Mele Kalikimaka 2006

Fabulously, I had the entire week of Christmas off as did Shane! As I pushed for Christmas in Paris, utilizing our accumulated miles on Capital One, we settled for a quiet Christmas at home. It was more of his idea. I figured since this would be our last hurrah before entering the world of parenthood, we might as well go out with a romantic bang.

Since the first week of December, presents skirted our tree. The first time we were on top of Christmas. It was hard to imagine as I've always enjoyed the thrill of last minute shopping. Oddly enough, I am -hopefully soon to be former- a procrastinator. It felt brilliant to be steps ahead of the Christmas holidays. I wanted to savor this holiday as much as possible.

Meanwhile in Christmasland...Christmas as a Cadelinia was usually filled with sugar filled nieces and nephews drowning in unappreciated gifts meanwhile I partake in holiday gluttony. I forgot to mention the secret santa for the adults which really wasn't much of a secret, because I could always figure out the culprit behind my gift. Most of the time, I just chocked it down to the mission of regifting. This is not to be mistaken with my childhood as a Cadelinia which you can take up with my former therapist. Giggle. Let's just say Santa never showed much interest in the Cadelinia household when it came to gifts. What we didn't have in gifts was made up in the union of family. Yes, try to explain that to a six year old.

Although Shane's childhood Christmas was filled with christmas cookies and gifts galore. A sparkle gleams in his eye everytime he reaches into his Catskill Christmas past. I must admit I experience a mild singe of jealousy everytime he indulges in his childhood. Since we're embarking the shores of familyhood, Shane advised that we reinstate the Kitchen ritual. Huh, dear mom would suffer a cardiac, if she overheard our conversation. You see in Hawaii, family is number one. Family does not consist of simply siblings and parents. Family in the islands includes cousins, uncles, aunts and other straggling relatives, a form of coming together to celebrate the spirit and love of our ancestors.

The Kitchen's Christmas(s) were spent strictly with siblings and parents. It made sense, although mom would have a Filipino fit. It's different when you come from a family the size of the Roman army where the meaning of peaceful silence never resembled a sound. After a couple minutes of collaborating, we established that Christmas Eve would be spent with the Cadelinia clan. No harm and no foul. Everyone was happy!

__________________________________________

2006 our last Christmas as non-parents. We were lavishly selfish. Christmas morning came as rapid as the growth of my belly. Considering I tried my hardest to sleep in, although my REM process does not exceed 800am. Dilemma at hand, I laid in bed flipping through channels trying to catch a holiday film, besides a Christmas story, but to no avail. Shane, on the other hand, was better at sleeping in. A smile came to my face as I imagined other adults having miserably attempting to fulfill a family agenda.

We eventually peeled ourselves from bed. We made a fire and lit the pillar candles as holiday music filled our home. We prepared breakfast and baked Christmas cookies. It was a jolly good time. Heck, even Chloe had her own stocking filled with chewing toys. I know, ring the alarm, weird pet people! Honestly, I am very nostalgic, thus I put off unwrapping gifts like Fidel Castro and Cuba. In my world, once the gifts are unwrapped, hence the holiday comes to an end. 2:30pm rolled around, and I attempted to stall the beauty of this holiday like no other by pushing the gift exchange to follow dinner. Shane nodded in agreement, but his facial expression said different. It was time for the selfless part of me to take hold. The unraveling of the gifts would pursue in thirty minutes and counting.

Here we are in the midst of Christmas. It was delightful to be spending this beautiful day with my lovely husband. All the Christmas gifts under the tree could not surpass the mirth. We were in our beautiful home overlooking the bay in our pajamas and sitting by the fire with Chloe at our side as little Kitchstar begins to kick in light tantrums in the warmth of my belly. To make matters more frilly, I am in love with my husband, no words can describe the depths and degree of my adoration for this sweet man. It was in this moment, this day, that I hold special in my heart. It was bliss. It was radiant. It was Christmas.

Kick Ass!

As I sat at my desk, flutter, flutter, flutter went the inside of my stomach. "Hmmm," I thought to myself, "could that have been?" Laurie, my sister has been hounding me about Kitchstar's first kick. I was told that it should start as a flutter like butterflies in your stomach or gas, but everyone knows that I don't get gas. I'm super human. I felt it again. My heart raced, but it also could be the gurgling of my empty stomach. It could also be the anger of Kitchstar begging for some food.

My appetite has been far from gorging. Although my recent doctor's appointment, I was a whopping ten pounds from the month before. I've never broken the 130 pound barrier, I have four more months to endure. I said to the nurse, "That can't be healthy," she shrugged and readjusted the scale. Probably pegged for an eating disorder victim. As Sue McDonald went through her five month synopsis, I blurted, "Now, I gained ten pounds, since last month. Should I be concerned? I'm concerned. I've been really good with my diet and I'm not hoarding on mounds of sweets or transfats or preservatives," I blabbed, " What's going on doc?" She assured us that there was nothing to worry about, considering that I gained twelve pounds throughout the pregnancy is nothing to shudder about. Kitchstar is growing at bullet speed so that is normal. If I keep gaining ten pounds in the upcoming months, than the guile will have to come down.

Shellie's Proverb: A person that can never see the big picture is near sighted.

I can't believe we're at the five month mark! I can't. Time is traveling at the speed of light. My stomach is it's own entity, refusing to slow the pace down just a bit. Surreal. Just four more months to go and wham! New chapter of diapers, lack of sleep, postpartum depression, stretch marks, breast feeding, and possible hemorrhoids and private part cosmetic issues. Nonetheless, we'll have a Kitchstar!

As we prepared for work this morning hugs, kisses, and a wagging marshmallow fluff of a dog jumped around the bed. All of this was a blatant reminder that we have it good and it was all about to morph. Extinct. There will be an Kitchen addition with a never-ending need to want. A beautiful addition nonetheless, and that's the reality. I don't mind the tragic change, but I savored that moment just as well, "Do you know that we'll be sleep deprived and grumpy four months from now?" I gestured to Shane as I slipped my suit jacket on, "It's simple. Kissing. Hugging, playing with Chloe. It'll all be different." Shane shrugged, "It'll be different, but it will be better."

I admired his spunk. I relished his outlook. As I am one hundred percent of a realist, he neutralizes my outlook. As long as we are prepared for the quake of happenings that Kitchstar will bring, than we'll be okay.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper that doesn't swim should never cross the path of the water.

Grrrrrin and Bear it

It's been a difficult night. My hormone monster has reared it's wretched head and is causing all sorts of havoc in this peaceful home. In the middle of our discussion of our holiday party, I blew up like Mt. Vesuvius when Shane's definition of semi-formal was jeans and a nice shirt. I quickly developed two new personalities: Psycho and Crazy Killah. To add salt to wound, his reoccuring is really getting on my nerves. The fact that he can never recall our previous discussions has become a point of contention. I mean one day he likes George Michael and the next he's appalled by the mere mention of the man behind the Jitterbug. These ridiculous conversations develop into an exclusive explosion. He, like the true husband, ignores me by watching the basketball game. As my anger brews and manifests, he washes me out.

His definition of semi-formal churned in my head like cement setting in. I recalled our conversation weeks ago. It was his idea! It was him that thought it would be a great idea to give a reason for friends and family to dress up. Not mine. I know it sounds like a woman was behind the idea such as Lady Macbeth, but not me. My thoughts began to turn dark, "My god, he doesn't listen to me! Why am I here? This marriage sucks! He sucks! Marriage sucks. I can't believe it." I cried. I got angry. I wept. My anger steeped into furious. I sobbed. I pictured biting his head clear off, blood squirting from his neck. It was all the normal estrogen filled manic thoughts that was the prelude to a magma molten melt down.

Shellie's Proverb: A man that marries a woman that nags is a fool.

As he slept in bed, I went out for a drive trying to save Shane from my wrath. A walk would've been beneficial, but the chill was unfriendly. I had the music blaring as it always does me good. I attempted to put my hormones to rest. There was no reason to expose Shane to my madness. It was not fair to him. I knew I was being irrational. I was aware of my explosion. I just needed to be. Was I being utterly ridiculous? Have I gone past ridiculous? I just want to be heard. How could a symphony of anger be orchestrated by one absolute semi-formal note?

Gladly, there's always a new morning to envelope me into a new day. A clean slate. A fresh start. I held no grudges. The depression was still there, but I needed to let it go. Let it all go. My disagreement wasn't important. My happiness was important. My husband was important. I know you fellow preggers and naturally premenstrual females can't feel me on this one. It is difficult to practice self control. It's so easy to fly off the handle like a witch on a broom on Hollows eve, but I did it. As I know of legendary excuses due to pregnancy, I was not going to use my hormones as a cop out. I was not going to be that person, that screams and throws tantrums just to get their way. I am not a bitch. I mean, I am, but I choose my battles and this was not worth whetting my sword. The morning greeted me with a beautiful sunrise. In the sunrise, I discovered that there was room for forgiveness and understanding in my heart, because Shane is who he is and that is why I love him.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must understand that the art of battle is gauging conflict.

