Last day

Tuesday was my last day of work. Thus far, retirement has been rather anti-climactic. Yesterday, I went to the doctor and ran a bunch of errands, so I was quite busy all day. Today, I did sleep in but then did laundry, went to the post office and scrubbed the kitchen, so it's not exactly eating bonbons and watching soaps. I'm taking a little break here to get off my feet before I do the kitchen floor. Whooeee. Can't say it's much more thrilling than reviewing leases or doing cash flow analyses, but the company (feline rather than office drones) and tunes are certainly better. Although since I woke up the cats are ignoring me pretty much as my co-workers did. Not that I'd want anyone in that office rubbing against me.

Yesterday at the doctor I was dilated 1 cm. The baby hasn't really dropped yet, although it's a bit lower, and I am having some intermittent cramping, but nothing regular at all. We making progress, but hopefully have a week or so to go. We are definitely in the red zone.

I threw out my alarm clock this morning. I may have had it since I started working in commercial real estate, back in the early 90s, for all I know. The radio volume and station both had been stuck for years (low and static) and the snooze bar only worked if pressed strategically in one specific place, but I never felt any pressing need to replace it. Soon, I will have a natural alarm clock, waking me up every few hours so I thought I'd enjoy the respite.

Baby loves the king, Act II

Baby heard Elvis live in utero for the second time last night at Ravinia. Elvis sounded fantastic. He even played some fills and took a few guitar solos that prompted Eli, who has derided Elvis' capability as an instrumentalist on more than one occasion, to go with me up to the pavilion to check to see if it was really him playing.(It was!) He did a set by himself and then Emmylou Harris joined him for the remainder of the concert. They played a bunch of his more country-esque songs, especially off of King of America, which was great, only her mic needed to be turned up a bit. The concert lasted until about 11 -- as usual, he was a very generous performer. The only problem was that we had lawn seats and were surrounded by a great deal of suburbanites who were there probably only because it wasn't a classical concert and kibitzed the whole way through, not ceasing their chatter for even a minute to listen to the music or to what Elvis or Emmylou were saying. Many of them left before Alison was even played, probably the only song they knew. When the Chicago Symphony plays Ravinia, gentlemen with large signs stating "Please be quiet during the performance" patrol the park grounds sushing people. While that would be a bit much for a pop show a little more respect would have been in order.

I joked with Eli that when I go into early labor we should start playing Elvis albums in chronological order and see how far we get. We'll head to the hospital around Punch the Clock, hit transition around Blood and Chocolate or King of America, push the baby out during Spike. Somehow I don't think even I am a big enough fan for that!

You can take the girl out of commercial real estate

The NYT sites security concerns as the primary objection for Calatrava tower/Fordham Spire. Nowhere in the article does it mention that Chicago is suffering around 20% office vacancy. Maybe demand will pick up by the time this is built, but there are still a lot of other new construction projects going up. The real question isn't terrorism, it's do we need another tall office building in the Loop just now?

From an architectural perspective, it sure does look nifty.

Omphalos

I have been navel gazing. Not in the philosophical sense, but the literal. Most pregnant women get that popped belly button look by about the sixth month, but not me. I have always had quite the petite innie. If my brother is inordinately narcissistic about the perfect arches in his feet (which I imagine he extols only to me to make my flat peasant feet stink with envy) I have always been vain about my little navel. Until a few weeks ago, it was still quite tiny and not popped, mostly because there is nothing in there to pop out. That's right, the remnants of my umbilical cord are nonexistent, as if I sprung from a clam shell, Zeus' head or was immaculately conceived. Just now (in the loo -- I'm not contemplating my navel in my office) I noticed that my belly button is almost completely flush with my tummy. It's kind of cute, actually. I think it's my only body part that has distorted in an adorable rather than monstrous way.

I have always wondered if the obstetrician who delivered me was particularly skilled with the knife, so I asked Dr. Chen a few visits ago what determines whether a belly button is an outie or an innie. Genetics. Apparently it is just the way the umbilicus falls off and nothing to do with snipping skill or magic. May our baby inherit belly button-ness from me. Not that there's anything wrong with Eli's belly button, mine is just cuter.

