At Six weeks, she's the size of a lentil bean

This week her ears, nose, arm and leg buds start to appear. Her heart has already divided into chambers and is beating 100-160 times a minute. The brain is expanding as well as the entire nervous system.

This is my baby, inside my womb, at six weeks. She's about the size of a lentil bean. It's a miracle on the inside I tells ya.

On the outside I can barely stay conscious. The boobin fire has settled though. Up half a cup size (woo hoo!). But oh my god I'm so tired. I sleep 12 hours a night and take monster naps during the day.

It's pretty funny really. I mean, I like to think of myself as in charge of my body. I eat certain things to make me feel energized, I yoga to keep things in line. I can affect how I feel and how I move. My control and my ability to affect my body is pretty easy, most of the time.

But just like the last two times, my body no longer belongs to me. I'm knocked sideways by a rush of hormones. Estrogen and Progesterone increase 40 fold during pregnancy. This explains the bigger boobs and the exhaustion. But again, this is what is happening on the inside.

On the outside I am a silly mess wrapped in a euphoric fugue state. Fugue is a good word. Slightly disconnected and very sleepy. Euphoric is a good word too. It's beyond happy, delirious even. I'm on the verge of crying happy tears at any given moment.

So happy, so joyous. Soo sleepy. Yawn! OK. off to work we go. Me and wee-est one. ;)

Pancake provides some art for Sunday

My daughter drew this. For me. And she says, "It's a horse from a carousel and the butterflies are the colors of the rainbow. I made the letters all fancy too."

Pretty awesome if I do say so myself :)

Upside down Jeeps and other soft violence

Mr. Hall and I were in Hawaii once, and we saw a Jeep flip over. It was on the tip of one of the islands. There were off roading trails and walking trails next to each other. No trees or greenery, just rocky terrain.

The jeep tried to go up a hill but tipped backwards and gently landed on it's back. It was a slow and graceful maneuver as the Jeep was going about 2 miles an hour. The driver got out and sort of shook his head, laughing. Then another jeep pulled up near it and they both laughed together. They must have been friends.

And I thought, "Huh, how soft." I mean, if a jeep were to flip over on a highway there would have been sparks a flying, metal crunching, gears screeching and cars piling up. There would have been fear. But here, it was soft violence.

So, now, let's talk about the rabbit.



No, not that kind of rabbit, but Rabbit pose. As seen below.



This has got to be one of my favorite poses in yoga. Ever.

About 2 or three years ago I was in this pose. I was at the tail end of losing 35 lbs on weight watchers and shedding all this emotional ick in the process. The emotional ick was flaming and pulsing most of the time. But I used yoga to heal.

So, there I was, in this pose when I felt a gush and a formation. Under my curved spine, in the cave it formed between my belly and chest, I felt ball of energy materialize. It was emanating from my belly and it felt like an orb. It was all my pain, all my sexual trauma, all my ick--right there. It scared me a little.

Then I started to get really scared. I mean, what was going to happen when I straightened up? I mean, that kind of pain was really hard to carry. But I just couldn't release it. I mean, it was flaming pain! I didn't want to give that to energies in the room. It was my orb and I didn't want to let go of it lest it hurt anyone else. I couldn't really pull it back in either.

Then it dawned on me. I am just one tiny body. Holding in this monumental black and ugly energy. This damaging and painful energy. It's time for me to let it go. To send it out into the universe. Because I have only so much space, a finite amount. Whereas the universe, the energy of God, that is infinite. And if I gave up my pain, my pulsing orb to God, it would be just fine.

No matter how big and heavy it was for me, it would barely register on the universal scale. It was time for me to let go.

So, with the softest violence I unwound from the Rabbit pose and felt all this pain dissipate and disappear. I felt stunned with levity. I was all emptied out, spent like spare change.

Pretty awesome I say.