Dudes of Hazard

As the holiday festivities ensue, so the cupeth overfloweth. As of last Thursday, Shane has been on a mild bender mixed with his buds and beers. Bait, hook, and sinker. My fellow has been consuming alcohol like a mad fish. It's been comedy.

Although on a dark day Sunday, the day of the 49ers and Packers game, was the venom of all fangs. He left the house approximately nine thirty in the am dressed for an ice fishing expedition. His gaggle of buds met at Blooms as they had a bus scheduled to take them to Candlestick Park to begin their tail gating fiesta. Did I forget to mention there were still exuding vapors from the Christmas party from the night before? There's something about a pack of dudes that just scares the white cells out of me. Nonetheless, a pack of Packer fans or any football fan makes me want to crawl underneath my bed.

Breakfast at Zazies, house chores, Christmas shopping, wrapping Christmas gifts, grocery shopping, and a home made lasagna later, my husband was as absent as a blonde on a full moon. Typical. Needless to say, the Packers won and so the tirade of drinking commenced into the evening. Damn them boys! Men are always boys when around other males, slapping each others butts, farting, and drinking till they puke. Typically normal, yet strange.

It was time for me to place that "get your ass home now" phone call. As I viewed my beautiful culinary art work of a lasagna cooling on the counter, there was no hesitation whatsoever.

"What are you doing? It's almost eight o'clock. Get your ass home now." I did not permit any room for response.
"Hi Hon!" He excitedly blurted.
"Listen, I don't care what your doing, but you need to get your ass home, it's almost eight."
"Alright, I was waiting to catch a ride to the house."
"Where are you?"
"At Blooms."
"Huh, okay you get your lazy ass up those two blocks, you little turd! Now."
I could not believe the audacity of this monkey. It was Sunday night. Any other night was fine, but on a Sunday! Apparently, a delay to Shane's arrival was due to a friend's mishap, the accident will proceed as unrecorded. Honestly, after boys’ night out, golf tournament, dueling Christmas parties, and flippin’ Packer day, all I sought was to unwind with him on Sunday night. It was ritual.
Shellie’s Proverb: A donkey that pulls the cart with no driver drives like a jackass.
Even in my free spirit ways, I have my limits. It's called a harness. Let him know who is boss. I mean, everyone knows he wears the pants in this marriage, the pant-ies that is. Surely, I jest. What can I say, except that it all comes down to the fact that I missed him. I did. What bites is when these boys gather for their monkey convention, it’s all or nothing. It's chaos and injury all wrapped in a sweaty jock strap of male bonding. Ah, the criminy. All in all, my life could be worse and in the end life is beautiful.

Lesson: A whip smart Grasshopper must always look on the bright side of the conflict.

Reindeer Games

As the billowing of my belly increases, so the social aspect of my life begins to dawdle. How I got here, I can simply assess. Could it be the marathon of naps that left friends drowning in my drool? Could it be my vim less disposition? Perhaps, it is the abstinence from alcohol, without alcohol my alter ego subsides in the death valley of my boredom.

Today, I woke with an urge to mingle with the outside world. I sat upright in bed. It's been awhile, since I've had a girls dinner. I know. I know that the world does not spin on my axis. Although Angela was stopping by anyway, as her website needed tweaking, so why not lasso a few other women into the picture. My need to bond with my gals was like threading a needle blind. I know, as water equals urine, that most my chicas calendars were booked.

Shellie's Proverb: An ostrich that buries it's head in the sand is only ostracizing oneself.

I've always marveled at the camaraderie between mothers versus singletons. I was never convinced until now. It is so intresting when moms feel the need to join the other army of mothers, clucking about their experiences with their children and the new dog tricks they can do. Certainly, there are a few that have the luxury to graze on lavishly green pastures of cocktails and dancing. I would like to be included in that percentile, but one never knows. Surely, there is a middle. I guess it all comes down to one's interest. Who wants to listen to some whiny endless woes of a pregnant woman? Not me! I could switch it up to the adaptation on sex while pregnant. Now, there's a subject that's always captivating.

In any words, the storm is calm as I'm in the prime of my pregnancy and it's astonishing to see my environment transform before me. Not on purpose. Nonetheless, changes occurred. I admit making remarks like, "I'm pregnant, I can't go out drinking." or "I can't go dancing, I'm pregnant." It's comments like these that has set my precedence. Ugh, why can't a pregnant woman hang out with her friends on girls' night out? Duh, on a pogo stick! What is my damage? I guess my nesting moments heavily overshadowed the social aspect of my life. Mostly, watching a movie and cuddling with my nice cashmere throw seemed riveting at the time. Now that I'm temporarily over my nesting, so my social life is an empty parking lot. Ironic.

Please don't feel sorry for me Argenta. All is not awry. So I've missed a night of bowling, Mos Def at the Mezzanine, a couple girls night out. It's not the end of the world. All could turn on a dime like switching back to nesting mode. God forbid. God, please forbid. Smile. I must find my happy medium. On a happier note, my husband is having a great time. I can revel in his delight. It's so beautiful to see him tickled with life.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must find time to play to achieve the fortune in the cookie that is life.

Fa la la la la la la la la

I absolutely adore the holiday season! Mistletoe, wreaths, Christmas cookies, noble fir, tree decorating, Christmas music and caroling, holiday parties, special moments with friends and family. In lonely years past, Christmas was more of a forlornness. An emptiness in my gut that I was certain could never be filled. Certainly, I had family and friends, but it was still vacuous. A wintry moment of my existence, until my Shane enters stage right.

I thought this year we'd punctually receive the holiday season. It was the first weekend of December and we're up at seven thirty am. Well, I was up at seven o'clock, but that doesn't count, because I'm just one hundred percent strange. We quickly scarfed a bowl of cereal and we made haste to Home Depot to purchase our Christmas tree. Home Depot you ask? Yes, Home Depot, you minions. Why pay startling prices for trees that are just as beautiful for a price that doesn't give you irritable bowel syndrome. As we rolled into the parking lot, it seemed many others had the same genius idea as we did. The wrath of impatience rumbled the honking of horns as experienced oblivious car drivers, Asians, drove with such cluelessness. Shane, who usually possesses the patience of a tortoise, began to squib such harsh words towards the preceding driver. I, on the other hand, was filled with the holiday spirit, scolded him to embrace the holiday kindness. He would not have any of my holiday blurb. The curse of scrooge had taken over my sweet husband of mine.

Shellie's Proverb: An ox that pulls a heavy cart always gets a good nights sleep.

Shane had derived some deviant plan to get us in and out quickly, "Now remember quickly head towards the nobles, grab the one we want and head for the cashier line. Make it quick honey don't get distracted. We're going to bypass all those suckers who are getting the bottoms of the trees trimmed." Shane was proud that he had a chainsaw in our garage, therefore saving us the headache of the suckers who didn't have one at home. There in the far right aisle of all the madness stood this majestic nine feet whopper all by it's lonesome. That was it. That was the one. That was our baby. I made way to it's green magnetism luring me into it's sweet song. "Honey, that is way too big for our living room! There would be no room for the star." Shane shook me out of my daze and walked right past it towards the seven to eight feet firs. The smell of Christmas trees was nostalgic. It's magical. It's enlightening. Shane grabbed a tree that was wound up with string, "This is the one." His hands steady and sure. I, on the other hand, did not have the foresight for something wrapped tight. We cut the string in MacGyver fashion with our car keys. There it stood perfect full from bottom to top. I smiled and nodded my head, "Now your going to have to steer me in the right direction, because I can't see anything." He placed the vast monster on his shoulders. Personally, I don't like being responsible for another's sight or direction. Basically, I prefer not to be accountable, if possible.

"When's junior due?" The cashier inquired with his gray crow bar moustache.
"May 9th." I smiled, but I deliberately worn a large baby doll blouse to conceal Kitchstar from the world. No such luck.
"Boy or girl?" He stared at Shane and me.
"We're going old school sir, we're not finding out." I was proud to reveal that some people still believe in Santa Clause.
"Well, that's the way it ought to be. Good luck to little junior and have a happy holiday." The gentle moustache friend wished us adieu.

We walked towards the truck as the nostalgic fragrance of yesterday faded the closer we got to our truck. My heart oozed warmth as we embraced the holidays in an early fashion. For the first time, Kitchstar was evident and I could care less about my bloated condition. This was a very memorable holiday season. I'm about to embark on a life time adventure with Shane and Kitchstar. That is what holidays are all about. Family.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must remember that pork dumpling do not grow on trees.

No!!!!

I am trying my best not to convert to the week system as I am more of a month person myself, "I'm 4.5 months!" I mean if a friend asks, why get technical? It's so frustrating for someone outside of the pregnant world to convert weeks into months. As I understand the theory behind the "week" system, I would rather be polite to friends and family and bust out, "I'm 4.5 months pregnant! Rather than I'm 17 weeks, 2 days and 1,100 seconds and counting." Nerd alert!

