I Get Tongue-Tied When People Get All TMI on Me

Yesterday at the gym, I was talking to this guy who at one point was a hard-core spinner and was at every single one of my classes. He was really friendly and was sort of this father-figure for everyone in the class. And then he dropped off the face of the earth and I hadn't seen him in several months until yesterday.

Our conversation started out pleasant enough but suddenly took a strange turn:

Man: Look at you! You're huge! I can't believe it! What are you still doing at the gym?

Me: I know, I know. Hey, where have you been?

Man: Yah, it's been awhile! I was recovering from two different surgeries.

Me in my head: Do not ask any questions.
Me out loud: Well, I'm glad to see you're feeling good enough to be back in the gym.

Man: Yah, one surgery was on my knee. And the other one was on my prostate!

Me in my head: Um, Ok. Didn't ask, but whatever. And yes that would put a damper on one's spinning habits.
Me out loud: (holding back a grimace) Oh, man. Well, welcome back.

Man: That one on my prostate was no fun. No fun at all!

Me in my head: Stop talking about it! Ew!
Me out loud: Yah, I would imagine. Well, not imagine-imagine. You know what I mean. I'm not imagining anything. I-- So, uh, yah. No fun.
Me in my head: SHUT UP. JUST STOP TALKING.

Man: And then on top of it, I got that flu bug that went around. Did you get hit with it?

Me in my head: Finally, a change in subject.
Me out loud: I actually did. A couple of weeks ago.

Man: We did, too. My wife only got the throw up part of it, but it was coming out both ends for me. What about you? Which end did you get or did you get hit with both?

Me in my head: Um, WHY does he want to know this?
Me out loud: Uh, just one.

Man: Which end?

Me in my head: You must now lie.
Me out loud: I was throwing up.

Man: Oh, gee.

Me in my head: I must end this conversation now before it gets any weirder.
Me out loud: Well, I need to run; it was so good to see you!

Man: You, too! So, how many months left?

Me in my head: MONTHS?!!!
Me out loud: Actually, I only have about 2 more weeks to go before my induction date.

Man: REALLY? But you're still carrying so high!

Me in my head: What in the world?
Me out loud: Yah, I guess I just carry high. Well, I'll see ya later. Take care of yourself.

Man: You, too! Go get on that treadmill and get that baby to drop so you can just pop it right out!

Me in my head: RUN! Go! Now!
Me out loud: Will do. Bye!

*On a different note: I just got home from my second-to-last OB appt where my doc told me I was "highly inducible." I will stop there and spare you the details as to WHY I am highly inducible, because after yesterday, I have a new hightened awareness of TMI. Your welcome.

Good Birth Memories, Part 3

The afternoon after May was born, I was alone in the hospital bed with her, waiting for Go to return with my Mom, Ruby (who I hadn't seen since we had dropped her off at the Jacksons before my induction) and a Reuben sandwich from the New Poineer Co-Op deli. The good memory could actually end right here. That's how good those sandwiches were--one of the VERY few things I actually miss about Iowa.

I was looking at May and pondering if we had given her the right name. Our "policy" really isn't to ever completely decide on a name before the baby is born; we usually have a main name in mind, a couple of back-up alternatives and then wait until we see her. We never call the in-utero-baby by any specific name until after she's actually born. So far, we have always ended up going with our main name idea. So I was sitting there, not really doubting our choice persay, just sort of looking at her and thinking about it.

The silence was broken as Go, my Mom and 2.5 year old Ruby entered the room. "Hey, Rubes," I said and reached out for her. As she came over, she sort of glanced over to May, who was sleeping beside me and casually but matter-of-factly said "Oh. It's May," just like "Oh, hey. What's up," like she had always known her. The fact that we never really called her "May" when she was still in the womb and Ruby's nonchalant attitude confirmed to me that we definitely went with the right name.

The Future Middle Child

It's weird to think that May won't be my baby anymore. Even though she's three and a half, she still seems so young to me. Maybe it's because she talks so funny. For example, five words that come to mind:

"wer-gert" : yogurt

"plick-nick": picnic

"shister baby": her soon-to-be little sister

"Ve-nan-ah": our little friend Savannah

"My poke-a-lot bleenkie": My polka-dot blankie.

The Healing Powers of Violent Television

During many of the more trialing times in my life, there have been 2 constant themes: the television and my mother. While it would be funny to say that these were the culprits of the trials (especially the latter) that's not what I'm saying--a mere presence of both is all.

