Halfway
. . . sort of. Today marks twenty weeks, which means that if Mini-Me appears on his/her due date (hah!) this pregnancy is half over. It also means that, should Mini-Me decide to appear this very afternoon, it’s not a miscarriage – it’s a premature birth. The reason for the distinction is that there is a chance (an EXTREMELY small chance) that a baby born this early would survive. That’s oddly comforting.
Also (you may have heard a hint of a rumour on the breeze about this) we find out the gender tomorrow (plus we’ll be reassured about the non-existence of a large variety of possible complications). By “we” I mean “CJ and I and various friends and relations”. I do promise to blog all next Wednesday – if not before. There will also be fresh Mini-Me pictures.
If you’re wanting gratuitous fat-belly shots (Mini-Me is now around 16cm from head to bum), just scroll down to the entries from yesterday and the day before. In the meantime, here’s some gratuitous cuteness from last night:
Last night I became concerned that I’ve felt only the occasional movement from Mini-Me – and I’d done a preliminary midday weigh-in yesterday that seemed to indicate I’d gained over two kilos (rapid weight gain can be a sign of something medically wrong – or it could mean I needed to drastically cut down on my chocolate). I had trouble going to sleep.
Sidebar: You know you’ve married well when you confess to your partner that you spent the last of the grocery money on a giant block of chocolate loaded with toffee-coated cashews and hazelnuts – and he says, “Oh good. I want our child to be eating nuts.”
Pregnancy is infamous for giving a girl peculiar dreams, and ondansetron/zofran has been giving me nightmares most nights. And so it was that I dreamt I accidentally went to a chemist for my ultrasound. All the various tests were done on my urine (“Does Mini-Me have spina bifida? Pee in this cup. Is Mini-Me a Rodent of Unusual Size? Pee in this cup.”) by incompetent and much-distracted trainees.
The final test – the one about gender – was fobbed off onto an extremely irritating child who desperately wanted some attention. So he took me on several epic mountain hikes, during one of which a friend of his fell off an especially treacherous cliff and was decapitated. This further delayed my stupid test, and I swear that kid was pleased.
I finally promised to play a game if he’d do the test first. I peed in a rather dirty plastic cup and he showed me the results sheet, which was gleefully flashing through possible options. Finally the whole thing lit up. . . and it was pink. It was a girl!
At this point my mother showed up and we fled the scene, shouting a cheerful goodbye to the abandoned brat. As we left, the severed head of the fallen hiker was making small talk with two others about the correct first aid procedure for decapitation (so THAT’S all right).
The End.
Kids, don’t do drugs.
I got up and weighed myself, and discovered I’d gained precisely half a kilo – the exact recommended amount. (I’m actually still more than two kilos lighter than I was at the beginning of the pregnancy.)
Then I crawled back into bed, and something under the donna poked me suddenly in the stomach – so suddenly and so distinctly that I yelped aloud (my first thought was, “Tentacle monster hidng under the covers! Aieee!”).
It was Mini-Me, of course.
Which doesn’t necessarily mean there WEREN’T tentacles involved. I assume that’s one of the things they check for at the 20-week ultrasound.
Bra shopping
The pregnant body does all kinds of peculiar things, and the expansion in all directions can be difficult to deal with. There’s one area of growth that is welcome, however.
And so it was that a voluptuous friend and I went shopping for bras, and discovered I am now a D cup. This made me very happy.
I was less happy to discover that I now need size 18 underwear, but oh well. It feels good to be wearing the right size underwear and bra for the first time in ages. I bought maternity bras in hopes that they’ll still be the right size when I need front-opening clasps for breastfeeding.
I also bought an outfit that I’m hoping will fit for at least another month –
PS Reader Stuart has bet that I can’t resist spending at least some money on baby-related items. I would argue that buying new clothes for myself doesn’t count – but, for the record, I spent $65.
Belly VS Belly
I figured it was about time I began the series of obligatory “Look how pregnant I look” photos – but I decided to do so with a twist. In some of these photos I am pregnant, and in some I am not. Can you tell which is which?
This, dear reader, is why you must never, ever, ever ask a woman if she is pregnant. It should be noted here that other, far more pregnant-looking photos have been taken – but they’ve also been thrown away.
Victorian pulp scifi. . . is there anything more wonderful?
Here’s an i09 article (http://io9.com/5832671/how-science-fiction-cover-art-got-its-pulpy-sense-of-wonder?tag=pulps – links are still broken) on early pulp magazine covers. They are VERY special. . . see?
Here’s the bit you steampunks are probably most interested in:
The Victorian aesthetic appeared from 1820-1900 and is characterized by tons of ornamentation, both in imagery and typography. Most book and magazine covers escaped excessive imagery, but faltered under cluttered typography. Captions often accompanied images to narrate the moment of action rather than allowing the image to speak for itself. Images portrayed a single moment in the story meant to captivate passersby with feelings of adventure and excitement. Actions and poses were stiff and often awkward. Color was expensive, and not commonly seen until 1900.
