Update

The nursery is coming cozy. Since there will be many visitors, we decided to keep the second room as the guest room. Besides, the narrow flight of stairs simply gives me anxiety attacks. I've slipped down those stairs in the middle of the night and I was not going to chance it with Kitchstar. Look at me, I'm already fussy with circumspect. Ill. The nursery will be in the front section of the downstairs equipped with bay windows. We divided the downstairs with a wall of sheer white curtains. We removed the monstrous obstruction of the dining table for we don't foresee any lavish dinner parties anytime in the near future. I think the show Top Design has become a menace to our perspective.

The Kitchen household has been really productive. After the closing of a work day and preparing dinner, we proceed to put the finishing touches on Kitchstar's room. In the past few days, Shane's been focused, assembling the dresser, the glider, ottoman, and the crib. It took him the same time to put together the crib as it took me to assemble a six piece hamper with the annoying assistance of an allan wrench. Frightening I know. That's why he builds houses and I keep my nose of it.

As we'll probably have to move in the next few months, we are attempting to make the room as comfortable as sanely possible. As I am not a fan of frill, color schemes, ruffles, bows, and doodads can just catch the next train ticket to Mars. I am leaning towards a zen shui feel like the tranquil sound of running water, bamboo, clean lines, and flowing curtains. Since I'll be spending most my time with the baby, between the crying, puking, pooping, peeing and lack of sleep, it might as well be harmoniously serene.

We were up past eleven last night organizing the front room, buzzing with focus, we were both sick of being procrastinators. Since Shane's gone this weekend, we wanted to get a head start as you never know when the baby comes. If Kitchstar arrives early, than we're in heavy and deep poo. As fate wears many masks, I just prefer to be one step ahead.

Shellie's Proverb: A brick will strengthen a house, but a brick can not make you strong.

Speaking of fate, Kitchstar's definitely growing! Evidently, the movements are stronger. It's so cool! I love the mommy and baby Morse code. It punches when it's starving. It kicks when I'm eating. I've been gaining a pound a week in the past two weeks and growing. I keep trying to slow it down to prevent the slightest development of stretch marks, plus I have seven more weeks to go. Yes, I'm superficially vain, say a prayer for me you religious fanatics. I don't understand as I've been working out everyday. You think that my fat loss would equivocate to the baby's weight gain. Well, that's my logic it doesn't have to make sense.

The Kitchen household is slowly coming together. The babies room is very cool! It's comfortable, inviting, and cozy. We're very proud of the hard work and late nights we've invested, because the outcome is fabulous! Meanwhile, Shane will be boozing it up in Mexico this Thursday, I will attempt to put together our birthing plan and read up further on the alternatives, expectations of birthing. As I am regularly hounded to read Ina May's Guide to Child birthing, because of my shear terror of giving birth I just might complete the task this weekend. As both my sisters are spending the weekend at the house, I'm sure I'll find some alone time.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must practice in order to become the master of his art.

Serenity Now!

St. Patricks Day and Birthday Festivities for Tracy Massillon's, doula extraordinaire aka proficient in the masterful ways of the vagina, birthday ensued from a barbecue to drinking at Brunos. By the time, we hit Brunos the entire posse was in a mood. I, on the other hand, was sober. The DJ was bumping, but so was the headache that progressed in my head. I moved and grooved until I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to head home before I turn into a pumpkin. Shane was free to stay under uno important condition and that is to be at the top of his game at 1000 hours tomorrow. I may be full of girlish foolish promises, but I trusted Shane to do his woman right.

Shellie's Proverb: Never trust a drunk to keep a promise.

As the gods would have it, Shane rolled in the realms of 3 o'clock in the morning. The raucous of his presence was apparent from the door slam downstairs. I was slightly perturbed not because he was drunk, but because he would be mush tomorrow. A tragedy. He sluggishly flopped into bed gurgling boisterously in gibberish and wreaking of alcohol. I was not a happy wife. I was hijacked from sleep, because my husband was being an absolute snoring slob in bed. At sunrise, I watched him bobbing in the depths of his R.E.M. Brewing in frustrating and irrational thoughts. I was not going to allow him to ruin my Sunday. I bounced out of bed. I ate my breakfast and headed to the gym. If and when, I return and he is unresponsive, than I shall take the world into my hands. Until than, the elliptical, heart rate, sweat, free weights, and exertion was immediate.

