Shopping for Mommy

I went to the mall yesterday to order some new glasses from Lenscrafters. I had put a pair on hold the day before that were quite different from any I've had before, and while I wasn't 100% sure on them, I was looking forward to trying them on again after my tutoring sessions. They had these ambery acrylic frames, a bit large, but I didn't think they were bad. Dolce and Gabana--so fancy, although not a deal-breaker since my insurance covered most of the frame price.

I walk into the store, the guy finds my frames, and instantly tells me that he doesn't like them. Cool.

He doesn't like the color ("just personally"), and after another 45 minutes of trying these amongst all sorts of other frames, he also lets me know "they're too big for your face". WAAAAH. I also liked a similar pair of clear purple frames against my better judgement, but in the end, after hemming and hawing, and almost not signing the paperwork after it was printed, I went with these:

Ooooh, how cute, you say. Sooo nice! If you worked at Lenscrafters you might add something inane about how well my eyes are centered. And while I like them quite a bit more after about 4 hours of wear the next day, I have a very strange feeling about this purchase.

See, I wanted something different from my current [slightly warped, very filthy] glasses that I bought about 2 years ago. Theses specs had all sorts of color and zazz that really got me excited about buying, and thusly wearing them. But I didn't want "different" to mean "average" or "boring" or "domestic-looking". As soon as the guy was sitting with me, hammering in the details which would allow me to purchase these lovely frames, I began to feel trapped by their simplicity. I felt I had sacrificed some of my own personal flare at the tauntings of this salesman, but perhaps not only because of him.

I know I'm gonna have a kid in 6 months (I'M GONNA HAVE A KID IN 6 MONTHS.) There's a weird feeling that I get when I get dressed for a baby doctor appointment, where I feel like I have to wear a dress with my hair down, and some light feminine makeup. That feeling started to sneak in on me while I shopped for glasses.

I felt, and kind of still feel like I'm strattling this line between the obvious idea that of course, I can still be my one-click-off self, and that maybe I need to grow up--whatever that means. That maybe I shouldn't wear buzz lightyear hats in public,

or wear dresses with sneakers and sweatshirts,

 or pretend I'm a dinosaur in a dress with sneakers and sweatshirts,

 I've been thinking about what my baby is going to see when he (maybe she) starts hanging out with me. For some reason, I can't shake the thought that I don't look like a mommy.

This of course, is ridiculous, because one day, when my kids want to wear their buzz lightyear hats with dresses and sneakers and sweatshirts, and stomp around like dinosaurs in public, we'll all be on the same team. So, that may be one point for Lenscrafters, but I've decided, family first--I won't melt into a boring suburbanite without a fight.

Awwwww Baaaabyyyyy

12 week ultrasound/first trimester screen today. Checks for some big genetic abnormalities, makes sure everything's growing right (brain, arms, legs, kidneys), and also checks for CUTENESS.

     Baby Padilla face up

Baby Padilla face down

7.34 cm Human Baby Padilla (yes, that's the name we chose.)

Danielle says the baby looks like it has a duck beak, but I quickly let her know that that little "beak" means that he likely doesn't have Downs Syndrome, so we'll take a little ducky baby for now.

By the way, you're looking at my kid. That lives in my body. That's growing like crazy. THAT IS SO CUTE, RIGHT? Everything on this baby is as good as it could look now, according to the doctors. We are so, so happy, and it was totally insane and addicting to see him moving around on the screen. Arms and legs everywhere. Fingers and toes, the whole bag. Even opened his mouth--AWWW--kind of weird and gross because he pees and drinks the same stuff. Yeah--now it's EWWW, but look at it this way:

it's a circle of LIFE.

And one day Frank and I will be presenting our baby on Pride Rock just like Mufasa and Sarabi.

Baby's still cute. End of discussion.

Turning the Corner

I went on a trip to Florida with my family. I will spare all of the details for now, except for the one where I began eating real foods again. HALLELUJAH.

It actually happened the night before I left (Monday, March 26th). Frank suggested we go out somewhere, and that my stomach and I choose where we go. I'm sure he was expecting the pasta place around the corner (good salads and bread), or... he was probably expecting that. Not much variety in my world as of that moment.

However, where I did decide I'd like to go, was totally out of the box of eating relative to pregnant Carla.

I had a bright, shining image in my head of a plate of Greek food. Lamb shanks, orzo with a richly seasoned tomato sauce, and oven roasted potatoes. "Let's go to Acropolis", I said.

"Are you sure? I mean, we can definitely go but...you really want to eat meat?"
"YES! I'm positive. Worst case scenario, I'll just eat the orzo, but I have a good feeling about this."
"Allll right! Let's do it!"