Two examples:

Exhibit A:

Christmas Break during my sophomore year of college, on a trip to Mammoth with my family: it was a trip that was supposed to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship between me and snowboarding, but ended up with me on the couch of our rented condo for an entire week suffering with something akin to the Bubonic Plague. House would have snatched my case right up. I had about every symptom under the sun and what illness it was exactly, still remains a mystery. His white board would have been completely filled and he would have spent hours just sitting there looking at it and bouncing a rubber ball.

While everyone else in the family besides my Mom (who abhors being cold) was out skiing/snowboarding, I was watching a Behind the Music marathon on VH1, which had always been one of my favorite shows. On that trip, I watched every single episode. Every. Single. One. And who was there in the adjoining kitchen cooking and cleaning? My Mom. She learned everything she ever wanted to know about sex, drugs and rock and roll via the lives of the Spice Girls, the Mamas and the Papas, the Doors, Nirvana, Boy George and the Culture Club, Busta Rhymes, etc.


Exhibit B:

The week after Ruby was born--recovering from her birth/my crazy hormones/her sudden existence/my first experience with insomnia/her refusal to nurse all rocked my world in a really bad way. It was also hard on Go as he and I were at odds concerning the whole nursing issue due to a) his recent Immunology class where they basically taught if you are fed formula instead of breast milk, you will end up being sickly and stupid (for the record I ended up formula-feeding her and she's as smart as a whip and i am convinced formula has nothing whatsoever to do with her having diabetes) and b) we had only been married 2 years and we argued ineffectively like newly weds tend to do, which means he still hadn't figured out yet that in the end, I will always get my way. To say the least, he would have made a very passionate (and very cute) spokesman for La Leche League.
What was on TV for the both of us to drown our "My Spouse is Crazy" sorrows in? An Ultimate Fighting Champion marathon. Hours and hours of gorilla-men beating each other into a bloody pulp inside the octagon ring. (In the words of Jo March played by Wionna Ryder in Little Women, "I rather crave violence.") And who was there in the adjoining kitchen cooking and cleaning? My mom. She learned everything she ever wanted to know which was never anything about mixed martial arts.


Because this baby has been CRAZY WILD inside the womb (and my others were very calm inside and ended up being really happy babies), I am fearing the worst. Colic is the first thing that comes to mind--something I've always wondered if I could actually handle or not. I am fearing another rock-bottom week where I will turn to the television for solice. And my mom will be here, cooking and cleaning and being exposed to all kinds of seedy underbellies. Thanks to the technology of a DVR, I have been preparing for months. I have dozens and dozens of episodes of 48 Hours (everything she ever wanted to know about homicide investigations) and Intervention (everything she ever wanted to know about alcohol and drug addictions) ready to go if needs be.

Because, thanks to the healing powers of Behind the Music and UFC, I've learned it never hurts to watch stuff where people are way worse off then you are.

Good Birth Memories, Part 2

I had forgotten about this one. Kristen, an old work buddy from Iowa, who watched me waddle down the common hallway of our across-the-way offices at UIHC with a plate full of grilled cheese sandwiches every day for my entire pregnancy with Ruby, commented with this memory on my last post. I thought it was so good, I am making it Part 2. A Birth Memory? No, but that's ok. A Good Memory? Not really, but a funny memory nonetheless.

Kristen: "Remember when that dude asked you on the UIHC elevator, "One or Two?" and you got kinda pissed at him and then you realized he meant what floor you were going to, not how many babies were residing in your belly.

Thinking of you telling me that story still makes me laugh today....Oh memories....."

Good Birth Memories, Part 1

May 31, 2003
Had sporadic contractions all day, went and saw "The Italian Job." As always, Mark Wahlberg is a great distraction. (See ya lata, goat! Say hi to your motha for me!)

June 1, 2003
My water breaks in the middle of the night. We rush out the door. Go starts the ignition and the radio automatically starts playing, which is the very first note of "Everybody's Talkin'" by Harry Nilsson. This song is one of both Go and I's top favorites. It was like a small gift on the way to the hospital that night.

About 2 hours later, Ruby is born.

Welcome to Crazy Town

Reoccurring thought/worry/obsession of the day:

What if I'm in the shower and my water breaks? How will I know what just happened?

LET'S DO THIS

You know those really, really old people, the ones that are just sitting around waiting to die? I feel like them, but I'm young and am just sitting around waiting to have a baby. I still have about 3 weeks to go. I know to some, that doesn't seem like a long time at all, but it's feeling like an eternity over here. I'm getting really, really anxious to get this baby out, meet her and get the whole ordeal over and done with. The seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days: they all are creeeeeeping by.