I told Eli that if/when I loose the baby weight I am getting my belly button pierced as a reward. He pointed out that I'd probably be the only woman in America without pierced ears but a pierced navel. Yeah, but I don't ear dance. And after this, my belly button deserves some adornment.

Waiting

Today is my penultimate day at work and I still don't know if I'm getting any disability/severance. Technically, I am not supposed to, but my boss is trying to get me something for saving them the trouble of holding open my position while I pretend I'm coming back. Basically, HR has never had anyone be honest before and is not quite sure how to handle the situation and has passed it on to the CEO. So, I wait, expecting nothing so I may have the opportunity to be pleasantly surprised. Why didn't I just lie, like everyone else? Partly, I just felt like being ethical, partly I didn't want to deal with the possibility that they'd ask to recoup the money when I don't return (which they have a legal right to do, but probably wouldn't bother), but mostly I didn't want to burn any bridges so I can keep open the option of doing contract work in the future.

My boss is downstairs right now, ostensibly discussing a deal, but hopefully he will return with some kind of answer. I was joking that I should just go sexually harass someone so they'd fire me and then give me some severance. And then I could collect unemployment, too!

Baby dreams

At my appointment yesterday Dr. Chen asked if I had been having labor dreams. Oddly enough, I haven't. I was having a lot of breast-feeding dreams but those pretty much stopped after my breast-feeding class, so I guess I am no longer anxious about breast-feeding. Apparently, my subconscious isn't too worried about labor, either. I am having weird general baby dreams. In one, I was at work and had left the baby in the closet of the room I grew up in. I remembered sliding the closet door shut, so the cats wouldn't get to it, but I was at work thinking, "Gee, I forgot to feed the baby this morning. Will it be ok until I get home? Wait, aren't I supposed to feed it every 1-3 hours during the day?" but I didn't seem all that concerned. In another dream the baby was somewhere in all the blankets and I was looking for it, like a sock that came off during the night. And in one I had the other night the baby was very small, not premature just miniature, and then it was a potato I had to put in the oven when my alarm went off so it would be ready by the time I got out of bed. Not sure what to make of the last one.

My cervix hasn't progressed much in the dilation/thinning game, so Eli's prediction of me being a week or so early may be way off. (As may his prediction of us having a boy. Right now my intuition is boy: girl, 60%:40%. When I asked Eli a few months ago what his vibe was he said 98% boy. Now that's certainty!) I'm thinking that I'll be right around my due date at this point, but that's as may be.

As long as the baby waits until after the Elvis Costello concert at Ravinia next Wednesday, I don't really care when it comes, as long as it's not too long after my due date. Tuesday is my last day at work (yay!) so I won't have to worry about going into labor at work or having my water break on the el. No more rush hour commuting! No more shlepping a heavy bag around! No more alarm clock!

I shouldn't gloat. In fact, I am starting to feel a little peculiar about this whole leaving work early thing. Except for those blessed 7 weeks I was unemployed a few years back, I've been working full time or going to school/working part time non-stop for over 15 years. I know it's only a brief respite before I'm working 24-7, but I am beginning to feel a little guilty. When I told Dr. Chen I was leaving work next week he asked if I would be bored. I laughed. "Daytime TV?" he asked. I replied that we don't have cable or reception, so certainly not. Funny, over the years I've often been bored at work but I've never been bored at home. It's more the thought that Eli will be slaving away booking freight while I'll be, if not eating bonbons on the sofa, swimming, reading, practicing, cuddling kitties and (what I'm really supposed to be doing) resting. I will hopefully finish a few projects before the urchin arrives, but I will complete them leisurely.

Reading aloud

Here's a short article in the Telegraph about the return of a BBC children's show. The author talks about reading aloud to children:

Yet as soon as children are old enough to read, they tend to be left to their own devices. But a story shared by being read aloud is a different experience from a story read in your head. Older children should not be deprived of it and it is vital that parents continue to read to their children long after they can read for themselves.

All the early childhood experts I've been reading mention that you can't start reading to your children too early or too often. What many of these books fail to mention is that you can't read to them for too long, either. People tell me that their parents read to them until they could read to themselves and then that was pretty much it. You've heard of attachment parenting -- I think my mom practiced attachment literacy, and it worked. She continued reading aloud to us pretty much through most of grade school. My brother and I still read plenty on our own, probably much more so than if our mother wasn't also reading to us. Both literary, they were vastly different experiences.

