My baby will have the warmest. . . .

Head.
Butt.
Body.
I do so love to knit baby things. I feel as though I've been unleashed. Finally.
What have I been up to? Here we go:

We'll start with the bonnets and mitts. You'll note the colorful bonnet has a matching pair of knit tights to go with it. Poor, poor Elsa won't be easily missed on "Don't lose the baby" pattern day. The purple set is made with Malbrigo sock yarn and it is so very soft. I'll be making socks to go with it, whenever I get back to them. :) Both patterns came from Ravelry - the Top Down Anime Bonnet and a mitts pattern which I can't manage to find at the moment. I'm hoping little Elsa won't oppose these mitts - so we can use them instead of the weirdly sized (always too short and waaaaay too wide) Gerber scratch-gloves.

The next big project was the star blanket. This is car seat-sized, so not all that big. It's a pattern I got off of Ravelry called the Radiating Star Blanket - with a few changes. I added about 5 rows of garter stitch before the border and then about 4 rows afterward, just to ensure that it wouldn't roll.

Finally, I wanted to share two others. This hat actually came back to me from a friend - I made it for her daughter when she was born. I'm looking forward to using it and have some of that variegated purple in my scrap pile (the pink too!) that I might use to make a matching set of mitts, because what's a hat without mitts?

And this is my last project. The body of the wool longies is made from random wool I found in the stash - it's hard to see the true color in this photo but it's a really beautiful green. The curly cuff is from a recycled sari silk yarn that I've had in my stash for - quite honestly - as long as I've been a knitter. I didn't know what to do with it but was running low on the green for the body, so I figured why not add a little pizazz to Elsa's wardrobe. It's bright and shiny and a little obnoxious, I'll openly admit. Once I'm done, I'll make a drawstring, tie, or some sort of pattern with the silk for higher up on the soaker, just to bring things together.

Doo do BORK BORK BORK, a.k.a. Meet the Human Vuvuzelas

When America fell into World Cup Football (cough: soccer) fever a few months back, my husband and I tried to watch. Of course there was the issue of knowing nothing about soccer, but Americans, above all else, are sports people - surely we could watch and enjoy. Approximately 2.7 seconds into the first game, though, I asked my husband to turn down the volume, as I couldn't figure out what that irritating buzzing was.

Turns out, it's a wee little horn called the vuvuzela. Unfamiliar with the sound of the vuvuzela? Check out this little piece of footage. It sounded like an issue with the recording equipment. Or a swarm of Africanized honeybees.

Turns out, it's just a little piece of plastic, and while we call my son the Human Vuvuzela, that little piece of plastic doesn't hold a candle to him.

Before I became a parent, I anticipated all sorts of parenthood-y issues (as much as anyone can anticipate chronic sleeplessness or afterpains or nursing, that is). I did NOT, however, anticipate the significant increase in the level of noise in my life.

Children are the vuvuzela of this household. A low, dull hum that screws up anyone's ability to think clear, coherent thoughts. It is, I've decided, their greatest power. When a group of zebras is attacked by a predator, they move together and their stripes distract the attacker. When a group of children gets together, they make noise and completely annihilate any coherent thoughts their parents might have.

And my son is the best at this. He makes noise all the time. Even in his sleep. Still, God help you when he's awake. Then the buzz begins.

Of course, the buzz is occasionally interrupted by Swedish-Chef like insanity. Generally he saves this for the dinner table. Everybody's relaxed, focusing on their food and trying to have nice conversations that start with "How was your day, dear?" and then, in bursts the Swedish Chef.

Yet, I must say, when my family was out of town about three weeks ago (for five GLORIOUS days), I had the tv or the stereo on for most of the time. The house just didn't feel the same without my vuvuzelas.

It's been too long, I know.

But I *am* knitting.

I'm making baby girl Elsa one of those big round star blankets like I knit up for Nana Elsa last Christmas. Additionally, I've got the yarn ready for a few diaper covers or sets of longies, and some beautiful red cotton for a yoda sweater, I'm thinking.

Now it's about finding the time to get everything done at once! Wish me luck. 13 and a half weeks left to knit before baby girl is here!

Double. Digits.

99 days till our baby is here. . . . 99 days left to nest. . .


I *might* be a little excited. It *might* feel like this pregnancy will have been 2 years long. Well, not quite two years, but since our first positive home pregnancy test was February 12th, 2009 and our delivery date will be somewhere around November 28th, 2010, we're talking 21 solid months between "OMG! We're going to have a baby!" and a baby.

To be clear, I'm well aware that there are many, many, MANY people for whom this quest is much much longer - and I am consistently humbled by their commitment, faith, and deep deep strength.

I, however, am a petulant and impatient child. I.want.my.baby.

And it's looking more and more like that might actually happen. What a Thanksgiving this will be!

"You asked me once, what was in Room 101.

I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world."

Room 101 is perhaps the most strikingly fearful scene in Orwell's 1984.
Today marks 101 days until our due date.

And I'm going to allow today to be my day of fear. Tomorrow, I will open the door to 100 and after that to 99 and we can begin our delightful countdown to baby.

And fear, dear fear, I'm leaving you here.