In other news, someday I'd like to form an all-girl Hall and Oates tribute band.

Three Thoughts

1. Tomorrow morning will be my last day teaching spin for a couple of months. I have very mixed feelings about this.


2. I wish Jim Croce would have written a sequel to his song "Operator" in which after calling his ex-lady, whose livin' in L.A. with his best old ex-friend Ray, a guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated, he totally shacks up with the operator. How could she resist that finger-picking? And let us not over look that 'stache.

3. I came across this picture the other day. I invite you all to take a look at May and marvel at how fat she was. A big, fat, fatty. I hope Sister Baby is just as chubby. In my mind, there's nothing better than a big, ole fat baby. It's odd because May was a little skinny thing when she was born but plumped up within about 2 weeks. So, if for some reason this kid comes out with chicken legs like May did, I know there's hope for major chub in the near future.

Oh, and see that "crazed-and-on-the-brink-of-insanity" look behind my eyes? This picture was taken in Vegas just like, days, after Ruby got home from the hospital after she was diagnosed with Diabetes. And you see that "young-naive-unhardened-by-the-cruel-cruel-surgical-world" look behind Go's eyes? This picture was also taken just like, days, before we moved to Pennsylvania and his intern year started. Oh man, did June of 2006 bite. The enormous amount of fat on May might have been the only thing holding me together at this point. Obviously there was something definitely wrong in my brain. I mean, look at me. I put my hair in pigtails. Though this is just our little family shown here, the main photo shoot was for the BIG Extended Reynolds Family portrait. The one which will be hanging up in my in-laws dining room for the next decade. Pig tails. PIG. TAILS. Gaaah.

This Morning's Epiphany

There was this time about, oh, 4 or 5 years ago back when we were living in Iowa--Go was teaching Sunday School and for some reason, and I swear it had to do something with the lesson because Go is quite a good teacher/public speaker, he, without thinking obviously, publicly divulged a secret of mine I had been hording from the good people of our Iowa ward: that I was addicted to the show COPS and had been for years. When he said this, he waited just a beat, letting his words sink into the skulls of his audience, just like any good public speaker does when letting out juicy information about their spouse, I guess...

An eerie silence passed over the small congregation. All eyes turned to me, stunned and wide. And then collectively, everyone's brain waves joined together and somewhere from another dimension, out of the atmosphere, Dueling Banjos began playing, my metal folding chair turned into a mildewy lawn-couch, my tasteful Banana Republic tweed brown skirt turned into greasy-stained jean short cut-offs and suddenly, I was holding an economy sized bag of Cheet-os in one hand and the leash of a three legged blind dog in the other. I felt stripped of my dignity. How dare he divulge my inner white trashiness? The nerve! Needless to say, we had words after class.

But here's what blogging for almost three years does to you: you announce to the general population that you just dug through your disgusting, gross trash and that your baby's car seat has had mouse poop in it. So much for inner white trash.

Blogger, what have you done to me?

P.S. - I still really like COPS. And I always will.

ew.

Insomnia has again reared its ugly head again and so at 4 in the morning, I found myself lugging baby items out of the garage, most of which had lots of fun surprises to go along with them, like cobwebs, dust, and grime--all of which I could handle, except for one: Ruby's and May's Graco car seat? A mouse had chewed through the plastic bag I put it in, crawled down to the bottom of the seat, chewed through that and even left me some poop to let me know for sure that yes, he had been there. Thanks, mouse. Now I can easily shake off the guilt I've been carrying around all this time for killing you in that trap last year.

Needless to say, I was creeped out and horrified at the thought of my baby sitting in a seat that once held mouse poo and had been gnawed through with mouse teeth. So, like any woman after promptly throwing it in the washing machine, my mind wandered to retail therapy and I hopped online to look at shiny, new Graco car seats. Ones that had not been touched my rodents and also, had not been through two kids already. Then reality reached through the computer screen and slapped me in the face. They're expensive. (This is where I wish I could insert an audio clip of a woman with a nasally, southern accent saying: "Too rich for my blood!")

So much for being done with sewing projects. So, um...yah...anyone know how to sew a car seat cover? booooo...

P.S.-I've never been one to long for a super glamorous lifestyle, but this is just ridiculous.

A Good One

A mini daffodil plant, dark chocolate with raspberries, fruit leather, black licorice, red licorice cinnamon pita chips, Tinkerbell PEZ, sparkly notebooks, singular M&Ms taped onto construction paper hearts, lots of hugs and kisses. That was our family's Valentine's day and it was good.