Three significant hormonal breakdowns later, and I'm halfway through my pregnancy. I can't believe it! I'm definitely starting to show now and so the jig is up. I'm still rocking my low waisted jeans. As you can see, I'm still in denial. Just a wee bit. I haven't really gained any weight. According to my last doctor's appointment, I gained one pound since my last appointment. I've gained five pounds all together. Mom's concerned with my lack of appetite. My cravings have gone dormant and I'm back to my usual appetite. Wullaby yogurt and seasonal fruits in the morning, one slice of flax seed bread topped with organic peanut butter and blueberry jam, a healthy portion of salad and protein for lunch, cottage cheese w/honey and fruits for snack, and protein and vegetables for dinner. I apologize for providing my diet intake. I mean really should I indulge in my bathroom time as well? Good god!

Shellie's Proverb: A dog that runs with the pack cannot think for himself.

This morning, there's been a slight pain in my lower abdomen. Madam Uterus is pulling a fast one on me. Kitchstar is making it's way from the south side into the deluxe abdomen in the sky. A rare occurrence of pulling and pinching originating from my abdomen region. Not very comfortable. In medical term, the uterus is moving upwards. In order for that to happen, cramping is a must. As I awoke to the pinching, I assumed that it was normal. Growing pains, if you will. Until I'm curled up on the dusty floor begging and foaming at the mouth mercifully and squeamishly begging for my mommy, this cookie will not crumble.

Besides my ever-changing body, there has been another irritant. Thongs. As I have always found them absently comfortable, suddenly it's like paper cut! Well, surely I exaggerate a little, but seriously, it's like a razor running from vertically. Please lord don't make me switch to granny panties. That really bites. I must do a little investigation to see if some little ditty has come up with an innovative underwear for preggers that is still tasteful without thinking grandma. Not that there's anything wrong with full undies, I just loathe panty lines like lint in navel. Otherwise, life is still a garden of flowers.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must select the path that is long and difficult to relish simplicity.

Remember to be Thankful

I was nine in the winter of 1979, as Martial Law was in full flux. We rode on the back of a jeep on a dark dirt road on our way to Dad's home town. We brought over six large boxes, three which had gone missing at the airport, filled with endless supply of Tang, an array of candy, bottles of Sanka instant coffee, toilet paper, second hand clothes, shoes, and books. We made our trek from Hawaii to the province of Ilocos Norte in the Philippines to visit relatives.

As my parents found it important that we made a connection with our ethnicity, Dad wanted to make sure we met our Lola, grandmother, before she passed. Lola was in her eighties and slept in a cot in the kitchen. As much as I wanted to hug her and lay my head in her lap, her head was infested with lice. I was told it was normal. In the kitchen to the right a 20 x 20 concrete slab that stemmed water pump to bathe. To the left, sat a wood burning stove also used to generate hot water for the shower. The kitchen door opened to a jungle of a backyard that housed a deep hole in the ground that was the bathroom. Besides swatting the squad of flies as I squat, the fear of falling into the stench hole was a death defying fear. Nonetheless, the likeliness of venomous snakes taking a snip out of my bare bottom while going to the bathroom was 90/10. A half a mile down a river ran infested with crocodiles and pythons. That was usually where the laundry was done.

The relatives were ecstatic to finally meet their American relatives. We were treated like royalty. Cousins ceaselessly hugged and communicated with us, “Do you know Billy Joel? Do you have a television? A color one? Toilet? Do you have a toilet!” As Mom provided the gaggle of cousins with candy, clothing, and shoes, their eyes sparkled like Christmas morning. We were showered with further hugs and laughter. Dad along with uncles sat on the porch playing the accordion, acoustic guitar, saxophone. They created music that sounded like home.

Shellie's Proverb: A mouse that chases the cat is not using his head.

Every now and than when I feel like the world has dealt me a joker card, I think about that month long trip in the Philippines. The trip that opened my eyes to hard ships. A second in my existence, where Christmas was midnight mass and tinupig, sweet rice and coconut wrapped in banana leaves. A minute in my life, when we rang in New Year by dragging empty cans on the dirt road and dropping cherry bombs down the center of a hollow bamboo. A month in my life, when my cousins were content playing in the jungle, taunting the water buffalos, or swimming in the river. A memory when my uncles found enjoyment and laughter in their music and in each other. A thought when my aunt's were pleased to provide food on the table. This is an experience that will never be forgotten.

Being thankful should never be one day a year, but a way of thinking. I do my best to never take electricity, running water, plumbing, and health for granted. How my dad, who made a hundred fifty a week, managed to finance this trip along with supporting a family of ten, I will never know. I am truly grateful to my parents for opening my eyes to the world outside of our home. Because with out that enlightment, I would not have a scope on appreciation.

Lesson: A hungry grasshopper must use his chopsticks to find his way to the bottom of the bowl.

Gender Love

I've made it to 16 weeks! That's four months in human terms. Thriller! So far, so good! Knock on wood. According to the books, Kitchstar should be about the size of an avocado, 4.5 inches to be exact! In the next three weeks, Kitchstar should go through a tremendous growth spurt, doubling weight and adding inches to length. A possible kick is even possible at this point. Shane and I are totally enthralled! Every Sunday night before bed, we grab our week by week book and read up on the kid's weekly progress. I get all warm and fuzzy when Shane takes interest. It's the first time. He can't tell you who Donald Rumsfeld is, but he can tell you that unpasteurized cheese causes listeriosis.

Tomorrow, we're scheduled to see Dr. Sue McDonald. Unfortunately, Shane may not be able to attend as he may be stuck on a job. Nonetheless, the show must go on. At this point, the ultrasound will be able to indicate the gender. To add excitement to surprise, we will not be finding out the gender. We're going old school yo. We're living on the edge. We're just praying for a healthy Kitchstar. Otherwise, we look forward to the big surprise! There's something about not knowing that will make the arrival of Kitchstar even more captivating. So get your bets on boys, the pool is on!

Shellie's Proverb: A dish without salt is bland.

Thus far, my pregnancy has been smooth. Knock, knock on wood. Not one visit to the porcelain queen. Girls, I swear by ginger root. If any of your are suffering from mild or heavy morning sickness, simply steep ginger root in hot water and I promise there's hope. My weight gain is only in my belly. My food cravings are dormant. I'm keeping active with swimming and prenatal yoga. Over and out this is the Kitchens bidding you tata for now.

Lesson: A Grasshopper must practice the art of appreciation to become master of his own temple.

The truth is always a surprise!

Disclaimer: No fur-bearing animals were harmed during the creation of this entry. Allergy alert: may contain cinnamon, but I doubt it. Return for refund where applicable. Not recommended for persons with sugar-restricted diets. Batteries are included -- good luck finding them. May cause irritability, frightmares or warts after prolonged use. Contents under pressure. BHT added to preserve freshness. Caution: this product has caused some laboratory rats to tear through their cages, fly across the room and brutally murder hundreds of innocent people. Shake well before using. No vacuum tubes or other user-serviceable parts inside. Not to be combined with other radioisotopes except under the advice of a physician. Avoid prolonged exposure to ultraviolet light. The truth is out there. Use no zippers. Not intended for use by children or liberals under the age of five. Printed on unrecycled dead trees and we're proud of it.

I cannot preface the abundant surprises that I incur everyday. It's truly amazing. A miracle. Am I ridding myself of this larvae existence and finally getting my medal to butterfly? I am privileged to experience such an opportunity to morph.

I'm sure you've come to your wits end listening about how my stomach is growing, but it's stretching at epic proportions! It's like a huge solid growing ball. Kitchstar hasn't started doing the Irish jig in my belly, yet there has been moments of minimal cramping like a quick pinching jolt. Is it normal? It makes sense, the body is accommodating growth spurts by stretching and pulling. Furthermore, an occasional sneeze sometimes sends additional pain in the core of my belly! Pregnancy and painless? Gimme a break sister. Note to self, please inquire with Dr. Sue McDonald as to the normality of this cramping.

Headaches. Apparently, it's common during the first trimester, but hello I'm in my second. Personally, I could do without the torture. Headaches? I get them once a year. Lately, they're as common as fruit flys in the summer. I don't understand, I've been indulging in many glasses of water a day. I eat well. I receive ample rest. I'm finally regular, but I won't mention the personality of my stool samples which are completely miraculous themselves. I must make an appointment with my Chinese acupuncturist. I adore eastern medicine it is utterly amazing. The evidence is clear, just look at the average life span of a Chinese person.

Shellie's Proverb: A plant with no fruit is unbearable.
Got leakage? Exactly. It's disgusting! My faucet downstairs drip, drips, drippin'. Normal? Honestly, it's like my urine seal is dysfunctional. Oddly enough, it's not urine. It's stuff of milky consistency. Blah, yuck, eek! Oh, the horror! Today, I walked from my office to the bathroom and every alternate stride a squirt of liquid gave way. I was befuddled! Has my bladder gone weak? What the phuu? As I sat in the bathroom stall, slacks off and panties down, urine was not my culprit, it was milky. No, it wasn't an infection that consisted of feta cheese or any dairy curd of the sort, it was white liquid. Note to self, please mention the daily discharge to Dr. Sue McDonald.

