– Chanel Mademoiselle (my perfume)
– Givenchy Amarige (my mom’s perfume)
– Baby head
– Bacon frying
– Lillies
– New car
(For background, and to keep updated on what I’ve accomplished in the 30 Little Things project, click here. Also, follow Sensibly Sassy, Barbetti, Ready for 30, Maura Lessa, Vicki, Kristie, Just Expressive, and Penny as they play along too!)
Man, I love talking baby names. Because you’re here, I’m assuming you do too and so, since LG’s got a pretty unique name, I thought I’d explain how she actually got it.
It all started back in college, when I had a class with a girl named Yael (this was before Yael Naim became famous for having this song featured in an Apple ad) and I really liked the name. Unfortunately, the Yael in my class was a giant bitch, but I kept the name in my head for future baby nameage inspiration.
Then a couple years ago, when perusing an online baby name site, I narrowed my search to Hebrew girl names beginning with the letter L (I knew I wanted to name my daughter* after my grandma, Linda, and I also knew I wanted to use a Hebrew name) and up popped L@el**, which means “of God.” Right then and there I knew that would be my daughter’s name.
Fast forward to September of last year. I was about a month or so pregnant and Chris and I went up to Seattle to visit his parents. I’d asked his mom to take out some baby pictures of Chris so I could see just how ginormous he was what he looked like as a baby. In perusing the family albums, I saw his paternal grandma’s maiden name was Gift. I LOVED IT. Naming her (if she was in fact a her; we didn’t know yet) after two of her grandmas AND giving her a unique (but not Moxie Crimefighter kind of unique) name was right up my alley.
And so, L@el Gift was born.
Well, she was born on April 20th, which just so happens to be my dad’s birthday. It’s pretty amazing…She was supposed to be born in May and arrived not only early, but on my dad’s birthday. What a Gift indeed.
*Yes, I realize this is sort of pathetic, as I was nowhere near being pregnant or even wanting kids at that point in my life, but like I said, I have a thing for baby names.
**Someone asked me on Twitter if we’re really spelling her name with the @ symbol. Uhh, no. I’m just using that in place of the ‘a’ so she’s unsearchable on this here website. PARANOID MOTHER ALERT.
However, what’s really funny – or totally sad, depending on who you are in this story – is that a few weeks ago, we were talking baby names on Twitter and someone said they knew of a kid who was named L-a, as in Ladasha. Who knows if it’s true, but OMG, poor thing if it is.
Also, since people have asked, it’s pronounced Lay-El. Or rather we’re pronouncing it like that. I reckon the real pronunciation is Lah-El, but I think Lay-El is prettier.
Sometimes I look at her and think, “What! How the hell did you get here? Sooooo weird.”
But most of the time I look at her and I don’t think anything seems out of sorts — it’s like she’s been here all along.
I swear, Chris and I used to be cool…I just can’t find any proof. Rather than going to bars and staying out till 2:00 AM, now we’re all, “Come look at what the baby’s doing!” when what she’s “doing” is this:
Very exciting stuff, this laying on your side business
Or this:
She’s probably pooping here. And then contemplating how to conjure up another poop just as we’re changing her diaper. Little shit. Literally.
Or this:
Puffy cheeks: All the better for me to KISS ON!
Or this:
Perfecting her yoga
Basically, having a baby has turned us into your typical lame parents. But dammit if she’s not totally badass.
Possibly starting the regret the decision to arrive early. Maybe the womb wasn’t such a bad place, huh?
I didn’t think I’d be one to document LG’s birth story here – not because I don’t enjoy reading other peoples’ birth stories…I DO – I just didn’t think there would be anything interesting to say about it. Labor, hospital, poof, I have a baby. And when you really break it down, it wasn’t necessarily much more exciting than that, but it was a cool experience and something I’d like to document for posterity’s sake. So, if you’re into birth stories, read on.