There's something about exercising that pushes me through the threshold of any conflict. A baptismal. A cleansing. A reflection. I drove home after an hour and half of working out with a different outlook. A brighter one. If Shane was just mentally bruised, than I would pursue today's errands a la solo. Done. No arguments. No lectures. I walked into the house and my husband greeted me with a cheerful, "Good morning honey! Where'd you go? To the gym?" I followed the voice to the bedroom. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk last night." He confessed. I shed a tear as that was all that I was looking for a simple apology without the tooth pulling. How can I be livid with someone so sweet? He further proceeded, "I will do whatever you want today. Baby will have a nursery!" As a part of me would've made him lick the bottom of my cross trainers, my heart oozed forgiveness.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must not allow emotions to restrict free thought.

Prepare for Storkville

Shane and I finished our morning work out at the gym. I felt resilient! I was Master of the Universe. It was 9:45 o'clock on St. Patrick's Day as I made way to visit my acupuncturist. I wallowed in the great head start to my Saturday. I couldn't wait to feel physically and mentally in syc; rested, a true luxury. As we are not finding out the gender, everyone's been trying their hand at the guessing game. Christine, the acupuncturist, attempted to figured out the sex by deciphering the babies pulse. She said it was a girl, but my intuition always told me from the start that it was a boy. I could be wrong. In any case, the baby is faced down and head down which in pregnant world is ideal. She did her magic and I felt brand new. I scheduled her weekly in my last four weeks to ensure the health and safety of baby and me.

On my way home, I was entangled in the circus of the St. Patrick's parade. A wave of drunken green barricaded the roads. By this time, I was famished. I regularly pack my snack with me to avoid irritable pregnant syndrome, but not today. Frown. Shane and I had a schedule to keep. We had some essential shopping to tackle like diapers, butt butter, and butt wipes. As of yet, nursery is just a figment of our imagination. Since Shane's been playing hookey during my pregnancy, it was time I put the screech on the emergency brakes. If you compare him to other victimized father's to be, he's got it lush. He is to be present at Cabo San Lucas this Thursday for four or five days to celebrate a bachelor that doesn't have a set wedding date yet...ironic. Anyway, that's a different story. Smile.

Shellie's Proverb: A horse that gallops never gets tired.

At home, husband is enthralled in what we women like to refer to as March Sadness. Shane, finally motivated to utilize the computer not to mention the internet, glued to the NCAA college bracket tournament. He tried to delay our errands so he can catch the last five minutes of a game which could mean anything...like a double overtime and an hour later. Not today mister.

Shopping was like two people having a brain meltdown. Since we were clueless as to the gender, I thought it would be fun to have one gender specific outfit for the hospital. Shane as usual did not want any hand in my game, in reality I think he called it stupid. I quickly nabbed a knitted pink hat, pink shoes, and pink shirt. All of this overdose of pink was causing an allergic reaction, an outbreak of nausea and light headedness. He, on the other hand, was more selective, nervously picking through his choices, resulting in blue shoes and blue giraffe shirt.

We than browsed the aisle of milk bottles, nipples, and pacifiers. The marketing strategy was amazing words like avoid gas, colic, natural nipples was apparent. Milk bottles were as various as the hues in the color spectrum. We were baffled! A victim of marketing, I grabbed the bottles that avoided colic and gas. How ineffective could it be? We further perused the breast feeding section as Shane giggled like an adolescent at the odds and ends of breast pump accessories. Diapers, we needed diapers. It seemed like everyone had a newborn, because every brand was out of newborn diapers. Strange in a twilight zone kind of way. As I would have loved to have perused more, we were scheduled for a birthday barbecue at 3 o'clock and it was almost 4 o'clock. Where was our priority? We were always sucked into the abyss of celebration. It was St. Patrick's Day and March Sadness and I could feel that Shane was feverishly going through withdrawals. Besides, we had a hot date tomorrow to finish up our errands. So I gave in. Big mistake.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must stay on the green path to avoid ninja attack.

