Public Debut

My mother-in-law took me shopping for a birthday present. I think my husband tipped her off that in addition to some maternity clothes, I needed a pair of work-appropriate, comfortable, supportive shoes.

So behold, my new shoes! They are so comfy, even if they aren't my usual style. And it is pure coincidence that they are perfect for wearing hand knit socks.

Usually, I wear my socks at home, snuggled on the sofa on cold winter days, because I didn't really have any shoes that would show them off. No more! I am sporting these puppies in public now, and revelling in how cozy my feet feel at the office.

Makes me want to hurry up and knit more socks. I have finished another couple rows on Pomatomus, so I should have them finished by. . . . . mid July or so. Hmmmm, that doesn't sound encouraging.

Today, it is all about the publicity.

Numbers

1: The number of heartbeats the doctor heard last week. And he had to search long and hard to find it, so my sweetie can just stop teasing me about twins.

136: The number of heartbeats per minute. According to the old wives tale, little girls are under 140, and little boys are over. When Mom was pregnant with me, I was exactly 140, so this isn't exactly a science.

18: How many weeks pregnant I am. (16 weeks gestation)

2: How many more weeks until the untrasound.

4: How many pounds I gained last month. The doctor would have liked to see only 2, but since all my other numbers are fine, he didnt' give me a hard time.

$300-400: the price of the class for the birthing method I want to use. I have already read the book (and found I have used the methods for other things, like for cramps in college and for my insomnia), but I had no idea the class itself would be so expensive. The closest instructor is in Indy, and we are trying to figure out if we can car-pool with someone else in Lafayette, or she can travel here for a private shortened class, but even those options won't be much cheaper. We are still discussing this. We can still use the method even if we don't take the class. After all, I self-trained myself for the LSAT too.

97: The number of cents our kid's first set of keys cost at Walmart. A set of baby plastic chewing keys are tradition.

105 (estimated): How many time I have to pee a day.

8: Number of weeks until me and my sweetie celebrate our first anniversay. So soon!

4: The paltry number of rows I have completed on Pomatomus in the past week.

FO!

And we have a nursery! Fresh paint, new(ish) carpet, and assembled crib and changing table. And since Sara asked in the comments, the nursery isn't "pink or blue" yet. My sweetie and I are currently in negotiationgs about whether we will find out the sex or not. The carpet is dark green, the car seat, stroller, high chair etc are sage green. The nursery has a unisex "celestial" theme, with suns and moons and stars, mostly in yellow with a little blue sky.

Obligatory knitting content: I have also been plugging away at Pomatomus. Now halfway through the second pattern repeat of the leg (there are three). I better finish this soon. People keep asking me what I am knitting for baby. Um, nothing, this is for me. See? Big person sock.

I obviously need to go stash diving soon and put something for baby on the needles.

Today, it is all about finished objects, even if they aren't knitted.

Return to Sock Club

Safely into the second energy-filled second trimester, I went to Sock Club last Saturday. My first knitting related event since I got pregnant. I sat for two hours and worked on my Pomotomus sock. It was delightful, even if I only knit about an inch. It felt like it took a while to get back into the swing of it.

And since then. . . I haven't knit a stitch. Sigh. I have pulled it out a couple times, but somehow never got around to actually knitting. This is like becoming a member of a gym, but never going there. The sock simply does not magically knit itself, no matter how many times I leave it under my pillow.

In baby news, my sweetie has been hard at work in the nursery. The ceiling and walls are painted, and last night, he was working hard on the new(er) carpeting. My father didn't have the nursery done by my due date (good thing I was two weeks late!), so my sweeties is very ahead of the game. He says he didn't want to risk putting it off til the last minute. I think he is just sick of all the baby stuff stacked in the living room. I don't want to say his mother is a little excited, but she started buying things for the baby in my first trimester. God bless grandmas.

Today, it is all about the nursery, er, I mean sock club.

The Popsicle incident

Our heroine entered the garage, a slight frown marring her features. "We are out of popsicles," she announced to her platinum-blond husband.

A look of concern mixed with amusement crossed his handsome features. 'Do you want me to run to the store to get more?"

She considered his offer. Popsicles were silly enough in January, without a special trip to the grocery store in search of them. Still, they were out. "Do you know what kind to get?"

"No."

She sighed. Apparently he had already forgotten her monologue only a few days before regarding her excitement at seeing these particular popsicles and memories of the same ones from her childhood had been a waste of breath. "No, you don't have to do that." He would probably buy the wrong ones anyway, and she didn't want a repeat of the onion roll incident. She kissed him on the cheek and went back inside the house, visions of cherry-pineapple childhood popsicles dancing in her head. She would have to stop by the grocery store on the way home from work.

Am I still a biker chick. . . .

if I sell my bike? That's right, I sold my baby, to fund my new baby. I had been thinking of it for a while, since we found out that I was expecting, and last week, I did it. I wasn't going to be able to ride at all next year, and who knows after that, so I sold my bike. Motorcycles don't like sitting in a garage being neglected. They deserve to be out on the open road. If I can't ride the bike, then I needed to find a good home for it, with a new owner that would.

So that money will now buy a crib, car seat, stroller, etc. I was ready to upgrade bikes anyway, even if my wallet wasn't. Maybe in a few years. . .

My husband laughed as I went in to the garage to say goodbye to her. She was a great first bike. We learned a lot from each other.

Just a different type of needle

Ah, blessed second trimester. The queasies are down to hardly ever, and is usually just a sign that I need to eat or have eaten too much. And my energy level close to back to normal. Last weekend, I caught up (nearly) on cleaning. This weekend, because I am not crazy enough to venture out into that Arctic Blast and 20 below wind chill factor, I am catching on on laundry and cleaning the last few neglected areas. (We do not talk about the shower lately, but today, it will sparkle.)



My sleep cycle is completely screwed up, but that has nothing to do with the little one. That is because of my fourth deadbeat tenant in a row. I am still in the process of suing the last two, and now and facing another eviction. What makes people think that they have the right to live in a place, and not pay for it? Do they think that I am wealthy and can support their family as well as my own? Guess what, I am not! Yesterday was the cherry on the sundae. She lied to me. She out and out lied to me. Did you call today to have the gas transferred into your name? (We won't mention that it should have been done two months ago, and that she has already said she was going to three times in the past month.) Yes, I did. I called today. Really? Because according to the gas company, you didn't; you better, or it is going to get very cold inside the house. That was my last ounce of patience. The final straw! The rent is late (allegedly in the mail), and it is only the third month. I hope they don't mind moving, because they are going to be again as soon as I can get their deadbeat butts out of there! Worrying about this is keeping me awake at night, and I just don't need it. I am ready to just sell the house, and i don't care if I take a loss on it. I just want out! No wonder this little town has hardly any houses for rent, landlords who try to provide reasonable-cost housing are driven to their knees in a couple short years.



I'm sorry. I feel better after venting.

I have been working the needle lately, just not a knitting needle. I have been busy stitching receiving blankets. Well, blanket, singular, so far. I am on my first, but it is half finished. I have four more folded pieces of flannel waiting on me. I know, it isn't knitting, but it is the first time I have had energy to do anything craft related in months, so I am excited. I am even back to reading my blogs of worth. Makes me feel like life is back to normal a little.

Today, it is all about venting back to needledom.