Thursday, April 24, 2008


So apparently, we need a place to put She-Blob.
The world of baby furniture is a confusing place filled with mysterious, costly items that, we quickly learned, we simply can't live without if we are to consider ourselves good, nay, competent, parents.

The other thing you discover when you start to research baby furnishings, is that they're all potential death traps that will invariably maim or kill your newborn at some point. Of course, this will be your fault, because you're the unfit parent responsible for bringing them into your home.

The best you can do is visit a bunch of stores filled with beds and dressers and changing tables, sticking your fingers between slats (where your child will eventually get a leg or an arm stuck) and behind mattresses (where your child will eventually smother herself). You must watch out for furniture that is too ornate (or your child will get his clothes caught on the filials, and eventually hang himself), furniture with gates that drop too easily (where your child will sever, or at the very least break, fingers) and furniture with nails or screws sticking out (ok, the last one is a no-brainer. But unless you're building the crib yourself with 2 x 4's and a staple gun, this shouldn't be too much of a problem).

On the upside, once you've eliminated all the booby-trapped devices flooding the baby market, your choices become pretty straight-forward. For the next thing you realize, is that essentially, THEY ALL LOOK ALIKE. Sure, some have curvier legs or ribbing, some appear a bit sturdier than others, but at the end of the day, all the cribs look like little cages without tops. All the dressers look like, well, dressers. The main difference, it appears, is the price you pay for the "designer" furnishings no self-respecting newborn can live without.

So, just pick the color of your cage, swipe the credit card, and begin waiting for the delivery. Which will hopefully come before you actually deliver yourself.

Monday, April 21, 2008

She-Blob's First Wedding

This past weekend, She-Blob attended her first nuptials. Sadly for her, that night was not that different from the one prior, when she attended a screening of Zombie Strippers and visited a bar (stop tsking, she only had a coke), with the exception that the wedding was probably a bit quieter.

On the upside, she did get to fortify her Shirley Temple with a glass of chardonnay (Stop tsking. The doctor said it was alright), as well as a very nice duo of gelato and Italian cookies.

She-Blob was in good company, had she wanted to mingle with the other as-yet-unborn. There were at least 3 of us knocked up ladies at the affair, including one at our table.

But really, it does make you think how different any day is from the next for her. What does she do in there all those hours? If she thinks, what does she think about, having no frame of reference beyond her immediate surroundings? The mind boggles.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

The Naming of She-Blob, Part 2 of Several

Quick update on some name suggestions for the She-Blob:

Simone, courtesy of my co-worker

Tia (derived from "Placen-tia"), courtesy of my co-worker

Sheba, Bardot, Bardoa, Tigressa, Tigress, Sharla, Boa, Lindsey, Lioness, Tatka, Marlia, Tasha, Gnarla, Karina, courtesy of my father-in-law

Montezuma, She-Blob Crystal, courtesy of my father

The search continues. The suggestion box is open.


For those of you not in the know, ablutophobia is the fear of showers. And I've realized I have it. Big-time.

I've been to a number of these events, of both the wedding and the baby variety, most recently this weekend. And while I fully applaud the bride or mother-to-be's prerogative to celebrate in any way she deems fit, the thought of having one myself sends me into bouts of cold terror.

I avoided it for the wedding, but let's face it: if you don't have a shower for your kid, you're buying all those onesies and bouncies and sippy cups yourself. And there are a lot of sippy cups to buy. So motivated (though shamefully) by greed, I've agreed to celebrate She-Blob's impending arrival.

However, I've come up with a few helpful guidelines to making this happen in a manner that won't send me screaming into the appropriately-timed, mid-afternoon sun.

1. It needs to be co-ed. Ever since Junior High, when I experienced my first party with boys, I've realized there's no going back. If there aren't boys there, I'm not coming.

2. The word "shower" is NOT to be used. I hear "shower" and I cringe. Guys hear "shower" and breath a sigh of relief. Shower = the chick goes, and the guy stays home, says his prayers of gratitude and watches the game. To be helpful, Bree and I have come up with some alternate names to put on the invitation. The front runners are currently "Pop Goes the Weasel" or "Want a Beer? Then Bring the Kid a Gift Party."

3. Speaking of beer - there must be alcohol. Now before you decide I'm a complete lush, I'm looking out for my guests here. No matter what we call this thing, everyone knows its really just a shower. And since the men are already angry that their significant others are gleefully dragging them with, it would add insult to injury to then offer up iced tea and diet coke. Hell, after most showers I want a drink myself...

4. There will be NO GAMES. This is non-negotiable. If anyone comes near me and attempts to measure ANYTHING, I cannot guarantee the outcome. Same goes for guessing weights of things, sizes of things, names of things, fun surveys and questionnaires, and, most importantly, no timed baby-related relay races.

5. I will not be opening my presents in front of you. It's not that I'm not extremely thankful, but even as a kid, it seemed very strange to me to be forced to watch the birthday kid opening up all their loot. It led to jealousy and ill will. I promise, I will open, appreciate, and send you a lovely card for your gift. Just not in front of a crowd of people oohhing and ahhhing at the appropriate moments.

6. I'm all about decorations, but there's absolutely no need to expend energy on tying little pink baby bottles, shoes, or outfits to any flat surface. Seriously. I'm trying to save everyone some time here.