You’ll want to scan through the pictures for yourself, so here’s that address again.
http://io9.com/5832671/how-science-fiction-cover-art-got-its-pulpy-sense-of-wonder?tag=pulps
Are writing courses worthwhile?
This Huffington Post article (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/brian-joseph-davis/mfa-programs-_b_929183.html – links aren’t working today) argues that they are.
In my opinion, the most important pieces of information writers should get from such courses are:
Spelling and grammar (don’t laugh; it’s necessary)
The ability to follow submission instructions (so, so necessary)
Industry manners – eg don’t ever reply to a rejection
Some realism about (a) How long things take (b) How much writers earn, and (c) How few unpublished novels ever get published.
In my (reasonably limited) experience, none of these are taught in writing courses. But some other useful things are. Perhaps more importantly, you meet other writerly types, and may end up with a decent critique group.
Pictured: not a decent critique group.
Philip Pullman books part three
“The Amber Spyglass”
Oddly for a trilogy, I’m not sure this is the strongest book in the series.
The rest of this review is at Comfy Chair, where I get paid for it.
Quintuple Chocolate
Some people reckon triple chocolate desserts are impressive – to which I say HAH!
Triple chocolate is merely the canvas.
I began with triple chocolate Cadbury ice cream – chocolate ice cream with real chocolate chips and ribbons of chocolate sauce throughout.
I added choc mint ice magic (a brilliant invention that turns hard when drizzled on ice cream).
I garnished the dish with one-qurter of a dark chocolate cherry ripe.
This, my friends, is what quintuple chocolate looks like:
I considered also sprinkling this concoction with Milo (which, for you Americans out there, is like Ovaltine but a million times better – mainly because of a distinct crunchy texture), but I decided hey, I’d hate to overdo it.
The up side of nausea
If you’re sick enough, doctors advise you to eat anything you can – literally anything. Sadly, at that point there’s generally very little you can even look at without feeling ill.
But then you improve a bit. And a bit more. And then comes the shining day when chocolate goes back on the list of things you can eat.
From that point on, you’re in a grey area. At some point, you need to focus on health rather than just “Whatever doesn’t make me nauseous today”.
So yesterday, having dreamt (literally and metaphorically) about junk food bingeing for three months, I celebrated the impending end of the grey area by eating about 70 grams of chocolate*.
As you may have gathered, I am improving – so there’s still hope I’ll be well before January. But if that does happen, then I’ll be eating healthily (oh, the horror). To be fair, I am actually eating pretty well at the moment (excluding green vegetables, which are still pretty much impossible to eat without a lengthy recovery time) – and this week I gained 0.8 of a kilo, which is about what I was hoping for (it means I’m gaining roughly what I should, thus proving that I’m not over-eating).
In spectacularly exciting news, I AM reducing my medicine (very very carefully), I’m able to drive to work and home again (with careful planning), and – wonder of wonders – I managed to grocery shop a little yesterday (very impressive because it means being around food AND standing up for more than three seconds at a time), and I’m now doing two minutes of extremely slow riding on my exercise bike most days.
Nausea still runs my life, but I usually have two or three hours to myself each day. And I find out in eight days whether I’m having a boy or a girl!
*And yes, it made me nauseous. But not as nauseous as what I would consider a “true” binge – which could be as much as half a kilo of chocolate and lollies in a day. Hopefully I won’t do that again for a good long while. Or, possibly, never.
Shopping Spree
There are two awesome things about being pregnant. First, you get a baby at the end. Second, you get free stuff.
Some of my relatives and close friends have already given me various items, but it was the parents of a student of mine that decided to clear out their storage. . . and send soooo much sweet sweet baby loot my way. This is only the first section – a safety chair, a play mat, and a vast pile of girls’ clothing*.
I sorted through five bags, and took out some of the items I found the cutest.
Pregnancy is a lot like engagement, in my view. It is a time when a huge chunk of overpriced merchandise is sold to women at their most emotionally vulnerable, who are forcefully told that they MUST spend thousands of dollars or their future family is doomed.
My reaction is to take it as a personal challenge to spend the tiniest possible amount. So far, the total I’ve spent is $0 (excluding hundreds of dollars on medicine). I’ll let you know how it goes – but I suspect I’ll do very well (I have a mother who expresses her love through gifts; I have a baby shower coming up; I have no shame and well-known poverty; and I have a late-pregnancy Christmas).
*The boy clothing is on its way. They asked if I wanted to wait until I knew which gender Mini-Me is, and I said no. Whatever happens, we plan to have another child (and I suspect second pregnancies don’t involve as much free stuff, so I’m making the most of the time I’m in).
Two tales by John Scalzi
For today’s miscellaneous Monday, here are the links to two comical short stories by writer and blogger John Scalzi.
Interview with the nativity innkeeper
And here’s a bonus cat pic, taken as I did some winter writing:
Felicity Banks 