:)

You kids GET OFF MY LAWN! Part one

Two blocks from the house I grew up in, there was a house on a corner lot. On the corner of their lawn, there was a big boulder. This house was next to our bus stop for middle school. So there we were, 13 year olds. Slouching on the boulder.

And every day dude would come roaring out of his house.

Yelling, "GET OFF THE ROCK!!"

Old bastard.

But here's the thing, that yard is now two blocks away from my current house. Because when I moved here- I moved four blocks from the neighbor hood I grew up in.

This still boggles my mind. Because I had never expected to be back here. offt.

Anywhoodle.

Dropping my little girl off to school I noticed something about that same corner lot house. The old bastard GET OFF MY ROCK!! corner lot house.

Dude installed a nasty fence. To send a message I suppose.



This got me to thinking. I need to develop stuff that makes me pop a neck vein. Something that let's me get my crank on. So, without further ado, here is my list of things that make me say

YOU KIDS GET OFF MY LAWN!!!

1. Frickin backwards caps



2. Seeing her goddamn underwear. NOT ATTRACTIVE OR CUTE JUST WHITE TRASH!!!



3. I don't fucking care if it's walmart, YOU STILL HAVE TO GET DRESSED BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE GODDAMN HOUSE



4. IF YOU'RE GOING TO ACT LIKE A GROWN UP AND WEAR A FANCY STRAPLESS DRESS PULL BACK YOUR GOSH DARN SHOULDERS!!!! POSTURE!!!!!



I don't know. These are battles I cannot win. But, I think it only proper I have some seething rage about something. I'm much too cheery really. So, these are my GET OFF MY LAWN complaints.

Yet. Still. When I go to pick up with little girl next monday, I will take a few minutes to sneak behind that POINTY STUPID FENCE and sit for a moment on that boulder.

Just cause!

:)

Would you make out with your clone? Discuss

So, would you make out with your clone?

I'm not talking about your twin. I'm not talking the love that shall not be named. I'm talking about a scientifically grown you. GAWD you people are freaks. Same height, weight, mannerisms and accent. And sex. I suppose the clone could be healthier. What with the clone having lived at the clone compound. Being fed only organic food and being trained to fight the oncoming hordes of the undead. A machine like clone, with six pack abs and wavy hair smelling of strawberries. But the clone would still be human. And you at the same time.

As for me. No effing way. I'm WAAAAYYY to selfish and bossy. I'd be all like, "No, I don't want to be on top, too risky for the baby." Then I'd be all like, "NO not like that, over HERE!!" Then I'd say, "NOT THAT TOY!! That's too loud!! You'll wake the kids!"

And plus I'm selfish. Not really giving unless I psych myself up. So really, even if wanted to mac on my clone, we'd end up pretending we were sleeping because we would both be so lazy and unmotivated to make each other happy. Toys would do most of the work. And really, that can be accomplished solo. Eliminating any need for another one of me, demanding my attention. Really, one is enough!! ;)

Plus, not touchy the boobins. Pregnancy has made me so sore I wince when putting my bra on or off. So no. NONE FOR THE CLONE!

So, how about you? Would you make out with your clone?

DISCUSS BELOW!!




BTW IF YOU LOOK BELOW

DUDE TOUCHED MY BUTT!!

I got a massage once. Dude touched my butt.

I understand why people get massages. The rubbing, the working of the muscles, all of that produces relaxation in your average person. I can say Mr. Hall enjoys a good massage. In fact, he's a freak about it. When he's in a bad mood or isn't doing what I want him to do, I just give him a little temple rub. Or full on back massage with a massage bar. And BAM! He's changed into the strong, sweet man I love. And ruthlessly attacking projects. Like installing recycling bins in the lazy susan.



When I was super pregnant with Mac, I tried a massage. When I mean super pregnant, I mean this pregnant.



Wait, I don't have long red hair. Nor am I a cartoon. Ok, here's me, eight point five months preggies with Mac.



I got naked. Wrapped a white sheet around my swollen belly and nakedness. Layed down and had some dude rub me. He rubbed my arms, my feet, my back and my thighs. It was a full body massage.