Years ago I read a few studies regarding that another indicator of raising successful and joyous readers is reading oneself. Kids are mimics, if they see their parents reading, then they will read. (If they see their parents watching day time TV and endless sitcoms, then that's what they'll do. It's not nuclear physics. Just telling your kid to read isn't going to make them read.) It's like the Suzuki method -- my jazz teacher said it is successful not because of any inherent pedagogical superiority but because it is leveraging the parent's love through mimicry. Monkey see, monkey do.

Last night we watched The Life Aquatic of Steve Zissou. (I thought it was terribly flat. The director was trying for deadpan, I think, but any emotionally or intellectually compelling content got lost in his attempts for quirky details. Ah, film making in the age of irony.) Cate Blanchett's character was reading to her baby in utero. Yes, it was supposed to be another of Wes Anderson's quietly zany touches (failed!) but I couldn't help thinking, "Should I have been reading Shakespeare to my fetus? Have I missed an opportunity?" Even though the baby can hear my voice, I think that's going overboard -- although I do like reading Shakespeare out loud. (I'm saving some gory bits of Titus Andronicus for for story time.) I do like Eli to talk to my tummy every day so the baby will be familiar with his voice. I also got paranoid a few months ago, after someone with no concept of a steady beat davened Musaf, that my child might have no sense of rhythm so I have obsessively used the metronome whenever I've practiced. Folic acid to prevent birth defects? Check. Calcium for strong bones? Check. Metronome to prevent an overly white child? Check.

Annie Hall

Last night we went and saw Annie Hall at the Chicago Outdoor Film Fest. It's amazing how well that movie holds up. So many times I'll see a comedy I once enjoyed a second or third time, or 10 years later, and it's just not that great. (e.g. Rushmore. I remember extolling it in the theater and then when I saw it again, except for Bill Murray's performance, I thought, "eh.") But, even after at least a dozen viewings and the default memorization of the script, Annie Hall is a truly brilliant movie. The writing is impeccable and Woody is pitch perfect playing himself. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

The strange thing is that as I child I liked Annie Hall, too. Over half the jokes must have flown over my head. My knowledge of psychoanalysis was highly limited. Ditto sex, Greek tragedy, Fellini, cocaine. And I had never even been to New York City. Yet I enjoyed it even without getting most of it. Which brings me to this article, which claims that we should encourage children to read above their experience and alleged reading-age level. (I remember at a 5th grade Girl Scout garage sale I picked up a copy of Judy Blume’s Forever. One of the busy body moms warned my mother who, if I recall correctly, just smiled and bought me the book. Funny, I didn’t end up an unwed teenage mother.) I couldn't agree more. I remember when this whole "protect our children from the Internet" crap started and one of the banned on-line texts was to be Ulysses. Man, if my kid is brave enough to tackle James Joyce at any age they have my blessing!

The article also mentions the British Film Institute of Film’s list of must-see films for children under 14, but it doesn’t link to it. So here's the link. I have to say that there's nothing too radical on there at all, no Caligula or The Cook, the Thief, the Wife and her Lover, so I can't imagine why anyone would be up in arms. Then again, fundamentalists are strange people.

Commuting kvetch

A friend told me that she has never met a woman who didn't think that pregnancy lasted one month too many. Last week, my doctor also mentioned that human gestation is one month too long. I will not make history and disagree. One thing that has kicked into overdrive during this last month is my kvetch mechanism. I just feel like kvetching all the time. About the weather, annoying people, retaining water, the distance my body is from the sink while doing dishes, Theo howling, Cheru eating my hair, Spina abandoning me after only a 2 minute cuddle, the commute to work. Well, the last one at least I feel justified in kvetching about. Oy, let me tell you about my commute last night.

It took me 2 hours to get home since there was a "bomb scare" on the Red Line. Was there a bomb? Of course not. A month ago would anyone have done anything about an abandoned package in a garbage bin? Of course not. In one month will they do anything about an abandoned package? Of course not. When I'm 9 months pregnant and have a baby digging its wee little head into my bladder triggering the nerve that radiates down into my nether regions will they re-route the Red Line onto the el tracks, thus backing up all the Purple Line trains so that even the "leader" train that I was fortunate enough to be on takes almost 2 hours to get to Howard? Of course! I managed to survive and my Knight in Dusty Black Camry appeared at Howard and whisked me away to the safety of a toilet.