Baby Shower

As Shane saw it fit to celebrate my baby shower by rounding all of his buddies for golf and than afternoon cocktails into the wee hours of the noon day, I was subject to tradition and a golden tradition at that. On Saturday, girlfriends Angela, Sofia, Aussy hosted a baby shower for yours truly. I must admit that I was touched by the kindness and generosity displayed. Sniffle. It was the perfect sunny and warm day. I couldn't ask for anything more. I was showered with love, laughter, and happiness.

At thirty weeks, about seven months, my buoyant body made way to the baby shower. It was heart touching to be surrounded by my girlfriends and family. Further amazing, were the company of girlfriends that had the opportunity to bond. There's nothing more lovely than a bunch of girls gabbing, eating, and being merry. I am so fortunate to have such lovely friends and family. My two neices were present trying to snatch the clothes pins at the drop of the word "baby!" Of course, they were games and prizes. I enjoyed a memorable flute of mimosa and boy did it go down swell! Champagne, the liquid of my loins. The food spread was amazing! No holds barred on my carb intake. I'm sure I soared off the charts, but I was not going to register it into my glucose journal. My girlfriends were considerate enough to provide sugar free cookies. Aren't they just the sweetest? How I devoured these cookies like it was oxygen. Did I mention the miniature cupcakes from whole foods! Yum in my tum.

Down to the nitty gritty. Presents! My, the pile of gifts. Each gift wrapped meticulously with care, I felt terrible having to dispense the paper. Each clothing item were so adorably tiny, like socks! I could cry! Generosity overflowed from the handmade knit blanket and snug hat (umbilical cord) made by super Mom Kitchen to the stuffed animals, books, and other essentials. Although the mother of all gifts, drum roll please, the bugaboo! I know! Fancy pee in my pantsee! Kitchstar is not worthy, but Uncle John, Aunt Nyra, Jill and Greg seem to think so. This is all new to me? I took it all the positivity in like a field of spring flowers, because I knew in a few months I would be confined to the needs of Kitchstar.

Shellie's Proverb: A smile is contagious.

Essentially, I would like to take a moment to thank the girls for putting on such an elegant and memorable baby shower. Sofia for investing the time to haggle everyone together and for such a beautiful invitation! Angela for spear heading the games department and for providing your ever so delectable deviled eggs. Aussy for hosting the celebration at your humble...cough...mansion...I mean humble abode. I am ever so lucky to have females like you in my life! Of course, the absence of Mom, Mom Kitchen, Chris, Meaghan, Minniti, and Erin was apparent. Well, I had dinner with Meaghan and Stella that evening, but it would have been bomb, if she was present at the shower. Smile. But, such is life! I look forward to returning the favor when the pregnant fairy beckons you.

At the closing of the day, it wasn't about the gifts. It was about the gathering and celebrating. It meant a lot. It was significantly special. The baby shower has come and gone and now the big day is on the horizon. We have yet to put together the make shift nursery. There's a lot to do in the next few weeks. My husband has one last hurrah in Cabo for his best friend's, TC, bachelor party. Than it's time to kick him into husband mode. I can easily say that I've allowed him a lot of slack, since my pregnancy. Now it's time to reel that big fish in. Sorry boys, the husband needs to tend to the homestead. Smile.

Lesson: A happy Grasshopper is a content grasshopper.

Almost there...

As I'm heading towards the finish line of pregnantville, my doctors appointments fills my calendar. St. Luke's have been proactive at monitoring my gestational diabetes. I meet with my OBGYN or midwive once a week alongwith my diabetes counselor. To ensure proper development, I am scheduled for an ultrasound monitoring twice a week. They need to make sure that the baby is coming along nicely. It's nice to know that Kitchstar is in good hands. Phew! Thank the lord for co-payments and such an understanding employer.