7. My dog's invited. He's part of the family. He doesn't even had to bring a gift. That said, he doesn't get any beer.

My best friends, Jessica and Kate have generously stepped up and offered to organize and host this event, which leaves me feeling simultaneously grateful and apprehensive. What kind of ingrate would I be to tell them that the thought of throwing a traditional baby shower makes me slightly queasy? The best I can do is hope they're not too offended at my control-freak insistence that the rules be met.

Image by tanakowa

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

The Naming of She-Blob, Part 1 of Several

Now that Blob has graduated to She-Blob we can begin the process of picking names. That, coupled with the fact that within a few weeks She-Blob will, ostensibly, form working ears and be able to hear things adds a bit of urgency to the endeavor.

Since Bree and I have somewhat unusual names (granted, I'm the equivalent of "Jennifer" or "Mary" in Russia, but hey, we emigrated), we have always been open to names of the more exotic persuasion. By "exotic" I mean "unusual," and not "fit for a stripper."

We've tried to rise to the occasion ourselves, and have come up with didly. We've reached out to family for suggestions.

Between my mom: "Why don't you combine my and Bree's mom's names?"
Me: "Would that be Christena or Irenistie?"

and Bree's dad - LeCher, LeStar and Lila LaRue are all exotic in the "fit for a stripper" way - we're back to didly.

Somewhere along the way, we had the plan of giving She-Blob the initials B. L. O. B., and what began as a joke has had a strangely pervasive quality. Sadly, "B" names are somewhat lacking, unless we name her Bree after her daddy, something he firmly opposes. So, any suggestions? Should we run a contest?

Saturday, April 5, 2008

A History of She-Blob

Since we're starting a bit late into the game (4 months, give or take), I'm devoting a little time to the evolution of She-Blob. A Cliff notes to her existence, if you will.

I Get Knocked Up

Perhaps it was the comparatively balmy temperatures of So Cal after the unexpected deep freeze of Portland at Thanksgiving, but I was extra-fertile that fateful day. Long story short, She-Blob quietly and inconspicuously came into being.

I Suspect I'm Knocked Up

Fast forward to late December. After weeks of alternately working my ass off and drinking copiously at holiday parties, we went to NYC for New Years. It began as the flu. Then came the nausea, the inability to even look at food, and the dizziness. This flu was knocking me DOWN and OUT... "Maybe it's something else..." I say tentatively.

I Confirm I'm Knocked Up

Pic of Blob to come. Yep, it's true. Counting down to August 31, 2008.

The Fish Stick Episode

I consider myself a modern woman, and while the wild single lifestyle is a distant memory, I can still be counted on for a night on the town or at least a decent meal (going out for one, not cooking). Then one day, I realized that the road to my future was paved with fish sticks and tater tots. And boxed lunches. And model volcanoes. And birthday party sleep-overs. And I PANICKED.

"I will not eat fish sticks!" I scrined (that's a combo of screamed and whined) in my friend Jen's office. Which led her to suggest I start this blog.

I Look Like a Tea Cozy aka The Wardrobe Meltdown

I was getting too fat for my pants. Not big enough for maternity clothes (which, by the way, I still haven't accepted) but my jeans were falling out of rotation. Quickly. Something needed to be done. So I went to Macy's.

As I stood in the aisled of Macy's Woman, holding an armful of tent-like mu mus and picking out yet another outfit that would have looked lovely on my mother (no offence, mom), I was fighting back tears. No, seriously - I stood there saying to myself "You CAN'T cry at Macy's."

I fled, and upon coming home repeatedly threatened to drown myself in the shower. After he looked at my purchases ("Are you moving to an island?" he asked about one of my get-ups), Bree valiantly offered to take me shopping.

We Buy a Chair

This has little to do with She-Blob, other than to illustrate our state of denial. We have to refurbish our office, buy baby furniture and things ("things" being a complete mystery to me), clean out our guestroom. And what we did was buy a very cool antique accent chair for the living room. That needs to be fixed and re-upholstered.

Blob's Initials

While we agreed to not picking out names until we knew the gender, I had the epiphany that with our initials, we can actually give it the initials B.L.O.B., which would be terribly humorous. To me.

Bree thinks I'm insane... And yet...the idea has persisted...

We Brave Pottery Barn Kids

This was a recent development. After my 7th straight day of work, I dragged Bree into THAT place (admittedly, it's nowhere near as scary as Baby's R Us). This was clearly a mistake. When the kindly clerk asked me if I need any help, I literally screamed "No, I'm just looking!" and ran for the door.

Blob Graduates to She-Blob

Well, we're up to date it seems. That was yesterday. Now, for that name. Maybe we'll hold a contest....

A Few Words About She-Blob

I'm knocked up. Let's just get that out of the way, so this whole thing has context.

I'm starting this blog because several of my friends have suggested that I share my "unique perspective" with the rest of the world (namely the 2 people who will read this). I suspect they're saying this because they're tired of listening to my incessant whining and want to share their pain with others. But being the ego-maniac that I am, I choose to believe that I really do have a "new voice" to add to the world of pregnancy. So here we are...

Up until yesterday, She-Blob was simply "The Blob." Never mind that Blob hasn't been blobby in about 3 months, and has actually been shaped like a mini-human. But this is one of the many things I don't like to think about (more on that to come) so I've stuck with the blob image.

So, on April 4th, Blob went out and got herself a gender. After months of being told I was DEFINITELY having a boy by anyone and everyone, She-Blob established herself as the rule-breaking rebel she is.

I know for sure that She-Blob can do three things:
1) She can respond when her mini-world is shaken.
2) She can stick her hands in her nose.
3) She can then lick those hands.

With a basis like that, how can you go anywhere else but up?