Stormy Monday?

We desperately need some rain here in Chicago. Every day it's muggy, the weather report threatens 40% chance of rain and then it doesn't rain. The grass in all the parks and at the lakefront is brown, which I've never seen (before November) in 15 years in Chicago. It looks like LA in August. Brown, brown, brown. The view from my office looks promising, with big gray clouds, but the last few times it looked like this the sky transformed to blue only minutes later. Perhaps if I leave my umbrella behind while going to swim at lunch I can coax the rain.

Update: Yup, I left the gym and the sky was blue again. Cloud tease.

Weekend at Hogwarts and Home

I read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince Saturday after our infant CPR class and Eli read it yesterday. Although we were in each other's presence for entire weekend I feel like we didn't see much of each other. I guess that's what happens when you take turns gulping down a book.

In summary, I thought it was quite wonderful. In a day or so I'll post my thoughts about it, giving those who actually had a life this weekend a couple days to finish it. If you are one of those patient people who are waiting for a friend to lend it to you or for it to come out in paperback (have you no sense of urgency?!) then you'll just have to skip that damned post.

So, we are all set on infant CPR. I took a breast-feeding class last Wednesday. I feel informed, but I think it's like labor, there's only so much I can learn before I'm on the job. But it can't hurt to be armed with information. I also finished re-covering the chairs. Now I realize I should have taken before and after pics.

Friday night we went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I loved the book as a kid (yeah, yeah, Dahl was a huge anti-Semite, I know) and loathed the movie version with Gene Wilder that everyone is suddenly extolling like it was some kind of masterpiece. Maybe it's because I never saw it on acid but, except for a charming performance from Wilder, yo, it sucked. This was a much better film. Johnny Depp is such a wacky performer, more than any other actor working today he takes a role and truly makes it his own. I am a Danny Elfman freak from way back, so I enjoyed the songs tremendously. Tim Burton's forte is certainly art direction and the film doesn't disappoint on that count. But that guy certainly has mega father-son issues -- the only element of the movie for which I didn't care was the imposed back history of Willie Wonka and his father and their reconciliation. I thought Burton would have gotten that out of his system with Big Fish.

And finally, this picture is just too fabulous not to check out.

Wizard weekend

Yes, despite the vocal criticism from from Harold Bloom, A.S. Byatt and, now, the Pope, I will be one of the hoardes eagerly devouring the new Harry Potter book this weekend. The Pope and I obviously don't see eye-to-eye on a whole lot. A.S. Byatt is unnecessarily bitter on this count -- God forbid the masses read a populist novel with a straightforward narrative while her labyrinthine novels muster on the shelf (erudite novels I count among my favorites). Harold Bloom, shut up; your book on the Torah showed a dearth of knowledge about Judaism and didn't have a drop of original thinking to it, why should I care what you think about a children's book? And the argument that the masses love these books so therefore they must not have artistic merit is complete bunk -- are these same critics going to say Sgt. Pepper's is rubbish because it's sold millions upon millions of copies?

Sure, J.K. Rowling misuses the world "enervate" and her style and plots are a tad formulaic. Formula isn't necessarily a bad thing though, in fact, a formula can create a downright magical potion. The Harry Potter books are such an enjoyable success because she successfully draws on archetypes while repositioning them in a modern, quirky context. Some of her charmingly wacky characters, or even the baddies like the Malfoy clan, are so delicious I think you'd have to be a big grump with a nasty chip on your shoulder not to take delight in them. Yes, children's authors like Philip Pullman or Diana Wynn Jones are better writers but, thankfully, life is long enough to read all sorts of books. Me, I'm spending my weekend at Hogwarts.

Toy dream

I had a dream last night that we received a Fisher Price monastery toy set and its matching convent set. The monk's tonsures were removable as were the nun's veils. That's what I get for setting up a baby registry while reading a book set in the Middle Ages.

