Creature of Habit 5

It's a little-known fact that pregnancy can mess with your eyesight. I'm not sure exactly how this happens, but it has something to do with the liquid composition of the vitreous fluid, the goop inside your eyeballs. Usually, your eyesight self-corrects after pregnancy, but for a select few, it stays the same. I'm one of those lucky few. So now, along with my waistline and my feet, the size and shape of my eyeballs have been irrevocably altered. Thanks, Benjamin.

The upside of worsening eyesight is that you get to choose new glasses. If there is one thing that I dig, it's glasses. Before I gave birth to Mr. Grabby Hands, I used to wear glasses all the time. I loooove glasses. They're like clothes for your face! So it was with glee that I took a trip to the local optomologist last week. Before I unveil my newest face outfit, however, let's take a trip down my Memory Lane of Myopia...

This pair above are my current glasses. After about ten years of daily use and abuse, they're about to fall apart, but I love them so much that I just keep getting the lenses switched out.

This pair of glasses are my reading/computer glasses. I got them after my pregnancy when I found that I was having difficulty focusing on text. NO I DO NOT NEED BIFOCALS. Ok, maybe I do.

Now it's time for me to unveil my newest face outfit:

Ta-da! These are my new glasses! Aren't they cute? Not only are they cute, but they feature bendy legs that can withstand a reasonable degree of manipulation by chubby, grubby hands.

Now, I know what you're thinking: Gosh, Lily, those glasses all look alike. I'll admit that there is a slight resemblance among all three pairs. But first, let's look at them together:

When you see them side-by-side like this, you can see that each pair is distinctively different. Right?

Benjamin

It's my pleasure to introduce to you Benjamin Vincent Chan, born Saturday, February 23, 2008 at 3:14 a.m., more than two days before his mom's scheduled c-section and eight days before his official due date. He weighed a spritely 5 lbs 15 oz at birth and was 18.5 inches long. Right off the bat, we could tell that he'd inherited his mom's crazy long toes and healthy lungs and his Dad's full head of wavy hair.

I'll write more about his unexpected arrival into this world and very eventful first week of life in a later post. For now, I have to run to tend to the tiny dictator!

Nest-O-Rama

It's Day Four of maternity leave, and the nesting urge has reached fever pitch. I've spent five hours each day re-organizing closets, re-folding baby clothes, and re-arranging nursery furniture. I say "re-" because I already did the organizing, folding, and arranging at least three times before. Oddly enough, even though the little dude in my belly is getting heavier and heavier, I have a seemingly endless amount of energy for performing all my nesting tasks. I'm like a woman possessed. A swollen woman waddling around on cankles.

As I've been busy feathering my nest, Oliver has been getting ready for the baby in his own way. Above, you can see him courting danger by getting up close and personal with the infant swing and practicing his best "neglected pug" pout in front of the Pack 'n' Play.

And because word on the street is that the baby could be here any day now, here's another bump pic for you (accompanied by shots of the hubby bonding with his firstborn).

Pregnancy Top Fives

Now that I'm nearing the end of my pregnancy, I thought I'd take a moment to recap some of its highs and lows. You may remember my promising in the very first post that this blog would contain no bitching or complaining about anything other than knitting or Oliver. I may have to bend the rules a little here, because - as every pregnant woman (and pregnant woman's husband) knows - one of the benefits of being pregnant is having carte blanche to whine without restraint about your pregnancy. So hang on to your britches, 'cause here we go...

Top Five Food Cravings

# 5. Edamame with kosher salt (first trimester)

# 4. Salad (second and third trimesters)
# 3. Clementines, eaten two or three at a time (beginning of third trimester)
# 2. Triscuits with sharp cheddar cheese (third trimester)
# 1. Honey Bunches of Oats Cereal with Vanilla Soy Milk (the whole damn time)

Top Five Size-Related Comments That I Didn't Mind Hearing

# 5. "You're really getting big!" (said while standing in front of me looking at my belly)
# 4. "You look like you're due any day now!"
# 3. "You look like you have a basketball in there!"