My water broke Sunday night around 9:30 PM, but since it was such a slow leak, I wasn’t really FOR SURE that my water had broken. So, I watched the Real Housewives of Orange County (god, Gretchen is just such a bitch this season, isn’t she?) and went to sleep. I tossed and turned all night, thinking What Ifs about going into labor. When I woke up Monday morning, I texted Chris, “So…I’m not sure, but I think maybe my water broke?” and upon his urging, placed a call to the hospital.
Unfortunately, the hospital labor and delivery people turned out to be completely unhelpful.
Me: So, I think my water broke, but I’m not sure.
Labor and Delivery Lady: Something something membranes something?
Me: I don’t know what that means.
L&DL: Did you have intercourse recently?
Me: NO.
(Because, OMG, that’s what got me into this mess; I think I’d know if THAT’S what I was experiencing.)
I decided to go into work and after assessing the situation the entire morning, finally placed a call to my regular doctor and was able to get an appointment for that afternoon with my favorite midwife/nurse practitioner. When I saw her, she barely took one look, determined my water HAD in fact broken, and ordered me to the hospital posthaste. Do not pass Go, do not stop home for anything, I’m calling the hospital to let them know you’re on your way.
I called Chris and we met at home (what? I needed my makeup!), threw a hospital bag together, and tossed the car seat from the hall closet into the backseat of my car. When we got to the hospital, they were at full capacity; in fact, there was woman in labor who was sitting in the waiting room. Turns out having broken water for almost 24 hours gets you to the front of the line, though, and we were able to snag the only available room, which had just been vacated by another patient.
The on-call doctor came in and he checked me for dilation…Which was a big fat ZERO. It was around 5:00 PM at this point and we decided to wait a couple hours and see if my body started to go into labor on its own. Meanwhile, I was put on a strict clear liquids only diet, which was as fabulous as it sounds. (Some advice: Eat a whole mess of food before you go to the hospital! Carrots at 2:00 PM are not enough to tide you over for what ended up being DAYS, in my case.)
The last time I looked cute! Must document!
Around midnight on Tuesday, the new on-call doctor checked me for dilation again…STILL a zero. Then she performed some stuff that made me scream, and for the rest of my hospital stay, I lived in terror of being checked for dilation.
Around 2:00 AM, we decided to start pitocin and I’ll skip right over the next 12 hours because NOTHING HAPPENED. No dilation, no solid foods, barely any sleep. The only nice thing was that my parents and Chris’s mom arrived Tuesday morning, so they were there to offer some entertainment.
On Tuesday afternoon, the doctor started me on some pill whose name I can’t remember, but it’s supposed to speed up labor. Two little pills, every four hours, check for dilation, and repeat. Finally after the second round of the pill whose name I can’t remember, I was checked and was three centimeters dilated! I have never been so excited to learn I was finally on my way to being in ACTUAL labor (and that I was that much closer to foooooood.)
I’d been having contractions all morning, but couldn’t feel them and didn’t even know they were occurring had I not been hooked up to the contraction-monitoring machine. However, semi-painful contractions started during the second round of the drug whose name I can’t remember and I took advantage of some narcotic they put into my IV. I don’t really know, but it made me feel nice and drunk, which was fabulous. The parents left around 9:00 PM that evening, right as I was taking my last round of the drug whose name I can’t remember and right before the contractions started getting out of hand.
The anesthesiologist was in working a c-section, so I had to wait about half an hour before she was able to come in and work her magic. Half an hour was PLENTY of time, let me tell you what. Contractions hurt like a mother fucker. Before the anesthesiologist came in, our nurse warned us she was a little…Brusque. Apparently, she’s great at her job (spoiler alert: she was!) but her bedside manner left something to be desired.
Case in point: She kicked Chris out of the room while she was working, as she prefers to work alone. She was good at her job, though, telling me what she was doing back there every step of the way. I was nervous to receive the epidural because I’d have to sit still and do so through contractions, the nervous shakes, and in a room that was around 55 degrees. All was well, though, and she was in and out in a couple minutes.