I have managed to keep my blood glucose down through diet, insulin, and exercise, instead of enjoying my pregnancy with absolute decadence and sloth like behavior like the other lucky preggers. Besides yoga and pilates, I've incorporated 45 minute cardio and 20 minutes of free weights to my workout. Yes, I'm finally making use of my gym membership that I've had for a decade now. All of this has contributed to keeping my blood glucose down. I'm more healthy now than ever. One thing is for certain, I won't be gaining as much weight. How ironic. The best work out on the planet was the boxing gym, but what good is a pregnant women at a boxing gym. Ridiculous. Swimming is ideal, although there's something about swimming in the same water as obese people, no offense seriously, that makes the chlorine null. This coming from a woman that has orca features.

Shellie's Proverb: A beached whale does not enjoy the sunshine.
My belly has transformed beautifuly into a very tight and rotund sphere. I haven't seen the southern sector of my belly for months now, well unless I look in a mirror, but that would be cheating. I'm a wibble wobble that won't fall down. I've embraced my pregnancy. I'm blessed and I am lucky. No acid reflux. No constipation. Whee. No lower back pain. No nausea. No emotional hijacking. Phew! I count my lucky stars. Sure, I can't delve into a bowl of ice cream caramel sundae, but my situation could be dire. I am thankful and I am happy. I am crossing my fingers and knocking on wood in hopes that the remaining pregnancy will be just as smooth.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must master his appetite to control his waistline.

Baby Boom

I am two months away from joining the ranks of selected family and fellow friends. So excited I could pee my pants! Not so quick you parents who have circled us like vultures waiting to feed on our carcass or I shall douse you with holy water and garlic bulbs. Hiss! How you've persuaded us to join your kind for years, "Kids are so fun. It's the best! It'll change your life." Here we are at the edge of the deep abyss ready to plunge into the dark hole of changing dirty diapers, sleep deprivation, tolerance, frustration, conflict, and all the unknown creature habits that hides in the future.

It is pleasing to know that Kitchstar will have fellow cohorts. Firstly, the Kriegsmen who are new parents to David and the Brooke family on their special special baby boy Jasper. Not to go unmentioned are my pregger females, Allison and Jamie, that were also suckered into pregnancy. Finally, a big "congratulations" to the Benjamins
Meaghan "the wrecking machine" Benjamin. The same day she popped Stella, her third and surely not last, out she was on the phone making calls and a shnazzy website full of photos and clips followed. If ever there was a mother that exuded the true word, it would be her. This women works a full time job, part time job, mother,and wife. She's all natural, galaxies from uptight, I might even go as far as to exclaim that she's an inspiration. She is the frosting on the the cake.

Shellie's Proverb: Do not ask a lion for a handout when it's feeding it's cub.

I am fortunate to have such well rooted friends and family. I can't wait to compare, compile and complain with my fellow mothers. I'm sure Meaghan is the "go to" as she is fully experienced with the art of raising children. I'd love to look to my mom, but she comes from a different generation. A generation of "no fuss" and my questions may bring on a tidal of prepostrous comments. When mom pays her visit, she will go over her Mother 101 recourse. I can hear her first advice to me, "just let him or her cry." Them hard words from a mother of ten will probably be the most important advice given. Until than I am just thankful that there's a gaggle of babies that will hopefully create the same bond as their parents.

It'll be difficult not to be fully paranoid with my first child, but I will try my best not to be a psychotic hypocondriac misophobic freakazoid and I will look towards the veterans for insight. In the meantime, we hope that our friends will follow suit into the interesting world of parenting. You know who you are. Smile. I embrace this miracle and all the nonsense that comes with it, because in the end it's all worth it.

Lesson: A sly Grasshopper must not slurp noodles like soup.