Furthermore, bosoms, boobs, whiffle balls, in the scientific term, breasts are lawless. How do women do it? I went from flat to fluff riding on the rails that it could be frisky. Nay, this pair is weighty and nipples are pout it could blind Helen Keller. One word, cumbersome. Jesus lord of bras, show me the way? I hear you naggy women rolling your eyes in the background, "Sheeyat, have fun with them? Dress'em up!" I do dress up except directly south there's a heap of rising belly that's as discreet as the great wall of China.

I have come to accept that every woman is different, yet I know I am not alone. Isolated incident? Not by the hair of my chiny chin chin. What the future has up it's mischievous sleeve is just a sunrise away. Thus far, I am very fortunate to be experiencing a healthy pregnancy. My heart goes out to those women who haven't had such luck. For those of you who have romanticized pregnancy, I used to be that way too until surprises began to sprout like warts on a witches nose. If they are any other women who can vouch for my transition, "holluh!" Indeed, pregnancy is a miracle and I look forward to embracing every swelling inch of it.

Lesson: A Grasshopper that doesn't remain on his toes will never be surprised.

Harmony

As my wardrobe begin to cease blood circulation, I decided it was time. Purge. Sniffle. It was my time to face the music. Sob. I began to remove the items that were inappropriate for my pregnancy. I began to slide my goal items i.e. mid riff and relinquishing my early twenties into the past. This was healthy for me. It was my last farewell to my foolery. It was time to fess up and act my age. Now, grow the hell up.

I folded my clothing that delusionally kept me hanging on. "Change is always good," I remind myself trying to maintain a positive attitude. As my belly hasn't popped outward, the buttons and zippers on my pants are telling me different. As I neatly fold my clothing, I wonder to myself if I'll ever fit into my designer jeans again. I am slightly ill with the idea that maybe that setting sun shall never set. I'm scared. The sight of stretch marks. The future of saggy boobs. As DJ Hughley, Kings of Comedy, once said, "Women they're always worried about their bodies. They're nails. Shit! Stretch marks, soppy titties, bad nails never stopped a man from wanting to have sex with a woman." In those words, I find motivation and inspiration. Regardless, Shane is stuck with my stretch marks and soppy titties till death do us part. Chuckle.

On the brighter side of the moon, most of my friends that are moms have dropped significant weight when nursing and have maintained to keep it off. Maxine, Meaghan and Zaachila look phenomenal! Can I be so fortunate! There's a little faith that I can keep in my pocket. Regardless, I have to remind myself to expect nothing. Subsequent to giving birth, will I be concerned with weight? Will I be so preoccupied with the infant that I would take on the persona of a slob? Are my concerns simply superficial? Is my need to self preserve just short for selfish? I just don't find a reason to let myself go, if I don't have to. Sometimes fate just has it in for you from the start.

Shellie's Proverb: A slug with no motivation wouldn't get it anywhere.
One refrigerator box load of clothes and an hour later, my closet and my two dressers were cohesive. Uncluttered. Neat. Although to any other person it would remain to be seen as just a hunk of clothes. Shrug, I can't help it, I'm a sucker to fashion. As my Virgo reared it's organized brain from under the shrubbery, I psychotically began to take on the tidal project of the living room. Our living room and dining room that sheltered our clutter of knick knacks, artwork, guitar, paper work. How it got to this point all falls on me. Since we were moving out soon, it would be productive to get the packing party started. I couldn't see past the medley of junk that orchestrated this madness. I was riding hard on my Zen wave. Needless to say Shane was pleased to see my motivation in cleanliness as a rarity. Myriads of piles heaped up in the middle of the room consisting of donations, trash, filing, and photos. This was a video camera moment, as I am not a typical Virgo, this was my eclipse.

Later that night, we sat on our couch admiring the simplicity. The absence of the rubbish really brought sparkle to our home. The candles brought a blanket of warmth to our surrounding. It was cozy. In the grand scheme of things, I was making room for the baby mentally and physically. "Do you think we can keep it like this?" Shane inquired. "I don't know," I chuckled, "but we can always try." For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of fulfillment. A well rounded sense of accomplishment overwhelmed my soul.

Lesson: A Grasshopper must always give in to the way of the wind to live in harmony.

Cheese

Alien abduction or the Attack of the Body Snatchers, choose your sword. Pregnancy has the tendencies of being uncontrollable and unforeseeable. Just when I thought it was safe in the world of Shellie, my gums gave way to blood from a gentle morning brush. Seriously, it was like I was gargling blood. Heck, could it be all the sugar babies I was popping like pills? I quit smoking three years ago, yet I could be paying for it now? Could it be that I avoid the dentist like church on Sundays? Not too keen, I know. My concern for the well being of my gums was now code red. If I lost my teeth before forty, simply because I procrastinate, will be with the understanding that it was deserved. Thankfully, I have a dentist appointment tomorrow.

According to pregnancy facts, about fifty percent of pregnant women's gums bleed from flossing and brushing due to higher progesterone levels, which make gums react more to the bacteria in plaque, in addition to, the increased blood supply to my mouth. If not cared for it could develop into periodontitis, a more serious form of gum disease in which the infection goes beyond your gums into the bone and other tissue that support teeth. Some studies have even found that pregnant women with these conditions are significantly more likely to go into labor prematurely. Other research has shown an associate between chronic gum disease and preeclampsia, a serious pregnancy complication marked by high blood pressure and protein in the urine. I must brush after every meal to prevent this.

Shellie's Proverb: A man with no teeth is careless, although a donkey with beautiful teeth is still a jackass.
As I’ve scratched my butt with my dental benefits, my teeth and gums suffer the procrastination blow. Robert Fuji, forte teeth, worked hard for his dollar. He scraped the mortar off my teeth until his arm fell off. Poor guy! Frankly, Mr. Fuji was sweating his sack off. My teeth will fullfill his nightmares full of squirms and screams. He'll wish he's never met me. As his weariness settled in and his hands shook from much scraping, he concurred that gum vulnerability is common in pregnancies. Between gums, hormones, weight gain, appetite swings, frequent urination, irregularity the only good thing going is my voluptuous bosoms that weigh like two mini pot belly pigs.

To think that mom went through it ten times. What a machine! My hero! To think that women all over the world squirt these suckers out, is miraculous! Thus far it’s been fourteen weeks and I feel that my quibbling have been perpetual. I try to keep my complaints to a pittance, but where would the condition of this blog be? I need to revel in the joy of this special Kitchstar. How about a limbo party at a midget convention! I need to cease my clucking! Seriously, is everyone in agreement? I don’t enjoy listening to my clamor so why should anyone else? I need to hold a blithe outlook and soak in the bliss of our great fruition. Optimism. Giggle. So here’s to brushing, flossing, and to a healthy and sublime pregnancy!

Lesson: A stable Grasshopper must always take a bite of the meatier section of the pork bun.

Nesting

For those of you who are able to nest, consider yourselves lucky. I, on the other hand, live in limbo land. I live in a land of delays, permits, construction, and spontaneity. I live in a chaotic world that is ever changing and evolving. As we anticipate for the permits to go through, which may arrive at any moment, we will be forced to seek shelter in another home. Seeking shelter is not a problem as our resources are plenty. It’s adapting to another environment that reeks.

This pregnant woman is mourning the one important aspect of having a child. That is the nesting period. I believe that I am secretly and silently freaking out, but mums the word. I mean I should be relaxing and taking it easy, but in the back of my mind the rumbling of the storm is brewing. The thought of moving into another home and turning that into a cozy household only to move one last time into the house that we were previously in is really menacing.

Shellie’s Proverb: A zebra with no stripes is just a horse.
I should look on the bright side. A year from now, we’ll be in a beautiful home that we’ll never have to depart, but I live in the moment. The forecast for the next six months should be positive, but all I can feel is anxiety. Is this good for the pregnancy? Is it good for me? I have put off looking at baby essentials to avoid the packing and moving nonsense never mind looking into a nursery. There are worse things in the world like soldiers dying in Iraq for an invalid purpose that is unknown to me, but come on.

Shane’s positive with the future. Sometimes I would even say clueless from my perspective. It’s different now. It’s different, because we have a potential baby that will throw a wrench into the spokes. I believe he’s doing his best to provide a home for us and I honestly appreciate his efforts, although I cringe at the idea.

I am trying my best to make my first pregnancy a memorable event, but it’s really hard knowing we’re going to be nomads. Is it selfish? Is it normal? I never had a nursery when I was born so what’s the big ordeal? Am I being absolutely yuppie? I chose this life from the beginning. That's right, I’m not walking into a brick wall knowing that I did not have a thing or two to do with piling the bricks. Buying houses just to flip it was convenient for the bank account, but is now fluent to my insanity. Sob.

Lesson: An organized Grasshopper can never predict fate.