When she was finishing setting me up and showing me the button I could push for (“I got a fever and the only prescription is”) MORE EPIDURAL!, the nurse asked her if Chris could come back in, as he was worried.
Anesthesiologist: What’s he worried about?
Nurse: He just wants to be here and make sure everything is okay.
Anesthesiologist: What does he know about if it’s okay? He doesn’t know anything about sterilization!
(This has now become a “thing” in our house: “What do you know about sterilization?!”)
At this point, there was a nurse shift change and my favorite nurse (who’d been there both Monday and Tuesday nights) got off work, while my also favorite nurse (again, who I had already met Monday night) came on. I feel the need to mention here that I was the most desired patient. Apparently, all the nurses wanted to work with us, and they called dibs on who got to. I approved of this, as I enjoy being popular.
After the epidural kicked in, I went to sleep and was awoken at 3:00 AM by the nurse, who checked one more time for dilation…And wouldn’t you know! LG’s head was “right there” and it was time to start pushing. I pushed a couple times, but was having trouble feeling the appropriate amount of/properly located pressure, so the doctor came in and basically ordered me off my epidural. I responded exactly how you think I’d respond. All the lack of an epidural did, though, was make my contractions more painful. I still didn’t feel any pressure where I was supposed to be feeling pressure.
Another woman was giving birth down the hall (I COULD HEAR HER SCREAMING, OMG, THAT was unpleasant), so we just sort of hung out until the doctor could make her way to me. After awhile, my nurse made the executive decision that I was going to start pushing. So, I push, push, pushed for a bit (maybe 10 times? I do not know) and then the doctor came in and I push, push, pushed a little bit more and then all of a sudden there was a pop! (which literally made me jump, Chris said) as her head came out and then one more push and that was it!
Welcome to the world, lady!
Now where’s my champagne? Oh that’s right, WE FORGOT IT AT HOME.
Not one to be tardy for the party, someone decided to make her grand entrance a little early.
L@el Gift was born this morning at 4:43am, weighing 6 pounds, 6 ounces, and measuring 17.5 inches long.
More information and pictures to come when I’m not absolutely exhausted. So, in 10 years?
You would think I would have exhausted the Annoying Things People Say To Pregnant Women thing, but it appears I’m not done. I could blame it on the fact that I’m pregnant and fat and tired and generally hormonal OR I could blame it on the fact that most people are idiots and say the most annoying things that leave me no choice but to put them on here. Let’s go with the latter.
So listen, unless we’re related, or you’re a friend of mine, or you’re Rachel Zoe, or you’re Giuliana Rancic, I am absolutely not interested in your pregnancy. If I come into contact with a complete stranger who happens to be pregnant, I do not feel compelled to ask her anything about it. I don’t care how many weeks along she is, whether she’s having a boy or a girl, if it’s her first kid or her tenth. I could give two shits about strangers’ pregnancies. Honestly, I could give two shits about MY OWN pregnancy. I just want it to be OVER so I can get my body back, not be assaulted on a daily basis, and drink more than one glass of wine per sitting.
That being said, it appears that everyone else on the planet is really (like, really REALLY) interested in other peoples’ pregnancies. They say and ask the most inane things and while I certainly haven’t gotten the weirdest of weird questions/comments (you guys always seem to have some really egregious stories to share), I’ve definitely gotten some doozies. Let’s discuss.
Really Annoying Encounter With A Complete Stranger #1:
Chris and I were at Costco a couple weeks ago and the ladies who were slinging burrito samples asked me what I was having.
Me: It’s a girl.
Burrito Slinging Lady #1: Are you sure? It looks like a boy. Doesn’t it look like a boy?
Burrito Slinging Lady #2: Yeah, it looks like a boy.
Me: Well, it’s a girl.
BSL #1: No, you’re having a boy.
BSL #2: Yeah, you’re pointy and low, so it must be a boy.
Me: Well, I’ve looked between her legs. She’s a girl.
And then as we were walking away, Chris’s head blew off because of the absolute ridiculousness and stupidity he’d just witnessed. “This shit happens all the time,” I told him. “ALL. THE. TIME.”
