%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   Exploring the future through the present. One day at a time. |
| November 1, and guess how many words I’ve typed of my story? None!! From how my schedule is looking at the moment, I won’t write any until this weekend. Tonight Dave and I are having supper with his uncle and girlfriend (the uncle’s girlfriend, not Dave’s [he knows not to get one. I’m pregnant and well-armed]). Friday we’re having supper with my mom. I’m fairly certain the idea I’ll tackle. It’s a possible start of a second trilogy to the series I have in mind (and have written two of the first trilogy so far). I thought about starting the third installment of the first trilogy, but I decided a while ago not to. By the time the first and second get published, the overall story may change enough I’ll have to start over with the third. No sense in wasting my time. Besides, the third will be so involved and with so many characters, I don’t think I have enough brain power for it now. With a project that large I’ll for certain need an outline before I start writing. Perhaps by 2026 I will – the year Thomas graduates from high school. How’s that for scary? Hmm. I may have just changed my mind. My other idea at the moment sounds more intriguing . . . It’s a prequel to the first nanowrimo novel I wrote in 2005. Change o’ subject. My doctor’s appointment went well, although it started a bit unexpected. The nurse took my vitals (my blood pressure is excellent, but I lost three pounds - more on why in a bit. She then said, “I’ll leave you to get undressed and put on a gown.” “What for?” I asked. “The doctor needs to examine your cervix since you’re at 37 weeks.” “Um, I’m at 29 weeks.” The nurse double-checked my chart and said, “You’re right. Someone added wrong.” Whew! I was in no mood to show off my ugly, rash-infested legs! The nurse then retrieved “the drink,” a super-sweet Tang-like liquid with 50ml of glucose. I tolerated the first few sips, but by the end – blech! I’m not used to consuming that much sugar at once. The doctor then came in to measure my belly. I lifted my shirt and he said, “Well, you’re full of baby there, aren’t you.” I laughed and said, “Yep.” Since week 16 I’ve measured about 6 cm (2.4 inches) big. Since I’m not having twins and they verified via ultrasound my due date is right, the doctor figured it’s because I’m narrow in the hip area. It’s not a problem – yet. If there’s not enough room, I’ll either have a difficult delivery or need a c-section, although more likely a c-section. Doctors usually don’t let women go through too many hours of labor anymore. I’m not worried about it either way. It’s too soon, for one, and it’s not something I can control anyway. The doctor said he’ll not make any recommendations for certain until I get closer to the due date, and see how much the baby drops. My weight loss is also no cause for concern. It’s the baby’s fault anyway. Because I’m measuring big, I don’t have much room for my stomach to expand when I eat. I don’t eat as much as I would like to because I get full too soon. I’m not starved by any stretch. If anything, I’m healthier now than before the pregnancy. I pay attention to what I eat more, and stay away from sugary foods. When in the mood for sweet stuff, I eat fruit. Besides, I have enough storage (read: fat), to fall back on if I need. I have noticed my arms thinned some, and my legs, too, I bet, if I could stand to look at them long enough. The doctor gave me a hydrocortisone prescription for the eczema, and already it’s made a difference. The itching has subsided (though not completely), but the best part is my clothes don’t feel like sandpaper anymore. The only material I could tolerate on my legs was fleece. Even my flannel bed sheets felt rough. I managed to finally get some sleep the last two days because I cacooned myself in fleece blankets. Poor Dave couldn’t get near me, but I didn’t want him to touch me anyway I felt so icky. Trivia question: What book was the movie “Soylent Green” starring Charlton Heston based on? 1,000 GPs to the first person to answer correctly. I’d tell you why I thought of it, but that would give away at least part of the title. Don’t want to make things too easy for you. |
| Well, family’s gone, and much fun was had by all – mostly. The hunting was good, and would have been better if Dave and his brother Mark could shoot straight! I can’t blame them entirely. The pheasant tended to flush early due to already being shot at multiple times, and it’s still too warm for geese and ducks. Rufus is turning into a great hunting dog. She still has her puppy enthusiasm and doesn’t listen all the time. She retrieved many a bird that would have been lost without her. Dave bought a shock collar for her, and that made a big difference – though she needed reminding once in a while. We wore the poor girl out, to the point we gave her a day off on Wednesday. She just wasn’t hunting as well, though she never wanted to quit. As soon as we got home, she found her bed and plopped down, dead asleep. We also had to slather Bag Balm (a thick moisturizer and antiseptic