With that, Frank and I hopped in the car, and made our way to Greektown, where we shared a meal to the exact specifications of my vision--call it mother's intuition, but I ate more of the lamb than the pasta. It was...an incredible feeling. I imagine it's the same feeling you get when you just make parole for a crime you didn't commit, or you finally don't have to use your emphasema oxygen tank in heaven.

Week 12--I love you.
One pound a week--here I come.

Food, my frenemie.

So I got kind of tired of blogging for a minute, not because I don't enjoy doing it, but because I started to feel like all I was doing was complaining. I hadn't been feeling so hot, and eating was a huuuuge chore and a daily struggle. I wasn't enjoying my pregnant state, the way it made me feel physically (gross and sick). Here are some bulleted/shortened ideas about how things were going back then:

List of foods and how I feel about them:

Popcorn: too dry after one bite
Cereal: tired of dry cheerios, intolerant of cereal and milk
Grapefruit juice: mmm, thank you Frankie
Eggs: please don't cook these around me
Turkey Burgers: Let me lock myself in my room upstairs before you cook these, and please open all the windows and doors to get the smell out.
Chicken: Nose wrinkle, sniff sniff, tiny bites for a few minutes--thank you, all done.
Fish: UGHHHHH WHAT IS THAT SMELLL??
Pasta: SO TIRED OF YOU
Pizza: TIRED OF YOU TOO--yes please.
Kiwis: Okay!
Apples: Okay!
Bananas: On the fence!
Yogurt: Tolerable in 4 oz servings, hooray!
Kraft Macaroni and Cheese: first week--good, second week--bad
Salads: Good when prepared for me at a restaurant
Steak: NO.
KitKat bars: please buy me
Gatorade: liquid life
Sun Chips: breakfast please
Tortilla Chips: backup breakfast
Graham Crackers: I want to like you, but I don't.
Water: wish you were Gatorade
Milk: I need some space
Coffee: I don't miss you
Dried fruit: fill baggie, eat one piece
Izze soda: nom nom, ugh drank too fast
Bagels: done with you
Toast: 3/4 of one piece max
Chik-fil-a sandwich: good once a week over the course of 4 hours
Subway Veggie Sub with provolone: Should be called a "Hero"--spent $40 on 5 dollar footlongs

Weight gained: 0 pounds
It appears I will have to learn to eat all over again...this should help:

Thank goodness for prenatal vitamins.

Better than Mozart

Awesome news for the whole Padilla family--Frank got 3 admissions for the price of 2 (baby's comin' with!) to the June 3 RADIOHEAD SHOW! We got great seats (yes, chairs) just far enough away to not be blown away by subwoofers, but still a great spot to see the stage, and sit when necessary. I am SO EXCITED I am actually laying down while I type, because my stomach is still a bit overcome by the news.

This was the second presale day--Radiohead had one on their website yesterday that went live 10 and a half hours later than it was supposed to, but still sold out in 0.3 seconds--at exactly the time when Frank was on his way to work, and I was taking a shower. Womp, womp.

Today's was on the Live Nation mobile app, and required a password. Frank got tickets right away at 10am when the "find tickets" button finally appeared. However, they were General Admission (floor standing room/mosh pit) tickets, which would NOT be ideal for a lady who's five months pregnant, so he threw them back, and was having trouble getting tickets that were actual seats.

He probably searched about 25 times, silently tapping at his phone, decoding those smeary letter things over and over, eyes on the prize, determined that tickets would be re-cycling soon. Nothing, nothing, nothing [I give up and lay down], nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, PERFECT TICKETS. PERSISTANCE PAYS OFF!

After we got up and danced pretty much just like this:

...we had a quick celebratory make-out session, and Frank went off to work with a frat-boy "WHOOOO!" as he went out the door. I sipped Gatorade and finished half a bagel to compose myself, and then grabbed the computer to share the good news.

Forget the classical music--Thom Yorke is going to make my baby a GENIUS. He or she (we'll know by then!) will be swimming in my tummy with Weird Fishes in its functioning little baby ears, just about the time it starts recognizing our voices and starts busting dance moves that I can actually feel.

I assume the dance moves will look something like this on an ultrasound:

Pulling the "P" card

I finally did it! I got my Maryland Drivers liscence. I've been living and working (and driving) here since 2009, and I finally have a valid ID with a blue crab on it. But it wasn't easy. Of course not.