Sew What!

As my belly begins to rise like a round piece of dough so my wardrobe becomes hideously limited. I’ve been fighting the world of elastic waistband, empire cut blouses, and baby doll dresses. Instead, I’ve been coercing my waistline to squeeze into my usuals. Does the term, “Snap into a Slim Jim,” come to mind? I’ve dabbled into the maternity clothing galaxy, and I’m appalled by the cost and the production. Designers are making a whopping kill on such drab outfits. Well except for the Gap, because they have such adorable shrugs and chunky sweaters. Although Paper Denim, Habituals, Diane Von Furstenberg have all jumped on the band wagon. It’s incredibly horrible.

Some people knit while others crochet, but I prefer the art of sewing. Last week, I stopped by the fabric store to select some really fabulous material. I will proceed to sew my maternity clothes while my short legs can still reach the pedal. Why not? I enjoy sewing and I’ve been doing it since the seventh grade. If you observe very carefully, most maternity clothing entail elastic and empire waistline. So it won’t be too long before my wardrobe will expand to match my waistline.

Shellie’s Proverb: A flower with no petals is just a bud.
Purely, I am not vain, yet I like to be polished? Not a crime. This body is blowing up like a hot air balloon and I refuse to look like a galoot when it happens. I’m okay with my portliness, but is it a felony to be stylish? Why should I give in to stretchy polyester blends or gabardines? Therefore, I will remain true to myself. I will not give into the dark forces of drab stretch cotton and velour scoop neck blouses.

Instead of decompressing in front of the television, I can do both! I can simultaneously be lazy and productive, the perfect antithesis. Designer I’m not, seamstress I’m barely. I have an empty closet to fill, regardless, these clothes are not a one time showing. The Kitchens are procreating for humanity.

Lesson: Smart grasshopper must learn to make rice before he can eat it.

Shriek!

The second trimester has been enchanting! Hallelujah, there is sunshine outside of this viperous black hole. I am a spry spring chicken! On Saturday, I took Chloe for a hike at Fort Funston. All this energy has me feeling like I could sprint to the top of Mount Everest. Well, you catch my drift. A month ago, this slug couldn't make it off the couch. I am making it a point to get my cardio and free weights on. Yes, I am enrolling in prenatal yoga, but there's something about yoga that bores me to timbers. Certainly, I understand the circumference of benefits that yoga provides, but the whole breathing, stretching, and meditating is so deathly monotonous. Please don't get me wrong, besides the fact that I am as limber as concrete , I used to be yoga obsessed that was until I discovered boxing. I'm just in bliss with my butt not imprisoned to the couch.

Shellie's Proverb: Never trust a tortoise that doesn't come out of his shell.

My food cravings have dwindled and I'm back to par. Well, I did give into a sausage mcmuffin on Sunday, my husband nursed a slight hangover, but that didn't stop me from noshing on two hash browns. So besides that stumble, I'm back on the organic and cage free kick. Eating healthy is crucial. Considering that I live in San Francisco, makes it easier for me to enforce the organic and free range code. Are you kidding? It's all the rage in this city from the neighborhood store to the restaurants. I'm just glad that I don't live in the South or Midwest where I would be subject to trans fat, high caloric and portions the size of an elephants caboose. (Please insert sense of humor here.)

I am thrilled to disco that I can make it through meals without doing a face plant into my meal. I am joyous to know that I can fulfill my chores and errands without forfeit. I am enraptured by the change in the weather. As I have been threatened by the forecast of the third semester in which my narcolepsy relapse may occur. For the next two and half months, I will bask in the rays of my second trimester sunshine. Happy days are here again!

Lesson: A young Grasshopper must always go off the path to discover direction to Shaolin.

Top Dawg

A few concerns have arisen regarding the almighty Kitchen household. Is the honeymoon over? Are the walls crumbling? Has it gone awry? Keep your jock straps on sister Mary(s), surely everything is fine. My hormone faucets ruptured, it happens. Shane is safe and so am I. We are all cool like pickled cucumbers. It's just sometimes I tend to magnify my rantings a thousand fold. My confessions are a merely a heavy exertion on events. Certainly, without disagreements, improvements would cease to exist. Don't worry loyal Shane fans he has come out unscathed. He is well aware of my entries, considering that he contributes to my daily dallies.

Shellie's Proverb: A country with no rice always goes hungry.

Perhaps, he is freaking out about the baby, as he should. As the male species can never put the trigger on their emotions, my husband proceeds to increase his extra curriculars. That's normal too and it's all malleable. I'll take that over a wife beater any day. I've been with musicians, gamers, and techies and that my friend is mental abuse. Regardless, I don't blame my bout with hormones exclusively. In the past years, I've learned to tame that wild animal we women refer to as PMS, although this spontaneous hormonal flux is a tasmanian terror.

We're doing a great job thus far. It's been a little choppy, but nothing that we can't hack. So you loyal members of Shane's fan club can take a big whiff of your jock straps, because it's all going to be alright. He's still on for the annual Golf Tournament in Scottsdale. I am forcing his attendance to Carr's wedding in Texas. We have an understanding with snowboarding. A don't ask and don't tell policy. The Kitchen dome is in tact. Shrill.

Lesson: Grasshopper must suffer most terribly to achieve enlightness.

Boo!

In previous years, Halloween has been my Christmas and Thanksgiving all rolled up into a jelly roll. Is it the power of disguise that I find thrilling? Is it because I could be anyone without seeming absolutely schizophrenic? Whatever my attraction is to Halloween, this year it's all fizzle. I do believe I suffered a Halloween overdose last year and I am still recovering. I mean three costumes in three nights, my heart goes out to you, Elton John.

Shellie's Proverb: One cannot slurp soup with fork.

Angela, Jill, Greg, Vanessa, and Minitti showed up for a pre party prior to Jeeun's birthday part on Friday night! I wasn't jonesing, but a shot of tequila shot would have hit the g spot. Okay maybe I was. Instead I opted for pineapple juice on the rocks. Make that a triple! Furthermore, I hogged the fruit platter. Yes, that's me the hungry pregnant woman sitting amongst my drunk karaoke fiends. Shane and Minitti dressed as geeks as usual they got into character and very well I might add, and took over the dance floor. Considering my love bun in my belly, my costume alternatives were slim. That night, I played photographer and took photos that could possibly fall in the black mail category. I must add that this Halloween has been the tamest in the past years.

Since alcohol has no place in my system, this year I'm passing out candy and cozying up to an American Haunting with Shane and Chloe. Considering that we live in Potrero Hill, I have a feeling we'll be bombarded with kids, hence movie watching maybe difficult. It's a change and I don't mind it. I don't mind the brakes, it's been a hectic life and the slow lane sounds really good for a woman in a wheelchair. I kid. Who says you have to be at a costume party to let your fangs out? It's Halloween!

Lesson: A versatile Grasshopper must be willing to cross bamboo over rushing water to master the ways of the master.

Hurdle

I kissed Shane goodbye as he made way to the bar to meet his boys for a couple of afternoon brews. I gently reminded him that we had a dinner date with two expensive free range pork chops so don't be late. Two chick flicks later and that disappointing ball of spike sunk it's sharp dagger deep in the pit of my stomach. "Is it shrug off worthy?" I thought to myself, "Was I making a rash out of an itch?" Funny, I didn't feel crazy.

I loathe being the female that places the disgruntled call, I'm not a spoiler. What is he like ten years old? He should know better. It wasn't my place to call him to remind him of our dinner date. As there's one thing that I have learned and that is there's no sense in communicating with the drunk. None. Zip. Nada. I have a better chance of communicating with my dead relatives. Besides, he won't remember the discussion tomorrow and my time is too important to waste on an incoherent baboon. I'll save my shrieking for tomorrow morning when his hang over is drilling a hole in his head. Despite the fact that my night was tarnished, it didn't give me a reason to ruin others. Regardless, if I calculate correctly, four hours of drinking doesn't sound like a good concoction for a beautiful meal. If I know my husband, he'll be stumbling through that door and slurring like his tongue was on a mechanical bull ride.

Shellie's Proverb: Only pet a dog when it's tail is wagging.
I took advantage of the silence and attempted to catch another chick flick on cable. I cozied up with a warm bowl of soup and called it a night. At this point, I was more disappointed than furious, but furious nonetheless. As predicted, he dawdled in like the rooster that ruled the roost, "Whuhre's deechnner?" He smiled and slowly plopped on the chair, his head tilted back eyes closed and mouth gaped wide as the Great Plains. Shoveling a spoonful of hot sauce in his mouth seemed like a good idea. There he was my darling husband sloshed to the gills. I turned the video camera on and began my first film Shane Does Beer. I chuckled, as I tried to decipher his prattle. "Whut ur eew doing?" His head bobbled, "Yewr so meagn." His eyes rolled and than closed shut. "I'm not mean honey, I just wanted you to see how hilarious you are when your drunk." I bantered. "Um nawt dreeunk." He rebutted repeatedly until he blathered himself to silence. I grabbed Chloe and headed upstairs. Soon he would shuffle his way upstairs and accuse me of being cold and mean, because I didn't feel like cuddling and inhaling his breath that resembled a bar. Regardless, I ignored his absurd drunken bollix and prayed for sleep.