used originally for cow teats to help and prevent chapping during milking) on her foot pads. She balked at first, but once we started massaging her feet with it, she turned into a noodle. I don’t know if it was the stress of guests in our house for a week, or I exposed myself to an allergen, but my lower legs are covered with eczema. It’s the worst flare up I’ve had in – ever. It’s maddening, the constant itch and pain. Dave last night asked what he could do for me (I haven’t been sleeping well because of it), and I said, “Cut off my legs?” He refused. The only relief I found so far is wrapping cold wet towels around my legs for about 10-15 minutes. That gives me a measure of relief for about two hours. Moisturizers also help. It makes the pain and itch a mere annoyance instead of insanity-inducing. I can’t scratch, because that only makes it worse – which only drives up the insanity meter, because I want to scratch so badly. But like I told my sister-in-law, if that’s all I have to complain about, things are good. In another two weeks or so, it’ll go away. These flare ups never last. I have but one little patch on my left ankle that refuses to go away, but it doesn’t itch all the time. What helps also is distraction. While I’m at work, I don’t feel the itch so bad. It’s when I’m at home or in bed and I have time to think about it that it feels worse. I need to distract myself at home as well. Good thing nanowrimo starts soon! I also have my next doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so I’ll ask him if there’s anything more I can do for relief. I don’t want to use any anti-itch cream or prescription medications until I know for certain it won’t harm Thomas. They’ll check me for gestational diabetes at this one. I’ll have to drink a small cup of super sweet drink, and get a blood test an hour later. I don’t anticipate any difficulties; I still feel really good. Hee, hee. Slight change o’ subject. Dave’s parents also came up on Friday from Texas, because Dave’s cousin married on Saturday (more on that in my next entry). I had to give Lew (Dave’s dad) a hard time, because when we said goodbye he added, “Now take care of yourself until Thomas is born.” I responded, “Does that mean after he’s born I can let myself go?” He didn’t know whether or not to laugh at first. Thomas is moving more and more – some days more than others. I can see my stomach twitch when he kicks hard now. He also likes to stretch upward, especially after I eat. After every meal, I have to lie down for a while until Thomas curls up again or moves lower. I think he enjoyed – or was very annoyed by – our guests, because he was super active whenever there was much conversation. I thought he wanted to jump out of my tummy a few times. Since everyone’s left, he’s not so rambunctious. |
| Maybe because hunting season has started that I came up with the above title. It also well describes what I’ll be talking about – a little of a lot, much like the shot exploding out of a shotgun and splattering all willy-nilly. Fear not, though. They’re not high-powered shots. Should you get hit by a pellet, it won’t even break the skin. Eye protection is still recommended. First off, Voxxylady  tagged me with the latest “Getting to Know You” survey. Thank goodness I need to come up with only eight random facts about me. Anymore, and my brain might meltdown or explode (more on that later).Now zee rules: Link to your tagger and post these rules. List 8 (yes 8 – the horror of it all) random facts about yourself. At the end tag 8 other people. Let them know in their blog comments they’ve been tagged. 1. I like coffee. Tried to give it up, but once the morning sickness subsided, back on the java truck I jumped! I manage to stick to one caffeinated cup a day, then I go to decaf. 2. I’m a Registered Land Surveyor in the state of North Dakota. 3. I’ve been married 15 years, but even more astonishing I still like my husband. 4. I have a paper and pen fetish. Keep me out of an office supply store lest you want me to spend too much money on what I already have too much of. 5. Ditto to book stores. 6. For some reason wireless mice don’t last more than six months for me before they die. It doesn’t matter the brand, either. Maybe I’m feeding them too much cheese? Not enough? Maybe it’s the type of cheese? Is Roquefort bad for wireless mice? 7. The human brain fascinates me. It’s the one organ that still confounds doctors and scientists. 