My husband calls me NEST-OR

As if cleaning every medicine cabinet in the house somehow qualifies one for a Japanese black and white monster movie title. That's right, kids, it's Nestor Versus Godzilla.

(If, by Godzilla, you mean "The entire 1,000 sq feet of the upstairs of my home + the entire 1,000 sq feet of the unfinished basement of my home + my entire catalog of poetry + that book I started to write but never finished + all of that baby stuff that probably should be done + a new Composition-themed blog to entertain my students and if, by Nestor, you mean yours-truly-minus-sleep).

Actually, on paper, it DOES look like Nestor Versus Godzilla: My spare list-making spiral notebook is taking on monster-sized lists (courtesy, of course, of the Sharpies and ONE entry happens to be "Drive to Office Depot. Buy $1 Silver Sharpie"). But that's on paper.

In truth, I came home from conquering my classes today to spend the rest of the day sitting in my rocking-chair-butt-groove wondering why in the world I signed up to teach three classes while I was engaged in the consuming task of making another person.

I mean yeah, she'll be a tiny person (better be a bit tinier than her older brother, that's for darned sure, because at 9lb 13oz, 14 3/4 head, and 21" long, he was like a three-month-old person the day he was born), but a person nonetheless. Making people is, apparently, exhausting work, especially while engaged in the task of chasing other people that you made while saying screaming things like "DO NOT STICK THE HOSE IN THE CHARCOAL BAG AND THEN STICK BOTH INTO THE WINDOW WELL AND THEN TURN THE HOSE ON" or "Please stop licking things in public".

But, but, where was I again? Oh, back to my point, or, I guess, what I thought might be my point - or what I wished was my point. THIS WEEK, this week will be different. This week Godzilla won't be writing the list, THIS WEEK, it'll be tackling the list!

A thing of beauty. . .

I'm watching my daughter sit on the living room floor and go through her school supplies for the second time since their purchase yesterday.

It's a thing of beauty. :) She's also humming "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" while she's doing it. It really, really, really reminds you of my Sharpie posting, doesn't it?

(I'll update with photos later, I promise).

Gimme some wine

I've lost my mind.

No, really, for really REAL I've lost my mind. Sometimes, when I'm having less than stellar days, Tim threatens to dig through my boxes of memorabilia downstairs to find my "alleged" Master's degree, as there really is very little chance a woman as flighty as I could have earned one. Let me assure you, it is in a box in the basement, though if I had to find the box, well, I think you might guess what would happen. I'd triumphantly pop open a box to find newspaper clippings from the 1998 Husker season, most likely.

Okay, but now, back to three reasons to laugh at me. Are you ready?

The other day I was drooling over these Pottery Barn Valances (I've since decided they were lame because they aren't wide enough for my windows and clearly, if they weren't designed with me in mind, they MUST suck). So I was on the phone with a friend at the time and I told her I'd send her the link (so that, of course, as women must do, we could drool together, then pick it apart and decide against the purchase of said valances). I pulled up my e-mail, cut and pasted the link, and sent it off. She replied quickly with a very short response, so, as we were still on the phone, I launched into "Aren't those great?" She, of course, had no idea what I was talking about. And my friend of the same name who'd received a random e-mail titled "these" with a link inside ALSO didn't know what I was talking about. Meanwhile, I couldn't understand why, after looking, and responding, my phone-friend was perplexed.

And look, folks, it took like 30-60 seconds for me to fully process this. Then it took 24 hours to get over my embarrassment as this is not the first time it's happened to me. Let's just say if I could Hot Tub Time Machine myself into the 70s, I'd tell mothers of Amys and Kristins to reconsider their decisions, for, of course, one day the flighty friends of multiple Amys and Kristins will screw up.

That's funny. I know. But you want one better? Further proof that this baby is eating my brain?

Yesterday morning, I told my sister to call me. Then I didn't understand why she didn't call. Then I couldn't understand why I couldn't find my cell phone. Then I called my cell phone and couldn't find it.

Then I made the bed. You'll never guess what I found. . . that's right, my cell phone. Inside my pillow case. Please don't ask why. I'm not sure I have a good answer other than "It's a perfect night light and I don't keep a clock by the bed." And that's lame.

But even MORE lame? Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I began looking for my cell phone, because, of COURSE, I needed it (see night light/clock excuse). I scoured the house. Every room. Finally, I resorted to calling it. And I heard it. And it was loud.

It was right behind me. So I turned around and couldn't find it. But it was right behind me. So I turned around again and couldn't find it. I heard that dang cell phone in every room I entered as I looked for it. And, of course, since it goes to voicemail after 4 rings, I had to call it.

Four times.

Before I realized it was in my back pocket.

Folks, I have no earthly idea how I'm going to stand in front of a classroom in two weeks with ANY sort of feeling of authority. I MIGHT have to go all Empowered Education/Paulo Freire inspired and tell my students to stand on their desks, because they are in charge of their own education, simply as a cover for the fact that my brain no longer processes much more than sleep. eat. keep children from sticking forks in electrical outlets. eat again.

I TOLD my students last spring that babies eat your brain. I had no idea how right I was.