Really Annoying Encounter With A Complete Stranger #2:
On that same trip to Costco, we were stocking up on booze, as it was our last trip to Costco before SHE arrives. We were buying a lot of booze (a case of wine and six magnums of champagne and a half gallon of gin, what?) and the cashier said, “Heh heh, I bet you wish you could drink some of this, heh heh.” And then Chris said, “Don’t you just want to open a bottle and start chugging it when people say that?” Yes, yes I do.
For the record, Costco cashier man, I went home and opened one of those bottles of wine and had a glass, so shut your dumb face.
(Other things similar to this happen with some frequency. Like on more than one occasion (say, at a work meeting), I’ve been offered coffee and then immediately the offer was rescinded with a, “Oh, nevermind, you can’t drink coffee.”
Or when deciding where to eat lunch, “Oh, Sarah can’t have sushi, so we can’t go there.”
Hey, thanks for telling me what I can and cannot have, since you are obviously my baby’s mother. Oh, wait, that’s ME carrying her around.)
Really Annoying Encounter With A Complete Stranger #3:
Someone (who’s not a stranger, necessarily, but also not a family member, friend, Rachel Zoe, or Giuliana Rancic) recently asked me if this was a planned pregnancy. “Not that it matters either way!” she hastened to say.
Listen, I get it. It’s always nice to hear that people who have been trying to get pregnant have been successful in their endeavors. But. Why does a stranger care? WHY? Strangers should not care. And they certainly shouldn’t ASK.
Really Annoying Encounter with a Complete Stranger #4 and #5:
In the past week, I’ve had two strangers (one was a random woman in the work bathroom, the other was our cashier at Lowe’s) ask me – in addition to how far along I am, what the baby is (she’s a GIRL, dammit), and whether or not this is my first child – what we’re naming the baby.
No. Just no, no, no.
I’m certainly not secretive about her name. If you’re a family member or friend, you already know her name. And sure, everyone is going to know her name EVENTUALLY, but why do strangers think I would tell them?
Yes! Let me share with you very personal information, random person who I’ve never seen and will probably never see again.
Not So Annoying, In Fact, Really Nice Encounter With A Complete Stranger #1:
The other day, I was walking into work after lunch and was entering through a side of the building I don’t normally use, when the security guard (who I am familiar with because I do SOMETIMES use this entrance and also because the security guards float around and work at different entrances every quarter or so) pulled me aside to profusely apologize for telling me I looked “so big!” the week before.
You guys. I hadn’t even noticed he’d said I looked “so big!” but apparently the security ladies who work with him had given him all kinds of hell after he said it. So he was basically waiting around for me to use that entrance again so he could apologize. I know this because I recall the women looking at me weirdly as I walked in, like they KNEW he was going to apologize and wanted to make sure he did it.
Anyway, I told him not to worry, that I wasn’t offended, that I’ve been told a lot worse these days, but it was still nice for another person to learn the cardinal rule If You’re Not Going To Say, “Wow! You look great!” Then Don’t Say Anything At All.
*Because, come on, I still have four-ish weeks left; there’s bound to be a Version 2.
I’m at the point in pregnancy where I see the doctor every week. The appointments have (up to this point, at least) been of the uneventful take-my-blood-pressure-pee-in-a-cup-listen-to-the-baby’s-heartbeat-send-me-on-my-way variety of appointments, but in reading a pregnancy website yesterday, I realized my appointment that day might be where they do the (non-invasive) Group B Strep test.
Sure enough, I got into the exam room and the nurse said something like, “Undress blah blah blah for your GPS blah blah blah,” to which I responded, “Wait, what? Am I taking my pants off today?”
Yes, the GPS test meant taking my pants off, a skill at which I am extremely adept and comfortable with, so no problems here.
Until I sat down, pantsless, and started Tweeting to curb the boredom:
And then the doctor walked in and it appeared I’d met my match:
Chris turned this*:
Into THIS:
And now our kid has a place to get her bum cleaned. By me. I’ll be cleaning her bum. One of us has drawn the short stick here. (Think I can train her to clean my bum instead? Didn’t think so.)
