumble around, try to carry on coversations, pass out, and relief themselves in inappropriate places.
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