It's times like this that I wish I could drink. It's times like this that I prefer to be drunk. It's times like this that I wish I could shriek my frustration from the top of my heels. It's times like this that I learn positive restraint and patience. These experiences can be hurtful and vexing at times, but I know that it's not out of spite, stupidity perhaps, but not spite. It's not consuming alcohol that's difficult, it's having to adapt to an intoxicated husband that becomes intricate. As the world turns, there are other humans that are worse off such as these American foster children that are shafted by the Brangelinas of the world who opt to adopt children in far away countries.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must learn to tolerate the pain of walking barefoot.

Wow!

Mom, Dad, Shane and I sat in the doctor's office. This was Shane's first appointment for the Kitchster. The room sat mothers and mothers to be. The bright eyed mothers-to-be watched the newborns with sheer excitement. We all were at the edge of our seats knowing that we had one of those love buns in our oven too. There was a sort of camaraderie between all mothers-to-be and mothers. A community of silent understanding. I was too early along to join in the reindeer game.

I specifically chose The Women's Center's at St. Luke's as it has been highly recommended by friends that are midwives and doulas alike. It is considered the most innovative program in San Francisco. Specializing in natural births, water births and births in general. I am glad this hospital is at the top of the game, but I am seeking a healthy and pain free birth full of epidural. The word around town is that the other hospitals, especially CPMC, are infamous for unnecessary c-sections. I was not down with that.

Shellie's Proverb: A well with no bucket is just a hole in the ground

As Shane and I sat in the room, we overheard one of the doctor advising someone to not answer any of the patient's questions. Shane's like, "I thought you said this was a great hospital? Why can't she answer our questions? Talk about weird." We both started giggling. It seemed absurd to not have our questions answered. Apparently, it was the medical student's first day and so we really wouldn't want the text book responses. Her name was Julie, a medical student, with a soft spoken voice that quivered like leaves on a windy night. She walked us through the preliminary questions like how was the pregnancy going thus far.

Sue McDonald entered five minutes later and was humourous and informative. She got out the ultra sound contraption and reassured us that we wouldn't see anything so keep the party in our pockets. Suddenly, we saw the entire definition of the love bun. It's body alongwith spine, heartbeat, arms, hands, legs, feet wiggled and did flips in my belly. It was Shane's first time to observe such sweetness. We were over the moon! We were excited to see that all was good in the womb of the Kitchen.

Despite my high increase in fat distribution, my toiling bowel movements, my wicked appetite, my pregnancy is healthy. She stressed the importance of protein, vegetables, water and rest during this period of the pregnancy which does not prey as a problem. Although as I am no spring chicken, I will have to test my chromosome count. Cross my fingers. Otherwise, Mrs.. Kitchen and little Kitchster is doing swell! In the end, I'm just ecstatic that the people that I hold dear to my heart were there with me to experience the miracle in my heart.

Lesson: A Grasshopper that appreciates is one that will never be disappointed.

Run

As Shane is certain that his social life will remain the same after the infant is born. Surely, I do not jest. Sir Braggadacio strolls around the house with his chest puffed out like a pigeon. He seems to think that beer with the boys will remain unharmed. Currently, his weekends consist of sports, beers, cards, and buddies. I have gradually introduced him to the fact that things will alter. I'm totally cool about his arrogant claims, he's taking this preganancy better than expected. Yet, it's as obvious as veal at a vegetarian dinner that our lives will evolve, horrendously. In the delusional sector of his mind, he is convinced that he will continue his independent boy hood as I've gladly allowed him to. I smile, laugh, and shake hands with his fallacy, but little does he know what brews in my belly is a big ball of responsibility that I myself will not be able to handle alone.

Shellie's Proverb: A man that holds his dreams in his pocket is a super catch.
For now, I'll let him fly all the way to Pluto with the idea. Who am I to shadow his last six months of sunshine. Please do not take my husband's interpretation of birth as embarking on the jagged edge of gloom. He's just somewhat unrealistic. My Ken doll did not come with the forsight feature. He knows deep in the back of his mind what lies ahead and so carpe diem ala golf. Tim and Kurt, are witnesses to my statement that Shane will be able to golf whenever he wants via video. Shrug, I scream duress. I am constantly reminded that this video is my testament to relinquish him from the iron hand. So for now, I encourage him to get his maximum fill of golf and cerveza with the boys. That's the best a wife can do.

Cleo, the psychic I am not. I embrace the future and the fate that comes unraveling. I wish Shane the best of luck, but will lightening please strike some sense into him? I am hoping that he will gush with delight upon sight of his child, but sometimes men run straight out the door to the nearest bar for a couple shots and a cigar with his team of boys. I expect the latter to occur. Snicker.

One should not perceive a new addition to the family as doomed, but a call to arms for rejoicing and celebration! Change is beautiful. I look forward to it. Deep down inside I know Shane does too.

Lesson: A knowledgeable Grasshopper must remember that all actions can never be reversed.

Oink!

I have made it through the first three months by the skin of my teeth! Hallelujah! Sigh. I'd like my medal now so I can proceed with my speech. Smile. My snooze fest is on hiatus as my weight gain snowballs. I have gained seven pounds in one month. Seven pounds! One Month! Scream! Weep. I am trying not to find an excuse to eat everything in sight, seriously! Just 'cause I'm pregnant doesn't give me the right to treat my body like a garbage dump. In the past few weeks, I've gladly welcomed glazed doughnuts, dulche de leche ice cream, egg mcmuffin, and pumpkin milk shakes and justified my leisure to the extra curricular foreigner in my belly. Christ on a stick, these are foods that are so alien to my body, but I'm consuming calories like a blonde does bleach. I don't want to be that class of pregnant women that finds every excuse to have a banquet of a snack. I would love to, although my metabolism is as slow as a constipated tortoise. Certainly mom's popped out ten kids and is slender as a popsicle stick, but my dad has a pouch a pooch can love. I, Shellie Kitchen, unfortunately take after my pop. Frown.

Shellie's Proverb: A pig that doesn't share is a hog.

I want to be those brilliant pregnant women that take charge and exercises fastidiously and psychotically. We've all witnessed these women in spinning class that is cycling their way to Timbuktu. How about the overly ultra conscious environmental spiritual granola mother? The one that's preparing her limbs and organs for birth via yoga. My personal favorite is the expecting mother that is working her biceps, shoulders, triceps with cables and free weights. I want to be that Nike women too gosh darn it!

As my cupboards and refrigerator are gushing with organic and free range absurdities, my appetite strays into the deep and dark. If I keep this up, I will turn into a real bleeper and I can not. I refuse to fall. I have prepared a beautiful regiment of exercise and meals to keep baby and me healthy. Since I work across the street from 24 hour fitness, I will tackle my cardio and work out on my lunch. I've done it before and I can do it again. In my head, the schematics are clean! But suddenly the flavor of a super quesadilla is sinking in, must learn to....fight...the urge...must be....strong.

Lesson: A keen grasshopper must walk in the shadow in order to see the light.

Husbands

It was eleven o'clock last night and a dog funk stench loomed in the bedroom. Instantly, I got up to check on Chloe. This puppy is full of surprises and to my deceiving eyes, Chloe had purged an array of her fetor in the corner of the room. At what end the excretion of this matter originated was besides the point, because I had to clear up this vile immediately. Earlier this morning, she went through a similar vomiting session, but I was convinced she had meddled through our compost and that it would pass. I quickly cleaned up the mess, yet Chloe continued to meekly shiver in the corner of the bedroom. Was she on the verge of death? Rabies perhaps? A piece of chewing bone, is it lodged in her intestines? Cursed, was it the organic raw lamb and rice diet? Of course, it had to be! I mean puppy and raw meat just don't mix. I don't care how organic or healthy! The logic still stands as idiotic as puppy at a flea convention! Why didn't I just feed her a bowl of larvae for flip sake! Great, I just contributed to the illness of my pup, because of my narrow minded health conscious ways. A swarm of conflict stung me with questions.

Shellie's Proverb: Never select a dentist with filthy teeth.

As I blamed myself for the dog's illness, Shane slept comfortable and sound. I understand as he worked a laborious ten hour day, but I couldn't ignore Chloe's uncontrollable bowel and projectile display. I was concerned with worry. As I witnessed the dog's terrible mishap I tried to shake my husband from sleep, but he was useless. Meanwhile, in half an hour flat, I had replaced two puppy potty sheets, disinfected the floor from four freshies that didn't smell so fresh. I tried to get Shane's attention, "What should we do?" I shook Shane's shoulders, if he was a tree the branches would be completely bare. I was slightly disappointed with his sloth like behavior, moreover, it frightened me.