Matters gynecological and obstetrical

Everything progressing well in Baby Land. Yesterday's checkup revealed a very much heads down baby and a very slightly dilated cervix, at 1/2 cm, with a bit of thinning, so I am right on track for a normal labor progression and a relatively on-time baby. My tummy is 35 cm so I am right on track in terms of size, despite those very polite and kind comments of, "You look like you're ready to go," or "I never got that big." (Well, maybe if you had a puny underweight baby or suffered a bout of amnesia.) My doctor reconfirmed that I was planning on delivering au naturel and when I told her I'd only want an epidural if that was the difference between vaginal delivery and a C-section she said, "Well, we're really not planning on a C-section here." It's reassuring to know I don't have a surgery happy doctor.

My iron is still a bit low, despite a few runs to Ken's in the past month or so. I guess an occasional kosher burger isn't enough to kick anemia completely and I need to be a bit more diligent about those damned iron pills, since apparently the prenatal vitamins and a balanced-diet just aren't enough. The nurse reminded me that one looses a lot of blood in labor -- probably not too smart if I have an easy labor and then harm myself afterwards with a low iron count.

Security check

For the past few mornings the red line has stopped at the Chicago station for a security check in which a couple of cops either look in or board each car and a dog sniffs around a bit. The canine is probably sniffing in disgust, "Hey, dudes, any perpetrator of suspicious activity now knows to wreak havoc at Clark & Division or Grand."

The amazing thing is not that terrorist attacks occur in the Western world, but that they occur so infrequently. Or that only after one occurs elsewhere, big American cities temporarily beef up security when an attack is least likely to happen. Or that people in Middle America, which is not a target, are the ones who are so vitriolic about retribution for an attack on sacrosanct "American soil" whereas we urbanites who are actually at risk are typically a lot less fearful and vengeful.

90% Baked

According to the recipe this baby is 90% baked as of today. Of course, oven temperatures vary and some babies come out a little chewy and others crispy so there's no telling if the baby is done until it comes out of the oven. At this point the center isn't raw so no risk of contamination. Hopefully, the baby will be a point. (I love when one orders meat in France and the waiter says, "A point?" in this droll tone that implies to order your meat in any other fashion would prove you a complete buffoon.)

More exciting than only having 10% of this gestation left is that I only have 10 more work days left, including today! Then a bit of time off before my new 24-7 career begins. It can't be any less intellectually stimulating than commercial real estate. And I won't have to calculate the baby's IRR every quarter.

On another baby note, our Fuzzi Bunz arrived yesterday. They are so cute! I demonstrated to Eli how they work and he declared, "I don't see what the big deal is. They seem just as easy as disposable." And will save about $1,000/year and countless pounds of petroleum and land fill waste. I actually think the snaps will be easier than that damn diaper adhesive tape that, every time I have changed a baby, always manages to somehow stick to itself or tear the disposable diaper a bit. Then again, I am incompetent with things like that, so it's as if the snaps were designed with me in mind. I am looking forward to the baby's umbilicus falling off so we can have little colored fuzzy buns!

Couple o' books

Before starting Baudolino, which will hopefully tide me over to the Saturday morning, I finished a couple books.

When Jane Smiley's Moo came out a while back I wasn't too interested, despite the accolades it received. Perhaps I am just turned off when any novel is described as a Midwestern novel or a novel of the heartland (Gilead, Plainsong... both fine novels that I resisted for some time before giving in). I am surrounded by said heartland and it frightens me more than a little bit once I venture forth from my urban cocoon. But I remember Eric saying he liked it, so I picked it up last week. It was a smooth, enjoyable read in the genre of university books, of which there seem to be an inordinate amount, probably since more authors work at universities than, say, in commercial real estate. A solid book, but not as great as Russo's Straight Man, which has to be my favorite university novel. (Yes, it far surpasses any of those David Lodge books or Kingsley Amis' Lucky Jim. These British university books are typically caustic whereas their Yankee counterparts are gently and lovingly satirical.) Whenever I think of Finny the Goose I crack up, including right this second.