Third Trimester

I have entered the zone that many other females have dared entered before, the 30th week zone. Ten more weeks, give or take, and counting! Ten! Ten more weeks and our life is changed forever! Forever! Shriek! We're thrilled, but at the same time we have no idea of the whirlwind impact Kitchstar will bestow. This is huge! Monstrous! We've been warned that one can never be ready for the arrival of a baby. I believe it! Simply put, sleep deprived is a precursor for havoc in other departments of my existence. Shane and I are taking advantage of sleep as much as possible. We, naive individuals, enter the unknown frontier of parenthood.

Otherwise, my pregnancy has been enjoyable thus far. Despite my former lower back pain which is non-existent...knock on wood ...I'm back on track. Thankfully, yoga and pilates miraculously healed this trauma. Hallelujah praise Jesus. I'm a believer. So far, so good. It's been a pleasant pregnancy. More and more, Kitchstar's playing drum rolls in my belly. It is absolutely amazing! I 'll try to get Shane in on the action, but the baby seems to move faster than a hare on wheels. It's tricky this one.

Shellie's Proverb: Laughter will bring lightness to your life.
The diabetes is, for the most part, being maintained by diet, exercise, and insulin oh my! Sure I have my bouts of depression usually after I inject my belly with insulin, but Shane always reminds me that it could be worse. He reminded me of our quickness to conceive. He proceeded to remind me that we have someting special. He was right. He's always right. That's what so great about him. He always knows what to say. Smile. I am hoping that the third trimester gods is as generous as they were in the past two. It has been a pleasure!

Lesson: Grasshopper must learn to swim before he can skip stone on lake.

Birthtastic

My three day weekend was complete with baby information overload. Shane and I enrolled in a 2 day baby intensive class over at Natural Resources. Boy, were we in for a surprise. Shane grumbled about how spectacularly beautiful the day was and here we were stuck in a birth class full of neo natural nerds. I knew in the frontal cortex of his brain that he'd rather be sipping a brew on some golf course, if I’d guess correctly Stonetree with his boys. Humph, and I’d rather be on a beach in the Cayman Islands; so in love, we suffer together. Our friend Tracy, doula extraordinaire, taught the class. We went around the room of six couples and introduced the other couple that we were interactively paired off with. Let the fun begin. Smile.

As Tracy, in all her wealth of information, played real birth videos, compliments of nausea, my spine curled into the chair. Yikes and triple axel yikes! Hold the caffeine, because here cometh the placenta! What the hell? Gulp. I gulped so hard, I thought my eyeballs were going to evaporate into my head. As I've mentioned the shrinking idea of romanticism and pregnancy, birth was the mother load of all “Oh shits!” A whole new world cracked opened before me. I knew it wouldn’t be walk in the park, but gosh darn up an apple tree, birth was blatant. I was bullets loaded on getting an epidural, yet reality struck me down like a storm of flatulence. A cesarean? Not, if I can help it. Did you know when a child is not passed vaginally the newborn’s immune system is vulnerably pedestrian? Water birth, now that’s a Water world for mom and baby -despite the fecal matter- I believe I was sold.

Shellie’s Proverb: A dog’s sincerity is his sniff.
Essentially, the class provided valuable information pertaining to birthing alternatives. It also allowed us to prepare and to expect. Birth is one big bad wolf. I am all about taking the easy way out so shoot me up with the narcotics and let this baby go. Until I attend this class, needless to say, I'm weighing my options, and boy is it heavy. Am I strong enough to do this drug free? As Kitchstar is sprinting its way to the finishing line, I've got some decisions to make. Let’s face it, I’m a real frightster, but deep down inside this little shell of mine, I am strong. I have proven myself time and time again that my determination supersedes my fear. Besides, I have the greatest person in the whole world there to support me. My sweet husband.

Lesson: A strong grasshopper must balance on chopstick to feel balance.

Hearthrob

Today is Valentines Day. The day most men dread more than facing the deathly jaws of a great white shark. Basically, Doomsday to be exact. As every women relates Valentines day as "their" day, I've given into the opposite. In the past few years, I've become numb to the fact that Shane doesn't bring home flowers on such an occassion. According to him, and every other male, it's too forced. To keep my spirits high I'll, more often than never, purchase flowers for myself. Maybe my husband is right...we shouldn't be prompted to be romantic just because it's Valentines day. We're pretty cheesy most of the time as it is. It could make an elephant sick. Blush. I've decided to take matters into my own hands.