# 2. "It's so pointy!"
# 1. "You're beautiful." (said by my husband. We'll forget his previous camel comment. For now.)

Top Five Size-Related Comments That Filled Me with Homicidal Rage

# 5. "You're really getting big!" (said while walking behind me looking at God-knows-what)

# 4. "Your face looks fuller!"

# 3. "Wow, you've gotten bigger... all over!"

# 2. "You're HUGE!" (especially when followed by...)

# 1. "How much weight have you gained so far?"

Top Five Fashion Lifesavers

# 5. Bella Bands
# 4. Cheap clothes from Target and Forever 21, bought in ever-increasing sizes
# 3. Anything black and stretchy (and therefore slimming. Right? Right??)
# 2. Shoes with no buckles, laces, or zippers (because the idea of reaching your feet becomes a joke)
# 1. Cynthia and Tara (from whom I inherited a bounty of maternity clothing. Thanks, ladies!)

Top Five Websites

# 5. Epinions.com

# 4. FitPregnancy.com

# 3. ConsumerReports.org

# 2. Peachhead Group for Families in Los Angeles

# 1. Babycenter.com

Top Five Favorite Things About Pregnancy
# 5. Discussing baby names with my husband.
# 4. Watching my husband channel his inner Martha Stewart while decorating the nursery
# 3. Watching my husband try to talk to the baby
# 2. Seeing my belly move around
# 1. Feeling the baby kick

Top Five Least Pleasant Things About Pregnancy
# 5. The first trimester.

# 4. Being gripped with fear every time I sneezed and coughed in the last trimester.

I'm just going to stop there. You don't want to hear the rest. Trust me.

Nesting mode has kicked in 1000% percent. Despite my increasingly more uncomfortable hugeness, I spent a good chunk of this weekend cleaning, cooking, baking, knitting, and running errands. Today alone I hit Target, Ralphs, and Costco, did laundry, organized three closets, mopped the kitchen floor, and baked one red velvet cake. From scratch. Knitting was on hold for the day because even my damn fingers have begun retaining water.

Speaking of knitting, I'm in a race against the clock to complete two baby projects before the big day - a Sheldon (yes, another one) and an entrelac blanket. There they are, above, hanging out at the Friday Knitting Group. Unfortunately, Lisa forgot her knitting that day. Not sure why she looked so darn happy about it, though. To make up for her lack of knitting, Jocelyn taught knitting newbie Patricia the ropes. Or the yarn, as it were. Har dee har har!

Funky Cold Edema

No more stilettos for these puffy, pregnant paws!

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Remember a few weeks ago when I was so thrilled to have miraculously lost a few pounds? Well, that must have been a one-off event, because I was horrified to learn at Monday's checkup that I'd more than made up for that weight loss. Guess I shouldn't have called my fetus a parasite. I derived some comfort from the fact that some of the weight gain could be attributed to edema, as confirmed by my doc after a quick pinch on my red, swollen calf. I explained to my husband that evening over dinner that having edema is just a fancy way of saying that I'm retaining water. His response? "Oh, so you're like a camel?" Undeterred by my vicious scowl, he continued, "So when I go into the desert, I should take you with me!"

Once I'm unswollen enough to kick his ass, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

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NOTE: Upon seeing this post, the Hubby insisted that I credit him for the Tone Loc-inspired title, which he uttered moments before he likened me to a camel.

The Babies 'R' Us Black Hole (Or The Backseat Pug 2)

Target has always been a retail black hole for me. I go with the intention of picking up paper towels and dog poop bags, but return with $6 tank tops, castle-shaped bundt pans, more Gladware than there are meals in a month, a hangdog expression on my face, and a foot-long receipt to explain to my husband. So imagine my surprise when we went to Babies R Us this weekend and Vince was the one who descended into the black hole.

Things began innocently enough. Vince trailed behind me obediently pushing a cart into which I tossed items like My Brest Friend and Boudreaux's Butt Paste (no, I did not make either of those names up). Before long, he was wandering off on his own, and I would find him mooning over frou frou baby things such as fancy changing tables and bright little nursery rugs. I had to slap his hand when he picked up an overpriced blue bedding set while glaring at the gender-neutral green linens I'd selected. And for some reason, he became quite obsessed with crib bumpers. In the end, I acquiesced to his demand for jungle-themed wall decals. As soon as we got home, he ripped open the package and started plastering the walls with them. This did not go over well with the Pug, who put on his best "poor, neglected me" face. To assuage his hurt feelings, we decorated his bed area with decals as well.

When that didn't cheer him up, Vince decided a trip to the neighborhood dog park would do the trick. Upon our arrival, Oliver decided to ignore every wagging tail and butt-sniffing nose of the dogs around him. Their friendly overtures rebuffed, the welcome wagon ditched him.

