Tuesday, April 08, 2008
D@mn Dirty Apes
I woke up yesterday morning to the disturbing news that Charlton Heston died. It’s not that there was anything bizarre about his death. In fact, as I understand it, he was 84. That’s a nice long life. And it’s not that I had a particular affinity for the man. Rather, I knew very little of him. Until this past weekend. Eerily before his death.
Matt suggested that we watch Planet of the Apes. He was pretty jazzed about me seeing it, since I was pretty much a blank slate. I’m game for a classic film experience, so I complied.
The thing about that movie is that it’s kinda terrible. And Mr. H’s brand of shatner-esque over-acting is decidedly abominable. And I voiced as much, adding for good measure that he was a weird looking dude.
And then he died.
You can see how I’m feeling a little bad about how that all went down.
That said, file under “things that don’t make me feel bad” this little tidbit: I’m a winner! I believe I have mentioned before that I try, very much, to win at every turn. If a receipt says that I could win $5000 for calling and responding to a survey, I almost always do it. So, when Entertainment Weekly acknowledged my faithful readership and invited me to be a part of a survey group, I complied. Not too long ago, I was filling in a survey about ads in a recent issue and at the end they gave you the option to choose your prize, should you win. I mentioned this particular survey to matt because one of the prize options was Season 1 of Flight of the Conchords. Since we watched it on netflix, matt and I have been coveting ownership of said television show but, alas, found ourselves to be too light of wallet to enjoy such indulgences.
SO imaging my pleasure when, on Friday evening, I looked in my email box to find out that I was, in fact, a wiener, and would be soon enjoying my own personal copy of Flight of the Conchords. Wee! It was especially fun, because matt was at least as excited as I was. The one worrying point is that the email mentioned that they would be sending it to the address they had on file, my old one. I emailed back a corrected address but haven’t heard back. That’s got me a little concerned. Still, our mail should still be forwarding so, fingers crossed, we should have that bit of New Zealand hilarity before too long.
I hope.
So I’m now to the point in the pregnancy where I go to the doctors every week. It’d be alright except…well, these are not the cute little appointment which I had been enjoying recently where they measured my stomach, listened to baby’s heartbeat and let me go home. They are, unfortunately, significantly more involved. Anyways, at this week’s installment, my doctor wanted me to get an ultrasound, ostensibly for the purpose of figuring out baby girl’s positioning. Well, I was pumped. I hadn’t gotten to see her since the five month gender defining ultrasound. I didn’t get pictures or anything, but I got to see her sweet little fact for a moment and that was quite enjoyable.
The ultrasound technician was mostly doing measuring business and told me that peanut was head down, which is good. She left it to my doctor to expound on the other. Which is that I’m having an enormous baby.
Maybe enormous is overstating it, but she’s estimated to be 7 pounds and 3 ounces. And I have four more weeks until my due date. Holy cow. To put this in perspective, there are plenty of babies carried to term who way 7 pounds and 3 ounces and are merely considered a little small. My baby is that weight now. Holy cow. We got a chubster. (which, incidentally, delights papa bear, who’s a sucker for a pudgy baby).
This information, coupled with the fact that I apparently have a slightly narrow pelvic structure (who knew? Mom always told me that I had child bearing hips), means that delivery could be tricky. Not dangerous or anything, just slightly more complicated. The upshot is that, should natural labor not happen by 39 weeks, some consideration will be given to induce. This isn’t ideal, but for the selfish mom, there are some positives to that outcome. For one, you’re not totally caught off guard by the events and, I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t mind the baby coming a little early rather than later. Still, good mom prevails, and I know the best case scenario is for little bambina to come on her own and arrive in a non-surgical fashion.
Anyways, all of this to say, I left the doctor’s a little deflated yesterday. Just the knowledge that I am carrying a pretty much full-sized baby made me exhausted. That said, I does explain why, when the little one kicks me, it is with enough force to about send me flying across the room. I’ve got an Amazonian baby living in pretty tight quarters. I guess I’d be annoyed too.
And that’s the news, folks.
Sorry about the subtitles, but this segment really delighted me. I hope that when he gets moved to California next year he won’t have to start having only stars on his show…because stuff like this is dynamite.