OH MY GOD HE'S TOUCHING MY THIGHS THIS MAN WHO IS NOT MY HUSBAND IS TOUCHING MY THIGHS (i thought to myself).

Then, THEN he rubbed my butt. Did ya'll know that the butt is part of the full body massage??!!! DID YA??!!! HUH!!!??

So, in reality, my reaction to a massage is not that of relaxation but rather, it winds me up. Again, I have the crazy A.D.D. energies. My brain is constantly talking, constantly going. I lack internal calm. I use to lack it anyway. I now go to yoga and have learned how to deep breathe. This has been a godsend. I can finally self calm. Yoga has been so healing for me. ;)

That being said, touch, like every other external stimuli, stimulates me. It makes my A.D.D. energies grow. Just like sitting next to TWITCHY HUSBANDS while we are trying to watch a nightly movie.

Plus it is weird having people touch me. All of which is a perfect storm of uncomfortable nakedness with a stranger. A stranger I am paying to massage me. Which I did once. And again, dude touched my butt!!

Well, maybe I can give it another try. I mean, it's been like 3 years. And I am better with that whole strangers touching me. In yoga class, now that they know I'm pregnant, they're guiding me with different postures. Which means they are touching me more. Which I'm ok with. I don't freak the hell out anymore. YAY! More healing with yoga!!

I think the key is to breathe. Welcome the hands of another healer. Realize that massage is letting loose of trapped energy. Just like the yoga.

We shall see ;)

The Spectrum of Cool

As I'm getting out more, making friends, I've been thinking about what is cool. And if I'm cool, how do I recognize others like me?

During my first year in college there was this one guy, I think his name was Pete. He was tall and had scraggly, long brown hair. Not attractive. Very skinny. And make no mistake, he was a total flaming geek. And when we would bowl, us and our friends, he would dance a geeky jig with each strike. He went on to work at frito lay, making artificial flavorings. He was way cool. I miss him a bit.



I think he was cool because he owned who he was. Which is tricky when you are everything that is not, by definition, cool.

Then there are the smart people, possessed in self confidence, all indy as get out. Urban, thrift store chick wardrobe. Ultra cool. I knew a girl who fit that description. We hung out a lot in college. She had a boyfriend who was macho and grew his own vegetables. They were vegans. I was all like, here are my people. All smart and sassy like. This hip duo was the first couple friends Mr. Hall and I had. I thought they were cooler than us. They were definitely cooler looking.



Then we all went to a Halloween Haunted House constructed by local high schoolers. It was cool for what it was. They, the ultra cool couple, kind of rolled their eyes and called it lame. Which I thought was totally bad manners. Then they were jabbering about politics. Because politics WAS A FAVORITE TOPIC OF CONVERSATION OF THEIRS. And not just any politics BUT KARL MARX. Yeah, I know. So cliche.

Then Mr. Hall and I were getting all into the Haunted House. Loving the hand painted doors, the teenage kids with rubber masks who trying to scare us, the candy corn . . . getting into it. Cause that's what we do.



We get into things cause we ENJOY OURSELVES ALL THE TIME. Then I started waxing poetic about Christmas. And she, of our first couple friends, did the "Pssh-shaaww" noise and said, "Oh, I hate Christmas."

It was then I decided that for the rest of my life-- I would never be friends with anyone who wasn't a fan of Christmas.

True to my word, we never spoke to the cool couple again.

So, to me, cool is a spectrum. In order to even register as cool, one must have ownership of self. But, the self needs to be awesome. Happy and passionate for life. Then the exterior needs to match that interior. Because frumpy and not showering is uncool. And above all, being kind is the coolest. Cause no one likes a cool asshat. In fact, that defeats the purpose.

And now, a very cool song indeed. . . Lust for Life by Iggy Pop.

Stupid adverts in front of videos ARE NOT COOL but I just couldn't find another copy.

apologies.

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