Also: THIS DINNER I made which had Go reenacting Bill Murray in the famous dinner table scene from What About Bob. I totally concurred.

Pork Spare ribs






Cheddar Jalapeno Buttermilk Biscuits (recipe found on cdkitchen.com)




Raw sugar snap peas (such a good kid food)





Fresh pineapple








A "fancy" drink for the girls: Diet Cherry 7-Up over crushed ice with lime







Glazed Chocolate Ginger Torte (recipe found on Godiva.com)





I was cooking for a lot of the day but it was worth it.

Want the recipes for the ribs, biscuits and torte?

Grandma's Spareribs (a recipe from a really funny girl I met in Iowa, Amy Brown)
(serves 6-8)

4 lb. country style pork spareribs
Garlic salt
1/2 c. vinegar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp dry mustard
4 tsp celery salt (I used only about 1 1/2 tsp (because it was all I had) and still won a standing ovation)
1 1/2 tsp chili powder
1 c. ketchup
1/4 c. sugar
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp pepper
1/3 c. water

Cut ribs into serving pieces. Sprinkle generously with garlic salt. Combine all remaining ingredients and pour over ribs. Bake at 325 for 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Skim off fat and serve.

Click here for the Cheddar Jalapeno Buttermilk Biscuits.

Click here for the Glazed Chocolate Ginger Torte.

Oh For FUN!

Just now I dug through a huge trashcan full of stinky, wet trash for an envelope with my name on it containing $80 in cash but did not find it. After the twenty-fifth minute of scrubbing my hands with an SOS pad and boiling water, the answer came to me where the envelope was--somewhere a lot less stinky and a lot less wet. Yahoo! $80!

I do no think I was crazy for digging through nasty trash for $80.

So here are my questions (that I was pondering over during my eighteenth minute of hand-scrubbing):

Would you, dear reader, dig through stinky, wet trash for $80? For $50? For $20? $10?

Let's Hide Those Hooters!

Boys who may be reading this: You will want to stop reading here…unless you are one of those types who go to the gym and nonchalantly pick up a Cosmo magazine, then retreat to the privacy of a restroom stall where you flip through the glossy pages, hoping to unlock the seedy underbelly of womanhood, only to discover how to successfully create a smoky eye and 25 ways to please your man, which I’m guessing you have more of an interest in than you are willing to admit if you do indeed read womens' magazines.

Still reading, big guy? Fine. You’ve been warned.

Maybe it’s the smidgen(?) of anti-conformist in me, but I always mentally vowed never to buy/make/use a nursing cover or “hooter hider” as they are sometimes called. I don’t like having the same thing as everyone else. I try to avoid it actually and always have. But as this baby nears and as the months and months of impending public nursing doom looms over my head, those dang nursing covers everyone has have turned from silly and trendy to extremely practical and I MUST HAVE ONE. Or three. I mean, you can be totally covered but actually SEE what’s going on down there, which some women don't need, but I do.

I am not one of those Super Nursers. You know the ones I’m talking about: the girls who can breastfeed triplets while they simultaneously change a tire on the side of a freeway. Me, on the other hand, I have to be comfortably sitting in a soy-candle lit room while soothing whale mating calls mixed with Gregorian monk chanting to Enya songs play softly on the stereo and when in mixed company, be covered by a king sized duvet cover, preferably stuffed with baby duck feathers. So, no. I'm not a Super Nurser. I would never dream of attempting to grocery shop and breastfeed at the same time. (Your welcome.) And there’s a good chance I’ve flashed you more than once Marti Gras style while wrestling my baby to my breast if I've nursed around you, despite the duvet cover. (I am SO sorry.) And I would not join the band of nursing mothers who have a group on Facebook, because #1 I’m not on Facebook (Why? Because everyone else is! Duh!) and #2 because I’d feel like an impostor. I do not love breastfeeding. I do not even like it. I merely tolerate it because it is healthy and economical. (Standing ovation from Miss Cheapy Pants.) I do not get dreamy-eyed and swoony at the thought of nursing babies like some women do. I have many an aunt and MIL who were Super Nursers and some have even, in hushed tones, revealed to me that they believe nursing is better than sex. Really? Hm. I disagree.


Anyway, as you can see, I gave in. I made myself a nursing cover. I hope it helps me like breastfeeding more. Maybe I’ll even end up liking it better than sex...

HA! I caught you, Go. You totally just read this post!

Oh, It's My FAVORITE

I'm at that point of my pregnancy where it gets really fun.