Frank notifies me last night that we will, for certain, definitely be going to the MVA (Motor Vehicle Administration, for you DMV'ers) the following day, and we will be going EARLY. It opens at 8:30, and we should be there as close to when it opens as possible. He has one of those "no line, first ones there" dream scenarios in his head. I notify him that his expectations should be lowered asap. People with homes are sleeping at the door of the MVA right now to crush his dreams, and besides, I'm not sure how reliable my body will be at whatever hour it is I'm supposed to get up to do that.

I ask when I should set the alarm for. Frank says he'll just wake up, no problem, and he'll get me up. Perfect, I think. It's midnight right now. There's no way he'll wake up that early on his own, and then we won't have to go, because he'll figure it'll be too busy later on.

"Okay, great. Thanks honey."  He promises bagels in the morning, and I figure I can probably pressure him for those either way, so I snuggle in beside him, my smug pursed lips reveling in the deep, deep rem sleep to come.

HA. Nice try. Frank hops up and starts readying like an oversensitive solar panel, just like he always does. I manage to open my eyes, and see that it's 7:15. Nightmare.

He hops back into bed to gently tell me to get moving.
"I need five minutes." (backs into Frank's body for comfort)
"NO! No snuggles!" (JUMPS out of bed--knows this is a trick to buy time)
"MEH--Worst day ever!!" (exaggerated pout and fetal position)
(Laughs and succombs to whining) "Just for a minute."

I am appeased, and in an effort to, yes, please my husband, I comply with civil requests to rise from sleep, and get dressed. I feel shockingly well this morning, which I attribute to a great Cobb salad I managed to eat in the late evening out with friends, and also to good juju from making my husband's life so easy. I guess I hadn't had time to get too hungry yet. (SAT PREP--Normal: Hungry ; Pregnant: Nauseous)

We collect our hundreds of thousands of valid documents, grab two Gatorades for the road, and head to the car. It is 8:10. My human-like state is miraculous. Time to make good on that agreement.

"So where are we getting these bagels?"
"Sighh 'something about how it's already 8:10' blah blah blah"
"YOU PROMISED ME A BAGEL. THERE'S A PLACE AROUND THE CORNER. WE'RE GETTING BAGELS."
"Okay, let's get bagels."
"I will collect what is OWED to me."
"What are you, Rumplestiltskin?"

We've been watching Once Upon a Time. Here is a scene in which Mr. Stiltskin shows how dedicated and maniacal he is about his deals. It may be tricky, but when he says "baby", try to picture him saying "bagel", and when she talks, pretend she wants a drivers liscence.

http://abc.go.com/watch/clip/once-upon-a-time/SH014194780000/PL55147652/VD55153097/emma-makes-a-deal-with-mr-gold/moments

I get bagel, Frank ends up springing for some kind of muffin. I am happy, and sing songs about bagels all the way to Glen Burnie. Most notably was a parody of this Ja-Rule hit. Again, instead of "baby", think "bagel". Every thug needs a bagel.

So we finally get to our actual destination, I find a sweet pull-through spot, and I am actually talking Frank into the idea that this will be easy and will be over before we know it.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

We wait about 10 minutes in the line to get our ticket for the line. We sit down, make lots of jokes about waiting for a long time, and how the letter/number ticket system is designed with logarithms that trick your mind into thinking that you have the potential to be next in line eons before you actually are, making it seem like you are in the same moment over and over, keeping fury at bay for hours of actual wait time. We get a little antsy, but are generally having a good time together in the waiting area.

The problem is that we have two separate ticket numbers, and eventually, we will have to separate to different realms of the Motor Vehicle Assylum.

Part 2 of this epic drama to-be-continued.

Part 2

So, as I alluded, Frank's number was called first, and I was on my own from there. No big deal. We already have our documents checked, and the worst is over.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I'm sitting in the waiting area, when I realize that there are extra chairs in every booth for errand-runner-withers, so I decide to butt-in on Frank's extremely pleasant (really) MVA session. This lady is downright chipper, and nicely prompts Frank ("sir") to check his information for errors on the screen in front of him. A minute or two later, and I'm called to a booth a few steps away, and the atmosphere of the first booth has given me a boost. Perhaps too much of a boost.

"HI! I'm here! I'm so fast!" I give a manic "ha-ha", and it's clear that this lady isn't on my level. She was obviously hoping for another 45 seconds of solace, not to be bum-rushed by Pippi Longstocking.

She asks me for my documents, and I hand her everything the last counter had approved--old NY drivers license, social security card, passport, tax filing from last year, marriage certificate, left arm and rental agreement. That should cover it.

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA.

