Christmas Due Date

Today is my due date but the only thing

that arrived was a fab new pair of Uggs,

and I'm totally fine with that.  At this point,

Bebe needs to hold off for at least 12 more hours

so I can traipse around the house in my new boots,

eat some leftovers when my appetite returns, play 

laser tag with Pinks, and perhaps get in one more 

nights' sleep before I never sleep again.

Happy Christmas, readers.

39 weeks, 3 days

Maternity leave bites,

at least this part of it does.

I can't really go anywhere because

we only have one car and if I

go into labor somewhere out there,

Matt will have no way to get to me.

Therefore, I'm housebound and 

if you've seen The Shining, you 

know what that can lead to.

Months ago when I thought of 

this time, I imagined it would 

feel like a winter summertime.

I realized quickly that what makes 

those 8 weeks off from work

so fabulous is contact with an entire

 community of people who share in that 

time; there's no point in texting anyone

because they are all in the classroom.

I've tried going for walks but I'm

not having much luck waddling for fitness;

my lungs just aren't cooperating these days.

I've frequented Target and even lowered 

myself to the Newport Mall but why spend

money when you're not making any?

(I can't believe it's been a good 8 months 

since I've purchased anything cute and

at least 6 since I've worn anything fashionable). 

On the bright side, this past week has given me 

ample time to cook; my husband has been well

fed whereas by the time I'm done preparing 

the meal, I've completely lost my appetite. 

The smell of cooked food makes me ill but

if this loss continues, I'll make a huge 

effort, despite my exhaustion, to

continue cooking everyday:

I

will

lose

every

pound 

of 

this 

fat suit.

I feel like I'm waiting for Godot.

The Electric Lecky Returns

For those of you who lived through the

Electric Lecky Era with me, you know

my history of becoming caretaker to an elderly 

person I'm a). not related to and b). barely know.

For two years I managed the Electric Lecky's bills,

medication, and sore feet (i.e. feet covered in sores)

while at the same time serving as her chauffeur.

During that time period, I rented the apartment 

above the E.L. and thus had to sneak in and out

of my own front door to avoid the vacant death glare

cast from her cataract covered eyes as she stood

as still as Death behind her adjacent screen door.

When my roommate had to "go away" for a while,

I had to add lying about his whereabouts to my

Lecky repertoire; needless to say, he spent a lot

of time "babysitting his nieces and nephew" that winter.

I knew the end was near for the Electric Lecky when

I found her standing in a dark corner of her even darker

dwelling, begging for the Lord to come and take her;

when she died a few months later in the bedroom below me,

I was the one standing in a corner, my friend Cat having 

forced me to go and pay my final respects while she

dripped drops of morphine down the Electric Lecky's throat.

Needless to say, that was one of the most horrific 

moments of what was then, a pretty abysmal life.

When the E.L. was carted out of the house, I must

admit that I caught my first breath of fresh air in years

and vowed to never again get suckered into caring

for someone other than family and close friends.

Well, today the Electric Lecky returned in the

form of JSA, the crippled old man who lives upstairs.

I'm not going to sugar coat it - JSA has been a pain in the 

ass since we moved in here.  On day 1, he lectured us on 

how to recycle and separate our garbage properly 

and when our friends moved in next door to him, 

they called the cops on him within 36 hours.

However, it was a peaceful summer and fall because 

JSA was missing; we didn't know where he had gone

and frankly, we didn't inquire.  Last month, we found 

out that he had been ill and in hospital but was returning.

What's worse than the E.L.'s behind-the-screen death glare? 

Turning the corner onto our street and spying J.S.A.

hobbling in front of you, dragging his too short leg behind.

Since his return, we've been fortunate to only hear him. 

Unfortunately, that came to an end today when I bumped

into him in the vestibule on my return from the laundry room 

and he told me that he has bone marrow cancer and is 

most certainly living out his last days and could I please

go get him some Tropicana orange juice with extra pulp

and a pack of Windmill biscuits that he's been unable to find?

Ugh.

The Electric Lecky may be back but I refuse to become her patsy.

I'm having a baby in a few days and I don't have the

mental wherewithal to deal with her latest incarnation.