Such as:

-If I accidentally drop something on the floor, I stand there and stare at it for about 10 seconds, weighing the pros and cons and deciding if this is really something I need to bend over and retrieve.

-An innocent bystander could watch me try to put on my shoes and think I was doing some sort of comedy routine.

-When rolling over in the middle of the night, I think to myself "If only I was sleeping with some Oompa Loompas right now..." [Insert YouTube video of Oompla Loompas rolling Violet Beauregarde away to get the blueberry juice squeezed out of her HERE]. (The 1971 version, please.)
*Sidenote: I would love to name our baby Violet, but Go poo-poos the name for this very reason.

-People (mostly of the male gender) have started joking that I "must be having twins!" and am I "sure there's not two?" and "Did the sonographer make sure there's not another one in there?" and do I have "an extra car seat laying around just in case?" Hey guys. Guess what? You're not funny. Not even close to being kind of funny. In fact, I'd like to kick you in the shins for being so unfunny.

In Other News

I finished Go's scarf. It is loooong, which is how we wanted it because short scarves on men are just comical.

What's even more exciting is that Go shaved his facial hair off for the upcoming birth. It's now become a tradition. A new soft baby needs new soft daddy cheeks. I hadn't seen his hairless face since May was born three and a half years ago, so I was pretty excited/mesmerized/weirded out.

I did a little photo shoot with the scarf because I loved it so much.

And also because I love his shaved face so much, I tricked him into a photo shoot as well. I told him he needed to take some pictures with his scarf because if I would have said "Hey, take some pictures of yourself and your freshly-shaven face so I can show you off to my blog readers!", his neck would have compressed into his shoulders like an accordion and he wouldn't have come out of his turtle shell for weeks. He's shy.

He's also very pleased with his scarf.

Kindergarten Crush

Today I went in to Ruby's classroom to help with reading/writing. I've been in there several times. For some reason, the kids really like me and always want to hug me, which I've decided is because of my humongous, bulging middle. These kids were raised on Teletubbies, were they not? I've also been told by the strange men who reach over and touch it at the grocery store that my pregnant belly is very inviting.

There was one boy today who completely stole my heart. Why? Because he wanted nothing to do with me. Kinda sounds like memories from my college days...hm...

After hugging a dozen kids when I came in, he approached me, covering his eyes with his hands and said "I don't want to look at you," to which I replied "That's cool. I don't blame you." I also attributed this particular behavior to my pregnant body. Or he just really couldn't stand the sight of me. Either way, I appreciated his honesty.

Every time he walked past me while I was there, he would shield his face, then sometimes peek back to see if I was looking at him. I would give him a wink and he, of course, would just walk away faster. Ahhh, again with the memories...

Right before I left after giving more hugs, he approached me with his semi-translucent pencil box up to his face like a mask and said "I still don't want to look at you. But I wanted to say bye." I asked if he would slap me five, which he did very solemnly and we parted ways.

That kid was awesome.

It's the Garlock in Me that Gravitates Toward Anything PingPong Related

The iTunes Video-of-the-Week picker did it again.
Is anyone else loving this video/song as much as we are?

Well, Sweet Baby Jane!

Go has 2 more weeks of vacation that he has to take before the start of June. And what do you know? This next week is one of them. We're doing a couple of little trips:

1. Pittsburgh! For the Super Bowl. Mmm...ok, if you say so. But more like to see our dear friends the Ringgers and Jacksons while we eat delicious food and laugh ourselves to oblivion. I think the game might be on in the background. Maybe. I really don't care. Go Steelers? Sure. Whatever.

2. Great Wolf Lodge & Waterpark!
The water is 85 degrees. That's all I need to know. My apologies in advance to the Jacksons who will be accompanying us.

3. D.C.! Probably!

It's going to be a lot of driving but our kids like riding in the car. I guess it's bigger than the cage they're normally kept in. More leg room.

I know I said I was going to lay off the craft projects for awhile but I have to do something while we do all of this driving, so I'm going to attempt to crochet a headband similar to this one.


"What's with the headbands, Annie?", you may ask. Well, folks. Big, fat headbands cover up big, fat roots. I've got at least a month left until I'll let myself get my hair done again. In the meantime, I'll be looking like those poor babies you see every Sunday at church.

What We're Feeling Like in Late January on the East Coast

I'm helping May put on her coat, her hat, her gloves, her boots, etc.

May: Mom?

Me: Yah?

May: (said with great dramatic disdain) Putting on my coat is my LIFE.


A. Men.