Eeek! It was a quick flash into the future and what it had in store for us naive newbies: a wailing infant, a pooping dog, and an incessant golf addict of a husband that sleeps like a wet log. Although a puppy and an infant are, by far, incomparable. It doesn't change the direction of the wind in that when it comes to slumber, my husband will be frolicking in the fields of dreamland. Next year, upon arrival of the new born, I should not be surprised. Last night was just a whiff of my future lifestyle with a new Kitchen utensil; a prelude to parenthood.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper never play with matches in dry field.

Miracles can happen!

Today, is a new day! Today, I am exuberated and could run a marathon....well, maybe walk up a hill. It all started when I volunteered to drop Shane and Kurt at BART so they could catch the A's playoffs. Even though Shane and I had prior plans, as we have friends coming to stay with us tomorrow, my tendency to dismember one of his body parts were non existent. I felt normal. The old Shellie was back! Furthermore, when I reminded him that we needed flowers to fluff up the home and he arrived empty handed, I was declined to violently disembowel my husband. I didn't feel the need to shriek from the top of my lungs or throw my wedding ring across the room. Oh, happy days are here again!

Shellie's Proverb: Never pet a dog that is foaming at the mouth.

I grabbed Chloe to join me in my festivities of running errands. Yes, the pup goes everywhere with me and no, I do not carry her like a clutch, thank you very much. I had to make a quick stop at Rainbow as it is the only store in town that carries Wullaby yogurt for seventy nine cents. Besides, they have the best organic products that won't dent your check book. Regardless, they have the most beautiful and vast cheese selection in town that will make a French monsieur weep.

My lethargic brume is magically lifted like a terrible spell. My record slump is broken! It is a miracle, the parting of the red sea. I headed home and picked up the house, played with Chloe, made dinner, and fit some time in to watch a chick flick. It's a beautiful day and I am in a wonderful mood! Glee! Life is good! I'm in love! I'm happy! I'm thankful for all that I have and all that I am. Sorry, but I can't save this speech to Thanksgiving, because now is the time to give thanks and praise! Wow! These Zoloft pills are really kicking in. Surely, I kid. I would be so privileged for more days like this and I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind it one bit. I am nearing the end of my first trimester and I see a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

Lesson: A kind Grasshopper must share his bowl of porridge with his starving enemy.

Breathe

During my journey to conceive, I forgot to consider one important pang. Pregnancy. That's right, the actual labor of pregnancy. I was naive to think that it would it would be a hop, skip and a jump to baby dome. I was to busy lollygagging with my ovulation contraption that I was oblivious to the nine months stint. My continuous bout with my first trimester has not been poppies and sunshine. I have discovered a mélange of particulars that stick out like an elephant at a mice convention.

My "no alcohol" policy excludes me from most social activities. I get no kicks in watching friends drown in intoxication while I sit there with my arm floaties trying to keep up with the nonsensical conversations of the inebriated. I don't mind attending a dinner party, that's a picnic. It's the large dinners that's ruled by cocktails, where it gets muddled. It's like a David Lynch film, any moment I'm waiting for the midget to pop in and start conversing in gibberish. It's no fun! Although I don't want to be sorted out as stern and uptight, the silent one. Worse, I am socially inept, and distracted by daydreams of a down comforter, eight hundred thread count sheets, a bowl of warm soup, and a good book. There's a word for that and it's a home body. Gross.

Shellie's Proverb: Happiness is waking up without a hang over.
"Excuse me sir, you've got your narcolepsy in my nausea! I'm sorry sir, but you have that backwards, you have your nausea in my narcolepsy!" Despite everything, my lack of vim is ruthless. Working in this weary state is a hoot, coherence is as absolute as the Easter bunny. Really. Truthfully. It's like I'm waist deep in quick sand. Regardless, at work my margin for error is nil, hence making my job even more brutal. Here's where being a house wife would be plush and candy. Since my nausea has been jilted by ginger root, nausea gently retaliates it's revenge by being the master mind behind my temperamental appetite. My hunger have been deceived with distasteful suggestions like burgers, fries and strawberry milkshakes. Do you understand that my body has not processed the atrocities of fast food in three years? Three years! Saturday, I was weak and gave in to temptation, I made haste to McDonald's. I gorged a filet o' fish and small fries in two thousand volts flat. Saturday, I mourned the first upheaval of my healthy and conscious state.

The most vile of all evils is the overlord Queen Hormone that rules all with a vengeance. I have cried more in the last month than I have in the past five years over trivial subjects like, "Candy corn should be available year round?" When I really should be more concerned about why my bowel movements have gone awry. I am conscious of my heightened sensitivity and how it effects me, but it reigns my emotions with a tight fist. Maybe padded walls and a straight jacket isn't so bad. The best I can do is isolate myself to uphold my self preservation. Until I feel somewhat normal, this hormonal war is not over.

Meanwhile on planet restless, my frequent yearning to urine in the middle of the night is trying. Shellie, the person that held the world's record of pee holding, has fallen to the rubbles of my bladder. There's nothing like the interruption of a good nights rest with the urge to splurge. Speaking of etiquette, I won't even mention the term constipation. I mean it must come out some time, right?

Pregnancy is thrilling, but certainly toilsome from the social aspect to the toilet facet, my hands are full. I am purely grateful for having such a lovely husband, awesome friends, and a family that is stoked out of their mind! There's so much to look forward to and all I can hear is mom's homogenous religious blurbs, "if god permit." I have a long way to go with an arduous haul to bear. Eventually, I hope to take on the positive side of pregnancy and flourish and enjoy the experience, if god permit.

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must never be fooled by the calm waters of the river.

Nacho, Nacho Man

The past few weeks, I have been intensly exhausted. I know, I know, I'm a broken record, but I have never experienced such weariness in my entire existence! I have to super glue my eye lids open to keep them from closing. I woke from my usual drool snooze only to find my cursed hunger for nachos. That's right, nachos! Strange and bizarre. I do recall stumbling into El Farlitos at two o'clock in the morning with smeared vision slurring something to the likes of, "super nachos por favor pronto por favor," but that was three years ago.

As I entered the kitchen, Shane's obsessive compulsive kicked in and jumped into third gear. He's whipped dishes out of the fridge like a mad scientist, "What is this? Is it pork chops? Are you going to cook it soon? Or can I cook it? What about this Italian sausage? Should I put it in the freezer? Are you cooking it? Can I cook it and eat it with the left over polenta? What is this green curry? What kind of green curry? Should I throw it in the trash? How old is it?" I could not endure the barrage of questions that he tossed in my direction. I quickly snapped, "I am not answering any questions until I have something to eat! So zip it!" This is just my "g" rated version of the story. More appropriately, imagine the scene in the exorcist where Regan's head slowly spins and she projectile vomits green pea soup all over the priest. That would be more accurate to the event.

Immediately, I was appalled at my rejection as well as the surprise appearance of my fifth personality "Regan". I felt terrible. Hideous. Yet, my appetite had the pedal to the metal on a one way highway to the city of Nachos hitting anything that gets in the way. I knew deep down that a few bites into my nachos this demon head would be gone and I would be left with a big whopping wax ball of apology that I would have to present to my lovely husband.

Shellie's Proverb: Without food, toilets would not be essential.

I quickly whisked together a béchamel and incorporated some cheddar cheese! Poured the beautiful sauce over my blue corn chips and black beans. Viola! After a few crunch bites my taste buds expired. My evil part had recessed into dormancy. I immediately felt like a rear end of a donkey. I quickly apologized to Shane who quickly brushed it off. He has been tipped by his friends that in pregnancy, there is no "right" the male counterpart can do. He made me promise that I would not be like the others. I must boast that I'm quite honored that my husband puts me above the average female. Sadly, I could not commit as I wasn't sure what was in store for me as I walk the plank of pregnancy. I was ready for anything like my teeth turning into fangs or better yet my back hunching into a deep unattractive curve. My mind was a clean slate. I wasn't sure of anything. I gave him my word that I would do my best to not be a complete freak, but here I was in my first trimester wigging out over chips and cheese. Oh, dear. The last thing that I would want is for my sweet heart to have to tip toe around my frenzy. Such cruelty.

As my hormones orchestrate this symphony, I am just an instrument in all of this. The music heightens to my hunger that surges like a tidal wave along with the loud crashes of my peculiar cravings. I will throw myself against the tide to keep my husband safe from the likes of me. My first step is to not press him for anything or everything. I will take sole responsibility of my needs and wants, hence my expectations will be minimal. So begins the first score to my ever changing repertoire.

Lesson: A grasshopper must learn to acclimate to his environment in order to become enlightened.

It's all about Timing

J. Minnitti, a dear friend, is staying with us from Costa Rica. It's been a super thrill to have another female in the house. She and Darren, her husband, are also trying. As I never in a thousand days, thought that we would conceive so quickly. I wished upon the gods that she and I would be simultaneous. Selfish, but true. Although our friend Meaghan also has a bun in the oven, although it's like her third child, she's a pro. The three amigas. It would've been tres chic! All in good time, young Kitch, all in good time.