Watching my abandoned baby, guilt began to weigh on my conscience. Why was he not interested in playing with the other kids- I mean dogs? As his mother, had I been too overprotective? Did I keep him too sheltered? Should I have urged him to make friends more often?

Suddenly, Oliver started nosing in on a nearby group of dogs. Hooray! Perhaps I was worrying needlessly! But just as the concern over my parenting skills was beginning to subside, I noticed that these weren't just any dogs; these dogs were rough-and-tumble, brawling, growling pit bulls, and my maternal worst nightmare was realized: my baby was running with the wrong crowd! Rooted to the spot, I watched in horror as teeth and claws flashed dangerously close to my baby's gigantic, vulnerable eyeballs.

In the end, Vince stepped in and extracted Oliver from the melee. Guess the lesson to be learned here is that sometimes we need Dad to take charge. But don't think this means you'll be seeing crib bumpers or color-coordinated baby rugs in our nursery anytime soon!

Baby Overload

The past few days have been consumed with all things baby - learning about the baby, prepping for the baby, thinking about the baby. On Saturday at the Pump Station's Baby Care Class we learned that babies are able to not only projectile vomit, but also projectile poop. Will wonders never cease? On a slightly less revolting note, we also learned the proper way to swaddle a baby. As you can see, Vince was a little too eager to put his new swaddling skills to use.

Sunday was my baby shower, organized by my dear friends Yvonne and Jen. The shower was held at our humble abode with a few close women friends and family. Everything was just wonderful - the flowers, the favors, the company, and the paninis. We received some really amazing and thoughtful gifts, including a few lovingly hand-crafted items. Lisa knit an adorable little blue elephant, and Leslie "baked" a very impressive cake made of diapers - 216 of them! I just had to sneak in a picture of Yvonne and Jen with the teddy bears I knit for them as a small token of appreciation. After the baby comes, who knows when I'll have time flaunt my knitting again?

The two men in my life flitted in and out of the party, each shell-shocked by different things. Vince seemed flustered by all of the ooo-ing, aaah-ing, and estrogen. Oliver seemed dismayed by the fact that the big to-do was over an unborn fetus and not him. He spent most of the day alternating between states of anxiety and panic. After the guests left, the poor exhausted pug collapsed on the nearest lap.

To cap off the baby madness, I went for a routine check-up with my OB. To my shock, I had somehow lost a pound since my last visit. When I relayed this intriguing bit of information to the hubby, he asked, "Did the baby steal it from you?" I hadn't really thought about it like that, but I guess in a way, he did, because by my OB's estimate, he's at about 5 pounds now. And I guess that makes him some sort of parasite, but that's ok by me. Of all the things this baby's taken from me so far - my energy, my waistline, my sunny disposition - I'm not going to argue with him if he wants to steal a few pounds, too!

Ups and Downs

It's a fact of life: A woman's size increases in inverse proportion to the amount of time remaining before her due date. What also increases is how frumpy, lumpy, and dumpy she feels. After taking the latest belly picture, above, I asked hubby in my most beseeching tone, "Am I really huge, sweetie?" Never one to lie, this was his response:

To his credit, he does tell me on a regular basis how much he adores my pregnant hugeness, and you know what? I actually believe that he means it! I guess this is the "thick" part of "through thick and thin." I'll take what I can get in the way of compliments, though, because it seems that the only thing that's shrinking is my self-esteem. Most of my pre-preg wardrobe has been banished to another room where it can't taunt me. On the brighter side, a stranger in a coffee shop told me that I reminded him of Juno. When I returned his comment with a blank stare, he said, "You know, Juno - the sixteen-year-old girl in that movie who gets pregnant?" Man, that just about made my week! I may look huge, swollen, and ungainly, but at least I look like a huge, swollen, and ungainly TEENAGER! I waddled all the way out of the coffee shop with a big, ol' grin on my face.

Yet another thing that's increasing is the amount of baby-related crap I've amassed - itty bitty outfits for the baby to be, maternity clothes for me in ever-increasing sizes, and books. LOTS of books. Check out my current library of baby wisdom (the book on the right is not mine). I've managed to read through most of this stuff already, and I'm hoping that the rest of it I'll learn by osmosis, because I'm in the midst of a knitting frenzy. Over the weekend, I finished hat #2 for Junior. If Vince is really good (and if my fingers stay unswollen long enough), he may just get a matching one!