I woke up yesterday morning to the disturbing news that Charlton Heston died. It’s not that there was anything bizarre about his death. In fact, as I understand it, he was 84. That’s a nice long life. And it’s not that I had a particular affinity for the man. Rather, I knew very little of him. Until this past weekend. Eerily before his death.
Matt suggested that we watch Planet of the Apes. He was pretty jazzed about me seeing it, since I was pretty much a blank slate. I’m game for a classic film experience, so I complied.
The thing about that movie is that it’s kinda terrible. And Mr. H’s brand of shatner-esque over-acting is decidedly abominable. And I voiced as much, adding for good measure that he was a weird looking dude.
And then he died.
You can see how I’m feeling a little bad about how that all went down.
That said, file under “things that don’t make me feel bad” this little tidbit: I’m a winner! I believe I have mentioned before that I try, very much, to win at every turn. If a receipt says that I could win $5000 for calling and responding to a survey, I almost always do it. So, when Entertainment Weekly acknowledged my faithful readership and invited me to be a part of a survey group, I complied. Not too long ago, I was filling in a survey about ads in a recent issue and at the end they gave you the option to choose your prize, should you win. I mentioned this particular survey to matt because one of the prize options was Season 1 of Flight of the Conchords. Since we watched it on netflix, matt and I have been coveting ownership of said television show but, alas, found ourselves to be too light of wallet to enjoy such indulgences.
SO imaging my pleasure when, on Friday evening, I looked in my email box to find out that I was, in fact, a wiener, and would be soon enjoying my own personal copy of Flight of the Conchords. Wee! It was especially fun, because matt was at least as excited as I was. The one worrying point is that the email mentioned that they would be sending it to the address they had on file, my old one. I emailed back a corrected address but haven’t heard back. That’s got me a little concerned. Still, our mail should still be forwarding so, fingers crossed, we should have that bit of New Zealand hilarity before too long.
I hope.
So I’m now to the point in the pregnancy where I go to the doctors every week. It’d be alright except…well, these are not the cute little appointment which I had been enjoying recently where they measured my stomach, listened to baby’s heartbeat and let me go home. They are, unfortunately, significantly more involved. Anyways, at this week’s installment, my doctor wanted me to get an ultrasound, ostensibly for the purpose of figuring out baby girl’s positioning. Well, I was pumped. I hadn’t gotten to see her since the five month gender defining ultrasound. I didn’t get pictures or anything, but I got to see her sweet little fact for a moment and that was quite enjoyable.
The ultrasound technician was mostly doing measuring business and told me that peanut was head down, which is good. She left it to my doctor to expound on the other. Which is that I’m having an enormous baby.
Maybe enormous is overstating it, but she’s estimated to be 7 pounds and 3 ounces. And I have four more weeks until my due date. Holy cow. To put this in perspective, there are plenty of babies carried to term who way 7 pounds and 3 ounces and are merely considered a little small. My baby is that weight now. Holy cow. We got a chubster. (which, incidentally, delights papa bear, who’s a sucker for a pudgy baby).
This information, coupled with the fact that I apparently have a slightly narrow pelvic structure (who knew? Mom always told me that I had child bearing hips), means that delivery could be tricky. Not dangerous or anything, just slightly more complicated. The upshot is that, should natural labor not happen by 39 weeks, some consideration will be given to induce. This isn’t ideal, but for the selfish mom, there are some positives to that outcome. For one, you’re not totally caught off guard by the events and, I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t mind the baby coming a little early rather than later. Still, good mom prevails, and I know the best case scenario is for little bambina to come on her own and arrive in a non-surgical fashion.
Anyways, all of this to say, I left the doctor’s a little deflated yesterday. Just the knowledge that I am carrying a pretty much full-sized baby made me exhausted. That said, I does explain why, when the little one kicks me, it is with enough force to about send me flying across the room. I’ve got an Amazonian baby living in pretty tight quarters. I guess I’d be annoyed too.
And that’s the news, folks.
Sorry about the subtitles, but this segment really delighted me. I hope that when he gets moved to California next year he won’t have to start having only stars on his show…because stuff like this is dynamite.