*This was Chris’s baby changing table. He used it as a dresser from childhood up until we bought adult furniture about a year ago.
I’m usually never one to tell someone what they can and cannot say. You know those people: “Lets all stop using the word ‘_______’, okay?” in an effort to be PC and not offend anyone. I’m not one of those people. Say what you want, be offensive, don’t worry about upsetting people. Freedom of speech, this is Uh-Merica, fuck yeah! is my M.O.
THAT BEING SAID, there are a couple things that are so stupid and non-funny, I really WISH people would stop saying them. But! People don’t have to stop saying them; I’ll just think someone is non-funny and non-creative if they DO say these things.
Let’s delve into it, shall we?
Non-Funny Thing Number One: Say someone’s at work, and they stub their toe, or trip over air or something. The non-funny person will almost always say, “Hardy har har, I’m gonna sue for workman’s comp!”
Okay, first of all, it’s worker’s comp and has been for, like, 30 years. However, being the freedom of speech, this is Uh-Merica, fuck yeah! kind of person I am, I don’t think you HAVE to say “worker’s comp,” but I WILL think you’re an idiot if you say “workman’s comp.” So, do what you will with that information.
Anyway, the point here is not worker’s v. workman’s, it’s that the joke is not funny. It’s old, unoriginal, and, in my opinion, should be retired.
What should be said in its place? I don’t know, how about nothing? Jokes about suing people aren’t very funny, in my opinion.
Non-Funny Thing Number Two: Asking a pregnant woman if she’s having twins.
I think we can all agree (and if not, it’s cool! You don’t have to agree, but you can probably guess what I’ll think about you if you don’t), pregnant or not, you shouldn’t make a comment about a woman’s appearance unless it’s to say, “Wow! You look great!”
I have not (luckily) (at least not yet) had anyone ask if I was having twins (and I hope it doesn’t happen, because I really can’t be a very good parent from prison, now can I?) but I have heard that this has been said to numerous pregnant women and it floors me.
It’s just. Not. Funny. I think Marie (who’s pregnant with her fourth!) said it best on twitter earlier today, “Even when I WAS having twins, I hated that smug, stupid comment. Though I could vindicate a little by saying WHY YES I AM. Though when I’d say YES I AM, they were ALWAYS shocked. So they didn’t think I was and were saying it to be jerks? Yep.”
My gestational buddy (quick! someone make a lame joke about how we must all be drinking the same Internet water!) TJ also made a great point about this topic: “If you think you know how pregnant I am or how close to the end I am or how many babies must be inside me or how so totally wrong my OB is about my due date – you are wrong.”
So, what to say to a pregnant woman if you don’t want to go the twin route? Well, again, sometimes a joke just isn’t necessary. Talking about the effect CREATING LIFE is having on someone’s body is probably one of those times.
But, if you do want to say something about a pregnant woman’s appearance, a “Wow! You look great!” works every time.
This third thing isn’t non-funny, but it is non-creative and it bugs me, so I thought I’d add it to the list as a, It’d Be Cool If People Stop Doing This (But Again, No One Has To Stop Doing Anything) item.
Non-Creative Thing Number Three: When writing, say, a news article, or perhaps a school paper, someone cites the definition of a word as a part of their argument.
Now, I never went to law school, but I’m pretty sure, “Cite Merriam Webster as the crux of your argument” is not taught.
If your argument hinges solely on the definition of a word, then you’re a really shitty arguer. I’m not saying we all need to be law-school educated to make a point (as I said, I’m not, and I’d even go as far as to say I’m not a very good arguer, which is something I work on daily, because I really would like to get my thoughts across in an eloquent and smart way), but I definitely think there’s a better way than citing the etymology of an archaic word.
Unless, of course, you’re trying to accurately define awesome, in which case, open the dictionary, you’ll find my picture.
(Ooooh, another lame joke, sorry!)