I also read Ha Jin's War Trash, another highly praised novel that I put off for a while. I had read his Waiting and found it wanting, despite the heaps of critical praise. For a novel about two people putting off getting married there was absolutely no zing of sexual chemistry or love. I know, that was probably the point but why do I need to read a humorless book about a stagnant relationship when there are stagnant relationships all around me? Perhaps if I were middle aged, discontent and yearning I would have found it more moving but instead I found it mediocre. War Trash was a more compulsive read. As it was set in a POW camp during the Korean war I did learn a lot about the period but I ultimately think I just don't like his style. Eh.

Watch Monk

My good friend Sharmila is on an episode of Monk airing this Friday at 10/9 CT on USA! It sucks that we have no reception.* But if you have TV, please catch it and pretty please tape or tivo or whatever it for me.

*When we moved the Direct TV people tried to put up our dish, but it turns out the huge tree in our back yard, combined with the neighbor's tree, makes any kind of satellite impossible. I wouldn't mind trimming the tree so there's more sun in our yard, but I'm not trimming a tree for television. We could get old-fashioned cable, but we feel so much healthier for not watching TV and have only missed having it once or twice. We're no longer even jonesing for Six Feet Under, The Daily Show or VH1 Classic. And the whole issue of whether or not to allow our child(ren) to watch TV is now a moot point. But it sucks when your friend is on TV.

Superpower

If you could have any superpower, what would it be? Well, I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and came to my conclusion long ago. Screw invisibility or flight or an ability to calulate Pi to the 5 millionth place. If I could have any superpower, it would be the power to speak and understand all languages. And if I could get really greedy with the superpowers, then the ability to communicate with all living creatures would be even better. (More St. Francis of Assisi than Dr. Doolittle, please.)

Well, I just started reading Umberto Eco's Baudolino. His protagonist has the ability to learn any language after hearing at least two people speak it. So much for originality.

Done deed

Well, we are now officially committed to cloth diapering, as I just ordered 18 Fuzzi Bunz and assorted accessories. (This, of course, after searching over a dozen websites and putting together a price comparison spreadsheet.) There is no going back. We'll use Seventh Generation or Tushies non-bleached for the first couple weeks until the baby's umbilicus falls off and we get the hang of things and then that's it. As Eli said, we won't know any differently, so how could it be inconvenient? Besides, my mom cloth diapered us back in the day of safety pins and buckets and she seems to have survived without any resentment. Compared to that, Fuzzi Bunz should be a breeze. And they're so darned cute!

Merciful killing

Typically NPR-listeners are upset when a show is canceled. Me, I am THRILLED that WBEZ is finally canceling Odyssey. And none too soon (September 30). Whatever it is replaced with can't be more annoying and I can reclaim the noon hour on radio.

Close encounters of the furry kind

I've been quiet here so far this week as work has been a bit busier than usual. In my free time I've been scouring websites since we just realized that, even though we don't want stuff for the baby before the baby, we need to buy a few basic things so our infant doesn't go home naked and we need to register since we'll be way too busy once the baby is here. We could skip the registry but people are already asking about it and if we don't register we'll have to return 10 copies of Baby Einstein crack for babies so we might as well ask for what we want. Of course, the baby's predilections could have absolutely nothing in common with our master plan but we'll deal with those issues as they arise.

This weekend our fairy godmother brought over the car seat and stroller her son outgrew, so we were able to cross something off our list. They brought their adorable son, Rafi, with them. He was sacked out for a while but woke up naptastic to meet the kitties at the end of his visit. While his mom held him the cats each did a few drive-by sniffings. His parents seemed to have more confidence in our cats than we did and plopped him on the floor for a closer encounter. Despina and Theo circled widely a few times, whereas Cherubino came right up to Rafi, let him pat him and even nuzzled him right on the face. Rafi thought it was the funniest thing, a big mobile stuffed animal coming up to him, his parents were relaxed, and I was about to have a heart attack for fear that Cheru would get an attack of the nippies, as has been known to happen. No nipping happened, thank God, so I was able to stop my calculations of what our liability insurance might cover and the damage a bitten baby would do to a friendship. Good portents, all the kitties were curious but not upset in any way, with the big guy downright eager to have a new subject worship him.

Criterion

Woah. We just found out yesterday that our neighbor works for the sister company of the Criterion Collection. While he may not be able to get me my dream gift cheap, we borrowed a few movies yesterday and were offered future borrowing privileges. It's a good thing my husband is so neighborly.