The Home Stretch

I'm officially in my third trimester now. The one in which, according to various pregnancy books and websites, I get "itchy, bitchy, and huge." These three winning pregnancy traits were spread out over all three trimesters for me. I became bitchy in my first trimester. I started itching in my second trimester. And now, I'm getting huge. If I had any doubt about my huge-ness, it was erased by something my hubby said to me last night. After searching fruitlessly in my closet for a T-shirt that would still fit me, I decided to wear one of Vince's. As I emerged from his closet in an old raglan tee, he noticed that even though there was a discernible bump beneath it, it was still somewhat baggy on me. His eyes got all big and buggy, and he whined, "Oh, my God, I'm not that big, am I?"

Careful there, buddy. Careful.

Novembers Rock

Each year around Thanksgiving, I give thanks for making it alive through another 365 days. I've always been a big birthday person who wants the song and the fuss, but this year, I almost forgot it was my birthday. Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, the preoccupation with hosting Thanksgiving, or the dread of braving LAX to pick up family. Or perhaps celebrating a birthday just seemed inconsequential when soon I'd be celebrating an actual birth. In any case, the fact that I was now 32 slipped my mind until a balloon-bearing pug appeared at the shower door while I was washing my hair. I lavished kisses and gratitude on both he and the hubby, who insisted that he had nothing to do with the balloon.

In the afternoon, hubby surprised me with a gift of his own: Singstar 80s for Playstation 2. This was a big surprise for two reasons. Reason 1: To save money, we'd agreed to eschew exchanging any gifts until the baby's birth. Reason 2: Vince hates singing. HATES it. His giving me a gift that required amplified, obnoxious singing was akin to my agreeing to let him keep his turntables in the nursery. Oh, wait, I did agree to that. I guess now we're even.

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To cap off the day, we went to my favorite local restaurant, where we stuffed ourselves silly, because, of course, we wouldn't be doing enough of that the next night.

We awoke at dawn the next morning to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. Rather, Leon and Claire did most of the preparing, I scurried around obsessing over Thanksgiving minutiae, Oliver anxiously hovered about the kitchen, and Vince showed off his Guitar Hero skills to my mom. Later on, Vince did put down the guitar long enough to perform his man-of-the-house duties by carving the turkey.
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Dinner went off without a hitch, and at the end of the night we were bone tired. Vince teasingly observed that, though exhausted, I seemed to love playing hostess. I realized it was true. The mad rush of preparation was worth the incredible feeling of having a house full of friends and family. And that led me to wonder, "Hmmm... I wonder how many more babies I can convince him to have?"
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Baby's First Hat

I finished knitting Baby's first article of clothing - a red cap of washable merino wool with two little devil horns on top. My mom friends tell me that no matter how adorable he is, there will be some very trying times during those first few months in which I'll feel like he was sent to torture me. During those times, I'll just tie this hat on him so at least I'll have something cute to look at while I'm beside myself with fatigue and frustration.

Last Friday, I mailed a box of less devilish hats to the Head Huggers Project. Jenny, Cynthia, Jocelyn, Lisa, and I contributed to the cause, so kudos to us!

The Backseat Pug

People seem to think that once the baby comes, our obsession with Oliver will wane. I personally don't see that happening. After all, this blog is called entitled "Ssk, Pugs, & Rock 'n' Roll," not "Ssk, Babies, & Rock 'n' Roll." Still, Vince has teasingly been calling him "The Backseat Pug." I think he does it just to mess with his little head, and it's kind of mean, especially since it seems that all this baby madness is, indeed, starting to get to him. This past weekend we started prepping the baby's room, and Oliver's reaction was one of downright despondency. He spent a few hours trying to get into the spirit of cribs, bassinets, and baby curtains, and then he vanished.

We found him sulking all by himself on the landing of the staircase. It was heartbreaking. He seemed to feel better after I assured him that babies, not pugs, are actually required by law to be situated in the backseat of the car, and he would retain his rightful place in the front passenger seat.

To ensure that my hubby didn't feel like a Backseat Pug, I made a few of his favorite things - zucchini bread to eat for breakfast and my signature pasta dish for dinner. I've heard the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, so I expected that by making not one, but two of his favorite things, I'd be set. What I did not expect was that he would eat them together. On the same plate. Hmmm. Maybe next week I'll make turkey rice porridge and blueberry muffins together and see what happens.