Shellie's Proverb: Man cannot chew gum with no teeth.

I really looked forward to sharing my first experience with J.Min, since it would both be our first. It would be a prego party! I kicked the ball around regarding visiting Tamarindo during my pregnancy and sitting side by side as our bellies absorb the beautiful Costa Rican sunshine hanging. It's all fantasy at this point. Fortunately, I have my fellow veterans (sisters and friends), but it's not the same, because they've already experienced the war time and time again. The first time is crucial. For instance, like my first kiss was absolutely bizarre. Not to mention, the first time was awkward and unmemorably memorable. I thought to myself, "This is what people kill, steal, and die for? Eck. Losers."

Save your tears, it's not worth shedding. All is not lost or forlorn, I just had a tiny head start. Since she's visiting for the month of September, it allowed her to avoid a due date that would fall on the dark month of the Gemini. No personal jab to you Gemini's, I would just prefer to not give birth to one. Thus, I will be thoroughly green and envious, if she lands herself a Virgo through Capricorn skip the Scorpio. On the flipside, my ignorance landed a challenging sign, I am scheduled to have the horns! The bull. Ouch!

Despite her intriguing fashion designer background where the likes of Gucci and Luis Vuitton is trite. She will evangelistically give you a two hour dissertation on how and why obscure designer jeans make the perfect fit. "The wardrobe is all about pieces," she always says, "beautiful and classic pieces!" She has also found solace in Iyengar yogi studying under the great master Manuoso. It is a true delight to have her as a friend. A sparkplug of a woman that will talk an atheist's head off about Buddhism and why it's the most logical religion. I wish her all the best of luck and enjoy during the process of making babies. As she is a great person, she will make a great mother as well. Viva Capricorn!

Lesson: A young grasshopper must cross the path of hot coals to enjoy the journey of life.

Just eat

As my taste buds are on a cosmic trip midway from Jupiter to Mercury, I mutter to myself, "why?" Why have you forsaken me? Somewhere along the way I lost my fever for the flavor of food. My organic kick is down for the count. My carb intake is astonishing paramount. Besides, it's the only items that I can keep down, next to bread, crackers, soup, and cardboard. Certainly, I'm being a big baby about the situation, but I love food! I appreciate food. I adore the art of food. Oh the pain of a pedestrian palette.

I spent $8 on lunch which included two large slabs of beef and gravy, a heap of mac and cheese, utterly disgusting, and spinach sopped in butter, furthermore disgusting. Two bites later and I was mortified! What was I doing? Thus far, I've had half a peanut butter chocolate cookie that my fabulous husband baked, a piece of whole wheat bread, a trifle of Godiva chocolate. My brain screams a beautiful organic baby lettuce tossed with fresh tarragon, mint, basil and topped with perfectly blanched French green beans, thinly sliced watermelon radish, three poached quail eggs and a few sliced fingerling potatoes, but my stomach dictates, “must eat slop!” Honestly, I am thankful for the gift of life, yet Pregnancy is somewhat of a Greek tragedy such as Tantalus .

Shellie’s Proverb: Never sow your seeds where chickens feed.
On the bright side, it is not whether or not I enjoy what I eat. Despite that I no longer cook in restaurants, doesn’t mean that I don’t practice the divine art of flavor. I get just as much pleasure out of cooking for loved ones. I am hosting two dinner parties this weekend. I will bet my lucky rabbit’s foot that I peck my way through the six dishes that I will orchestrate so grandly. In this situation, it’s the best that I can do. If you can’t beat it, cook for the ones you hold dear to your Corazon.

Lesson: A resourceful Grasshopper must make fried rice from left over rice.

First Timester

How am I? I'm holding up. Gulp. It could be loads worse. I'm in the threshold of my first trimester. As I enter the jaws of a new and exciting chapter of my life, I enter willingly.

Exhaustion has consumed my reality. I've succumbed to the powers of napping and drooling on the couch. As I sit at my desk at work, the vile sandman doses my afternoons with a longing for a peaceful snooze. Napster that's me. Mrs. Narcoleptic Kitchen. I am as active as a sloth on parade. I bid my workout regiment sweet adieu. Gone are my days of vim. I bid boxing final farewell sweet friend. Sniffle. The only action my body is getting is wiping the drool from my chin or the usual cookie lift of right arm to mouth. I have surrendered to what my body wants, but gosh darn it when will it cease? Mothers say there's light at the end of the first trimester tunnel. Eck! I'll believe it when I feel it.

My appetite has taken a downward spiral as I have a new found disgust for food that I once degusted. For instance, as I tried to enjoy my slow roasted chicken the texture of the crispy skin and the smell of the poultry just about sent me to porcelain paradise. My gusto for Swiss chard and kale is all in the past. The rich scent of Laudemio olive oil is no longer heavenly. I'm afraid what a drizzle of truffle oil will do to my gag reflexes. I still enjoy my time preparing a fine meal in the kitchen, I no longer have the appetite to taste it. On the polar opposite, my waistline and my belly is blooming like the foil lid of a jiffy pop. Water gain, bloating, boob sensitivity, all in the game of pregnancy. Lord have mercy someone prick me with a pin, because this here whale needs a break. Despite my ill appetite, I have found solace in a piece of godiva dark chocolate or oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. Great! What I once tolerated, I no longer can say 'no' to.

Shellie's Proverb: Pregnancy is temporary, parenthood is forever.

As for the cursed nausea, I am on my toes anticipating the day it's wretched claws digs into my placid being. Per my Chinese acupuncturist and my homeopathy homicidal tendencies, I have been warding off my nausea like a hoodoo voodoo santeria by drinking loads of fresh ginger root in hot water. It works for the most part, but I can still feel the sea sickness gradually seeping it's way into the dark side. It's mostly dormant, but not often as I would like. Perhaps my reasoning behind my naps of luxury is to avoid being ill with vomiting.

Essentially, I am very excited to have a growing 'it' in my belly. It's a wonderful and exhilarating feeling, to know that one day this tiny raisin of a human will be telling me to piss off nineteen years from now. Welcome to pregnancy.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must understand that one's future can not be controlled, but one can curb his weight.

Ruff Love

Just when I thought I couldn't be any more delighted with life, enters another morsel of sweetness. We’re proud parents of a Pooch de` Pooch. A Bichon to be precise. How did she land in our laps? To be brief, I thought I could be a decent human by saving a woman from losing custody of her child to her crummy ex-husband at the same time save this canine from a kennel. We’ve weeded through names like snowball, eight ball, frisée (curly in french). Shane finally clawed his talon down on my absurdity, “Chloe’s her name.” It's just as well as I didn't want to dent Shane's manhood, regardless of how comfortable any heterosexual man is, walking a cotton ball of a dog with a name that reeks fairy dust would be hostile.

She's 3 months old and as sweet as Christmas morning. We were instructed to crate train her. Shane begged to differ, "What's the use in having a dog, if you have to keep her in a cage. It's preposterous!” Chloe has spent her first night in that crate, since her arrival in our home. She now slumbers silently in the billow of our Donna Karan down comforter. Gulp.

I've taken her long walks and not one peep of urine or one plop of poop. Yesterday her bathroom activity at the park was as apparent as carbon monoxide. What gives?

Shellie’s Proverb: Patience does not grow on trees.
I felt quite juxed as she wasn’t house broken. She’s as accidental as Hiroshima. Her accidents come with punishment, but with my punishment comes Shane’s leniency, “You can’t keep her in the backyard that long, it’s too cold for her out there.” It was in that very precise moment, that very minute second that I knew what kind of father he would be. Shane was sweet and loving; a definite push over. He had a soft spot. A sucker. I, on the other hand, would be perceived as the wicked wart of a mother. Ugh.

I hope that Chloe will come around and understand that the outdoors is her toilet. We have come to adore her. As my belly grows, I'm thrilled that I have a pint sized treasure that will be also growing alongside me. Here's to the future.

Lesson: Young Grasshopper must remember that without bread one cannot have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

First Appointment

What’s the best thing about a birthday? It’s getting what you wish for? My wish was pregnancy. Today was my first official appointment with my midwife and everything is looking tip top!

Sue McDonald, the fabulous midwife, previous to the ultrasound warned me that we would just see a glob and to refrain from any cartwheels. Incidentally - according to her excitement- I was 1 in 2 cases of an early pregnancy that evidently indicated an actual text book image of a heart beat and the egg yolk. Heck, Sue was more excited than I was, because she was wigging out! The sight of the microscopic heart beating rapidly was a definite tripper! “What do you think?” Sue inquired. Completely in awe, I answered, “Whoa what a trip? I'm freaked out!”

Sue provided the due date and the measurements of the growing ‘peanut’. As I drove home ecstatic, I was thrilled to share the ultrasound picture with Shane. It’s going to be an exciting time. It’s Supernova! The pregnancy is so freaky fresh! It’s alive! This is a natural phenomenon. It'S so cool and it’s all goodness. Happy Birthday to me. Glee!

Lesson: Grasshopper must always take risks to learn new lessons.