8. No promises on tagging 8 others. It’s a combination of laziness and lack of brain power. Well, what do you know? I survived. How ‘bout you? In need of bandages or a hospital? The bandages I got. The hospital, you’re on your own. I can tell I’ve reached the third and final stage of pregnancy. As predicted, the second trimester was a cakewalk. I felt good, had lots of energy, and the little guy didn’t give me too much trouble. Thomas has grown quite a bit, and is quickly running out of room. According to http://www.visembryo.com/baby/28_weeks.html he weighs about 2.5 pounds and is about 16 inches long. I can feel every stretch, punch and kick now. A few times when rubbing my belly I’ve felt his head, a foot and his little bum. Very cool. He’s still small enough to not cause me too much discomfort – except when he uses my bladder as a trampoline. Funny. First trimester I kept in mind the closest bathroom everywhere I went just in case my tummy rebelled. Here I am in the third trimester doing the same thing in case my bladder rebels! I tire more easily now. The moment I get home from work, all I want to do is vegetate on the couch or take a nap. Even after a nap I’m back in bed before 10pm. That’s the main reason I haven’t been around. I don’t have the wherewithal to turn my computer on. I’m also more forgetful. My boss had to give me a talking-to, because I wasn’t getting my work done. It wasn’t intentional. I simply kept forgetting what they wanted me to do. An hour later they’d ask me if it was done yet, and all they received in response was a blank look. I had no idea what they were talking about! I’ve done better since then, because now I know I can’t depend on my memory at all. I write everything down. So far I haven’t forgotten I have a list, but one never knows! From what everyone’s been saying, I don’t look six months pregnant. Mom and I figured it’s due mostly to my protruding gut still overshadowed by my – um – shall we say well-endowed upper torso. No complaints. No one has yet come up to me and rub my belly without permission. You won’t see me around for the next week, though not because I forgot I’m a member here. This weekend I have to clean my sty of a house to prepare for Dave’s brother and wife’s arrival late Saturday or early Sunday. They’ll spend the week with us for pheasant, duck and goose hunting, and stay through Dave’s cousin’s wedding on the 27th. Lastly, I plan (and we all know how plans go don’t we?), on nanowrimo beginning November 1. It’ll be a challenge considering my mental incapacity lately, but it never hurts to try. To those also participating, you can find my profile at http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/85916 |
| A little over three more months to go and it’s official (assuming Thomas adheres to the due date). I will have passed the nine-month long initiation and become a member of the Mommy Club. One benefit of membership is I can tell my own mommy stories, and even give advice to other mommies worth listening to. The downside is the coming around of all the advice I stupidly gave to parents when I didn’t have a child of my own. People who don’t have kids will now come to me with all their super-wisdom. Whoopee. No matter. I deserve it considering how often I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut. Yesterday I noticed how people treat me differently, especially other members of the Mommy Club. For example, two ladies at church who I used to get only a wave, soft hello, or a smile when we’d see each other now strike up conversations about my pregnancy and the baby. As if I didn’t exist before my belly expanded with a little person inside. Okay, that sounds like a complaint, but it’s more of an observation. It’s human nature to be attracted to new life (especially for women), and to see another person who obviously has something in common with us. Most mothers remember the excitement and never-ending desire to talk about what’s going on with their body and growing baby. I’m no different. Heck, I’ll spend days, if not weeks trying to write about something other than Thomas and my physical changes. I usually come up with nothing - hence part of the reason I don’t write but once or twice a week. I’m constantly amazed how non-bored you all are. Even when I manage to tackle a different subject you ask how me and the baby are doing. Thank you for that. I don’t feel a need to search for other subjects as much - which is good, because my brain can’t handle variety right now. I closed my signature shop, and after I’m done with the six more signatures needed for "Invalid Item"  , I’m going on a no-graphic sabbatical for at least six weeks. I still haven’t finished my proposal (how pathetic is that?), and I’d like to participate in National Novel Writing Month again this November. I’ll try to catch up with you over the next few days (though don’t be surprised if I embarrass myself. Just ask David McClain   ). Another reason I haven’t been around is my internet access went all quirky on me. It’d work for five or ten minutes, then I’d have to reboot to get it back for another five or ten minutes. Talk about annoying! I finally realized it was my virus scan software. Since I switched I have no troubles.Have a great evening and I’ll see you when I see you! |