In knitting news, our Friday Knitting Group is gearing up to send a box of hats to the Head Huggers Project. The hats - dubbed "chemo caps" - will be distributed to hospitals, cancer centers, and hospices to be worn by people recovering from chemotherapy or other treatments. It's nice to know that a pasttime as enjoyable as knitting can be used for such a good cause. If only other hobbies - such as compulsive shopping and idle gossip - could be as beneficial!

Lisa and Jenny are way too excited about knitting these caps! I mean, have you ever seen such glee in a knitter?

Isn't She Lovely?

After weeks of breathless anticipation, I finally got to meet Sienna Marie, the beautiful new daughter of fellow knitter Bernadette and her husband Steve. As I held her against my chest, she made these adorable little snuffling noises, and I thought to myself, "She sounds just like a pug!" Of course, I didn't vocalize this, because I would sound rude and crazy. The next day when I was telling Nancy about Sienna's visit, I happened to mention the noises she made, and Nancy immediately asked, "Did you think she sounds like a pug??" Ah! My obsession isn't as cleverly hidden as I'd thought!

I'm not, however, the only pug-besotted one, as the below montage will reveal. Let's call it "Creature of Habit, Part Deux."

Boo!

Happy Halloween, everyone! I may be too old to go trolling for treats in the trampy Halloween get-ups that seem de rigeur for women in this city, but that doesn't mean I can't utterly humiliate my baby with a costume of his own. Man, I just can't wait until next year when I'll have TWO of them to dress up! Maybe I can save a few bucks and squeeze the human baby into one of Oliver's old costumes. Whaddya think?

My Three Kids

It was a landmark weekend... For one thing, I finished the first of what I hope to be many knitted items for our unborn baby boy - a little Sheldon I lovingly knit in shades of green and blue. You can see that Pug Baby has taken quite a shine to Unborn Baby's new toy, so I think it might be a good idea to knit a slobber-proof, gnaw-proof Sheldon next.

It was a landmark weekend for the hubby, too. Ever since we got hooked on Guitar Hero last year, it's been his dream to rock that plastic guitar in front of a crowd of adoring fans... at Best Buy. It seems that every Best Buy store has a Guitar Hero station set up in a prominent location, and there's always some snotty brat hogging it and showing off his GH skills. Vince won't admit it, but it's obvious by his hovering and lingering glances that he longs to be one of those snotty brats. Well, he finally got his moment in the sun this weekend when we went to a Best Buy and - lo and behold - the GH station was unoccupied. I have to say that Vince did me proud, and I got to be his groupie for three minutes that day.

In the last of my landmark news, I'd like to announce that after a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship for the past ten months, Lady E and I are finally through. Actually, I was done with the byatch several weeks ago, but I'm only just now getting around to letting the world know about it. The emotions were too raw, you know? And after all that trouble, I realized that she's not even my style. Go figure.

20 Down, 20 to Go

Yesterday marked the end of the first half of my pregnancy. Hip hip hooray! Above, you can see evidence of my burgeoning zaftig-ness. I think most of it can be attributed to the wee Chan, but I'll be honest - some of it might be all of the celebratory eating we've been doing. We're pregnant! Let's eat! We closed escrow on the new place! Let's eat! We closed escrow on the old place! Let's eat! We're done with the first trimester! Let's eat! It's a boy! Let's eat! In fact, to celebrate the halfway point of our pregnancy, guess what we did? That's right, we treated ourselves to a gluttonous feast at Chicago for Ribs. Good thing I took that 20-week picture before dinner.
..I marked the halfway point in my own way by starting a Sheldon for Vince Jr. Oliver seemed to sense that this was a special turtle. As you may recall, the pug has exhibited turtle-cidal behavior in the past, but he left this one in peace. Perhaps it's because Vince made me promise to knit him a turtle of his own.

This morning, we got a chance to say "hi" to Vince Jr. at my Level II Ultrasound, AKA Structure Check. I'd been feeling him move around since my 14th week, but man, was he a squirmy little bugger while the doc was trying to get a look at him! I'm surprised he was able to get any measurements at all. According to Babycenter.com, he's about 10 inches and 10.5 oz now, but he feels much bigger when he kicks me sometimes. I want to tell him to calm down, but I'm so rotund now, I can't get my mouth close enough to my belly to do so. I just end up looking like a crazy person. Instead, I have Vince do it. Somehow, when a man talks to his wife's pregnant belly, it looks cute rather than crazy.
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