That may sound cruel but dammit, I've done my time - 

I'll get the darn juice but that's where I draw the line!

Maternity Leave

Yesterday was my first day of maternity 

leave and it wasn't what I had expected.

I've barely gone 9 weeks without working 

since I was 14 years old; the thought of 

not leaving the house to go to work for

9 months is almost preposterous. 

During the months I spent looking forward

to maternity leave, I dumbassedly assumed that a feeling

of calm and tranquility would accompany my

time off; instead, I feel anxious and overwhelmed.

My fears are many, some of the most pressing are:

1). that after severely cutting back on it, caffeine

has become my enemy and now produces anxiety;

2). that I'm going to run out of quarters and be hard 

pressed to do laundry (despite going to the bank 

yesterday and stockpiling a $100.00 worth);

3). that Pinkerton is going to be jealous of the baby 

and start pissing all over the flat (in that case, the

baby will have to go and live at Strachan's house);

4). that I'm going to live out the rest of my years 

as a fat girl with really bad hair and stubby nails;

5). that I'm never going to figure out better words 

to use in place of all of the words one puts into

regular rotation upon becoming a parent 

(i.e. mommy, mom, and all bathroom terms);

Those are just a few of my fears; I would add

more but my daily dose of anxiety just kicked in (even

though I swapped my cup of half-caf for a mug

of decaffeinated tea) so I must go text Strachan.

The End and The Beginning...

Yesterday was my last day of school:

I'm officially on maternity leave and I'm exhausted.

When I was younger, I enjoyed attention but as I 

get older, I am not comfortable with all eyes on me -

with the exception of while I'm teaching, of course -

so I took a deep breath and faced the day, one period at a time.

My students were adorable: they threw makeshift parties

(the most successful was complete with one 

Oreo Cookie creme pie for 28 kids but no plates or utensils), 

gifted me with thoughtful presents (my favorite being an 

unwrapped box from four sophomore boys containing a scarf, 

a pair of gloves, and five crumbled one dollar bills), and begged 

me not to go (for at least two more months, because that is 

how long, they feel, Bebe can comfortably stay in "da womb").

My co-workers were ridiculously sweet and helpful: 

the girls showered me with attention (and kept me company 

while I gathered my stuff from my classrooms) and the boys

all stopped by at the end of the day to carry all of my gifts,

books, folders, files, and bags of random items like emergency

flip flops to my car (after the girls ordered them to do so, 

of course).  My boss gave me a big hug and words of

encouragement, along with the sweetest gift for my little girl.

And then it was just me and my best friend left alone on the hall. 

The two of us pretended like it was any other day and not

the day that began a new phase in our relationship: nine months 

of long distance friendship (she lives an hour south of me and, 

well, I live in Hoboken.  Asking someone to enter or exit this 

town is like asking someone to sacrifice their sanity and 

perhaps a little bit of their soul as well); it takes getting

together to a whole new level of arranging.

So while we moved all of the comforts of my room to hers

next door (my ridiculous leather Lane desk chair, Bose 

speakers, collages of Virginia Woolf and Charleston House

post cards, and my mood lighting lamp), we made small 

talk and gossiped as if we would see each other come 

Monday, knowing full well that we won't.

But I'm not worried because I have a secret weapon

on order that will insure that our friendship will

survive this test of time and distance and I am

100% sure that it's a ringer: there's no way she can resist it.

All the effort it will take on my part is one text message

and I guarantee she'll hop directly in the car, fight the

traffic, pay the tolls, and brave the Pulaski Skyway Bridge

to get to me as soon as she can.  What is it?

Need you ask?  

(If so, see the above photo for a clue)

This is my 200th post here at LaPointe of It All;

I hope you've enjoyed the show so far.  

Stay tuned in the New Year as I take this blog in a new direction:

Baby in a 1 Bedroom: Parenting in a Paragraph or Less.

I promise it will be entertaining, 

even for those of you who aren't parents.

Remember, I might be having a baby but

I'm still trying to live out my teenage dreams.

The Most Disgusting Sentence of All Time

"More frequent and intense Braxton Hicks 

contractions signal pre-labor, 

during which your cervix ripens 

and the stage is set for true labor."

And after reading that, I'm going to go vomit.