| I've said before I'm not self-motivating. If I am to accomplish anything, I need someone else to hold me accountable. I tell our clients at work all the time, if they need me to do something they need to also let me know when they need it. If they say, “anytime,” I respond with, “Then it will never get done.” They usually give me a due date after that. I thrive on deadlines, and the larger it looms the better I do. All throughout my school years I many times didn't start on anything until the night before it was due – that included lengthy essays. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with good grades. Oh yeah, I was also a teacher's pet (hee, hee). Growing old-er hasn't changed me. I still thrive on pressure. For the last several months I've created graphics for "Invalid Item" , including graduation certificates and class logos. Yesterday we got down to the wire. I needed to create 65 logos, banners and member signatures – and I had by yesterday morning only 28 of them completed. What a fun day I had, though! Being under pressure increased my brainpower enough I don't feel so stupid anymore. My creativity juiced up more than I expected, and my memory even kicked back in. How long that will last, time will tell. I made my deadline, but at the same time I felt a little guilty for not completing them sooner. It only increased the pressure Deborah Owen , Budroe and all the other instructors were under in making sure the fall semester began today without a hitch.You'd think it impossible to create 65 graphics in less than a day, but it's actually quite easy if you have a theme in place. All I needed to do was create one, then cut and paste for subsequent graphics. I changed only the text and replaced the graphic with another more appropriate for the class. All told I bet I averaged 15 minutes per graphic. My Broderbund 1.2 million clipart collection came in the most handy. Definitely the best $50 I ever spent on software. This logo I'm particularly fond of: ** Image ID #1183031 Unavailable ** The moment I saw that graphic I knew it was perfect. I still giggle whenever I see it. Enough bragging. I have work to do – and more deadlines to meet. |
| I now know why doctors spank babies when their born. I bet you think it’s to get them to breathe. Nope, it’s because they’ve been bad in the womb and deserve it. Thomas deserves it big time, but unfortunately the punishment has to be held off for a while. He is a bad boy. Yesterday he didn’t do what I wanted him to do, the stubborn little tike. While at work I happened to look down at the same time Thomas kicked, and I saw my stomach twitch. Very neat! I waited for him to do it again, but he settled down. I even poked at him, but he gave me nuthin’. He has yet to move on command, and it’s frustrating. Top that off with him continually sucking my brainpower and overall energy levels down to nil. For example Dave and I had a dinner date yesterday at 5pm, but do you think I remembered? Nope! He had to call me at the grocery store at 5:15pm asking where I was. It still took me a few seconds to realize why he wanted to know. Oops. This morning I could hardly force myself out of bed I had so little energy. Dang kid. |
| I miss my clothes. With my expanding gut, I can no longer wear my favorite clothes. I’ve not worn many of them for over a month, but until two days ago I didn’t miss them. As I picked out one of my new maternity shirts from my closet, I saw all my other favorite shirts and pants sitting quiet on their hangers. I have some cute maternity clothes, but I sure would like to wear my old stuff once in a while. To assuage my sadness, I bought another maternity outfit. Target had a surprisingly nice selection, and for decent prices to boot. I don’t want to spend a lot of money for clothing I’ll only wear for another four months. Question, though. Why do the makers of maternity clothing assume every pregnant woman is proud of her breasts? Most of the shirts I’ve found - even the wintery ones - are so low cut it’s embarrassing. I have to wear a cammy under two of them. The other shirts are tolerable, but I’m still careful about bending over - and in front of whom. People have noted I don’t look pregnant yet (still beer-bellyish apparently). I don’t think I show much either. I can still wear some of my shirts (just not the fitted kind), and one pair of pants that aren’t even elastic-waisted. Granted I’m only at five months, but I’ve seen others at five months who show much more than I do. It’s not a complaint; I’m pleased. I can still tie my shoes without contorting. How long this will last, no clue. I may wake up one morning and discover my tummy expanded to the size of a large watermelon. If that happens, at the very least I’ll have a mobile ledge to hold my coffee mug. |
| The advice above penned by Stephen King in his book “On Writing” still sticks with me though I read the book over three years ago. More importantly, and both David McClain and PlannerDan wrote about this in their entries, respectively, "Invalid Entry" and "Invalid Entry" : We must be honest with ourselves.I wrote to another writing friend over the past few days about my frustrations in not writing as much as I should or want to. The desire is there, but no motivation. Fear holds me back from completing my book proposal, as well attacking new projects. What is my fear? Lack of experience, and the rest of the world discovering I’m clueless. Truth be told, I read too much. In seeking illumination, motivation and confidence, I read books and articles on publishing novels. Big mistake! I ended up with less of all three. They all said the same thing: You must have experience