"You need another proof of address, do you have something else with your address on it?"
"Um, they said I had everything I needed."
"Well, she didn't look at the rental agreement. It needs to be signed."
[IRRITATED] "WE SIGNED ALL OVER THAT THING."
[flips around pages] "Well, the landowner never signed it. It needs to be signed."
[Stares blankly in disbelief]
"It has to be signed. We can't use it"
[Tell me one more time that it needs to be signed.]
"It has to be signed."
[EYES WIDEN IN FURY]
"Do you have anything else?"
"Well--[SIGH], I have a W-2--"
"We don't take W-2"
[A little worried, becoming nauseous] "pfffff...well I have a pay stub that's less than 6 months ol--"
"We don't take paystubs."
[Gets ign'ant.] "WELL THEN WHY DOES IT SAY THAT YOU DO ON YOUR WEBSITE?"
"We don't take those for proof of residence--here, let me find the list and I'll show y--"
[Gets up and starts walking away] "DON'T BOTHER. IT DOESN'T MATTER. If you don't take it, you don't take it. Let me go get the rest of what we brought from my husband."

I stalk to a still cheerful Frank and Lady, grab the folder with both hands, and air my grievance.

"APPARENTLY, THE RENTAL AGREEMENT IS NO GOOD BECAUSE THE LANDLORD NEVER SIGNED IT. SHE'S TRYIN' TO SCREW US OVER HERE."

I storm back without a response from happy camp, and sit back down. Here comes the "P"card...

[Still in a tiff] "I'm SORRY. I'm just PREGNANT, and my husband DRAGGED me out of bed before 8 and...[sighhhh] I just WANT this to go WELL...I know this job is probably hell, and I don't want to make it worse for you."

[understanding silence. Starts digging through what I quickly and reluctantly realize is the remainder of a useless collection of four years worth of documents.] "We can't take these."

The woman sits in front of me, unsure of what to do now that her job of rejecting otherwise useful things has reached completion. At this point I have realized that the great width of the desk between us is no accident. Even if I stood up to scream and helicoptered my fists at her (instead of just thinking about it), I still wouldn't have come close.

So instead I sit dejected, shading my eyes from the woman, looking down, also unsure of what to do.

Frank pops over, sees how downtrodden I am, and straight up does this woman's job. "So I heard I can sign for you or something since I got my license already" [shows me his ridiculously smiley drivers license, adorned with crab holograms.]

"Oh yeah, if you're married, he can sign as a proof of residence."

I COULD HAVE EXPLODED.
I TOLD THIS WOMAN I WAS RETRIEVING DOCUMENTS FROM MY HUSBAND. I PROVIDED MY MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. MAYBE INSTEAD OF TELLING ME 'IT NEEDS TO BE SIGNED', SHE COULD HAVE GIVEN ME A SOLUTION INSTEAD OF PUMPING MY VEINS FULL OF HOMICIDAL RAGE.

"I'll be right back, I have to go to the bathroom." Frank disappears.

[Slight relief in woman] "Well, let's take your picture. Slide to that chair on the side and look at the camera."

I move over to the chair, my eyes still fixed on the woman. I am not ready to smile AT ALL. I'm not going to put on a fake cheese for my license after freaking out. I literally didn't know what to do when she tells me she's taking the picture. So I end up making this really weird crooked smirk face with my head cocked to the side. It won't be the best, but honestly I'm just glad this is almost over.

Luckily, her computer crashes, and it takes 20 minutes to reboot, as she has trouble finding the power button on the FRONT of the console. Oh well. I honestly don't care, because soon I can get out of this torture chamber, and breathe sweet fresh air again. I start to feel calm, if mentally exhausted, and become friendly. Maybe if I forgive her computer ignorance, she'll forgive my complete impatience and unpreparedness.

[Sweetly, head in one hand] "I'm so sorry I got so upset."
[Smiling] "It's okaaay. Soon you can go home and go back to bed."

The computer finally gets back on its feet, she pulls up my file, turns her screen and says,
"This is what it will look like."

"OHHHHH NOOOOOO." [buries face in hands, laughing but not amused.]

This picture is far worse than I imagined. Like, I know they say your driver's license picture is supposed to be bad, but this was just unacceptable. Oh well, I thought. This is what I deserve for causing a scene in the MVA. This is the consequence for causing the Lady working with Frank to say, "I think your wife is having a meltdown."

After fully taking in the picture [see below]

I am pleasantly surprised for the first time today.

"Would you like to take your picture again?"
"YYYYEESS. OHHH, THANK YOU"
[Laughs] "Yeaaah, let's do that over."

And this time I really am happy. I smile with teeth, and walk away with a brand spanking new Maryland Driver's License. We sincerely thank the woman for her help, and then get the HELL OUT OF THERE.

THE END