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.