and expertise before writing your novel. For instance, if you tackle science fiction, have a degree in one or more of the sciences. If you want to write a novel based on Christianity, make sure you can back it up with schooling in ministry. You also must have published hundreds of articles or stories in said genre before you’ll get your chance at publishing a novel. I got a whole lotta nothin’ in both, yet that’s my chosen genre. My publishing credits end at three flash fiction stories, and one non-paid article in a CAD (computer-aided drafting) magazine. Throwing modesty out the window, after six years and over a dozen major drafts, I have a solid and even salable novel on my hands. Yet I fear once a publisher, agent, or whatever, sees my bio and publishing credits showing a big fat “I know nothing,” my manuscript will end up in the garbage can. It takes others to show me otherwise: 1. You. How many times have I complained about my writing not being good enough? I bet it’s bored and frustrated you stupid by now. Still you persist in telling me I do, in fact, measure up. 2. Winsun Literary Agency. Tell me, would an agent have worked with me for nearly a year helping me polish my manuscript if he didn’t think I had a novel worth publishing? Me thinks not. 3. Me. Every single time I want to quit this writing gig, or I’m frustrated with my lack of words, within a day or two, I write like crazy. If I truly didn’t believe deep down in my ability, I would have quit a long time ago. 4. God. Whenever I feel the need to be close to him, I write. It’s always been my form of praise and worship, and I can always feel him closest when I’m writing. Many times when he’s had something important to say, he uses my own words to get the message across. He also uses you to punch the message home when I’m particularly blind or stubborn. God wants nothing to hold us back from achieving our heart’s desires, least of all fear. I’ve found more than once by revealing a fear or hurt, suddenly it’s not as big as it seemed when I kept it hidden. Looking at my fear of writing and publishing, it seems rather silly. Why did I ever let that little thing get the best of me? One of my favorite scriptures I need constant reminding of is 1 Timothy 1:7: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a proposal to finish. |
| Everyone knows the age-old saying: Write what you know. While true to a certain extent, it’s also something that can derail a writing career long before it starts. Why? How many of us know we know enough about a subject to write about it well enough that will garner the interest of many, not just a few? I’m not one of them. I may know a little about a lot, but I know a lot about nothing. Nothing is of no interest to anyone. How then can I write about anything? It’s quite simple. I changed the saying above to: Write about what you want to know. Every great historian knew little about their subject to start aside from an insatiable interest and motivation to learn. They all spent sometimes years researching before they wrote a single word of their manuscript. That’s nonfiction. What about fiction? Writing fiction, at least for me, comes from an insatiable desire to learn all I can about the worlds revolving in my head, and the people who live on those worlds. Out of that exploration comes a compulsion to tell their stories so others, too, might enjoy and learn as much, if not more, than I have. Writing isn’t just about what we know. It’s about what we discover. |
| Several people have asked me the last few days how I like being pregnant. Perhaps being in the second - and best according to everything I’ve been told and read - trimester is the reason for my enjoyment. I love being pregnant. Even the occasional discomfort I can take joy and even laughter in. I’m not near the discomfort I’ll experience come the 8 and 9th months, but even so I know everything go through will be worth the end result. So far, I’m taking every day, sometimes every moment as it comes, reveling in each new change in me and the baby. Yesterday was a particularly fun moment. Once a week or so, the high school band marches around my block at 7am. I don’t mind it, because they’re good aside from the occasional sour note or off-beat of a drum. As they marched closer, a still and quiet Thomas suddenly jumped and wiggled until silence once again reigned. I grinned. Thomas can hear!! I’ve been paying close attention to Thomas’ movements for the past few weeks, and I noticed also yesterday Thomas kicks and rolls most when people are talking. The louder and boisterous the voices, the more he moves. Very cool. ===================================== I almost forgot (actually I did forget until four seconds ago). Thank you Kåre Enga in Montana  for the Merit Circle!![Merit Badge in Friendship
[Click For More Info]
For being the first to comment in my new blog, Enga mellom Fjella. And for the many kind comments in my old one, L'aura del Campo.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Friendship-650.gif) If you don't know yet, he started a new blog:
|
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
.