Today, I've opted for a movie over dinner. There's nothing special about a pre-fixe menu. All I want is to see the new chick flick with my favorite heart throb Hugh Grant in Music and Lyrics. Opening night is tonight and I purchased the tickets yesterday compliments of Fandango. Because he is being coerced to attend a movie on opening night, his efforts are my bliss.

Shellie's Proverb: A man with too many roosters doesn't know how to lay an egg.

Now for my contribution to the romance department. I thought about getting him something nice like clothes, shoes, or a hat, although that was as heartfelt as a bathroom carpet. I had already bought his Valentines day card last month, but what now? Shane has a sweet tooth the size of the original sin. In fact, last night he slopped a few heaping tablespoonfuls of peanut butter and swirled it into his vanilla bean haagen dazs and plopped on the chaise lounge and "ooed and awed" and swooned over every taste. He held the spoon to my face to tryst me into a tiny bite of this heavenly morsel. The devil that he is! He is the devil. I'm sure he meant no harm, but I can't even afford to do the foxtrot with chocolate.

With that in mind, I traipsed down to the Ferry building and purchased a box of selected Recchutti chocolates yesterday. All filled with his favorites, peanut butter chocolate pucks, chocolate honey comb, a bag of caramel almonds, home made marshmallows (to die for!!). I knew he would appreciate this sweet gesture. Before I left this morning, I left the card and the sweets on the table. Despite my minimal hormonal tearful breakdown last night in bed, it was a sign of love and maturity. Most of all, it is his happiness that rules my heart.

Lesson: A Grasshopper that learns to share his dim sum will master the way of kindness.

Placid

Today, I had my follow up appointment regarding my diabetes. It's pouring rain in my soul. I walked from the hospital to the BART station in a slow motion haze. After spending an hour and fifteen minutes with the doctor going over my understanding of meal management and how to use a syringe, my heart could not take it anymore. I succeeded in managing to keep my blood glucose down with food, yet it my body is not producing enough insulin in my sleep. Therefore, I am urged to introduce insulin into my body before I go to bed by way of injection in the stomach. Sob. Not only am I on a restricted diet and having to prick my finger four times a day, but I have succumbed to a syringe filled with a light dose of insulin.

I am morosely moved by this news as I have tried my best to control this condition. Unfortunately, this is beyond my control. Sniffle. Such is life. In the flames of my hormones, I have to mortar myself together. It is in my nature to hastily becme numb, but the dreary weather is inducing me to crumble to my knees on this filthy sidewalk on Valencia and sob feverishly. I need to feel this sadness. It's normal. On a Friday, no less, I should be jumping for joy, because the weekend is at my feet. Not today.

Shellie's Proverb: A wet log can not make a fire.

I paid a phone call to mom to bear the bad news. Mom's not great at receiving bad news, as she quickly wished me good health and love and quickly got off the phone. That was her way of dealing with it. As I can wish as the rain does fall that she was in closer proximity than Hawaii, these are the times that I could use her arms for comfort. It could be worse. It could be detrimental. Think about the children in Africa and AIDS. Think about the women who are unable to bear children? Think about the families that have lost loved ones? All I can do is feel sorry for myself. I never do. Today, I am giving myself the opportunity to go through that process. I don't need a consolation prize. I'm just caught in the line of the hormonal cross fire and licking my wounds. Whatever it is, it still pangs me. I'm not receiving any phone calls today. I'm turning off my ringer. Tomorrow is a new day and it will all be better. Tonight I have a hot date with my husband, we're catching an early dinner and a movie. Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile. Tomorrow's a brand new day.

Lesson: A wise grasshopper must learn to lose battles in order to win.

Stretch I'm Strong

I am a woman and more or less vain, therefore, I am fighting the good fight against pesky stretch marks. I've read that you could circle the moon backwards and hop on one foot and recite the constitution in mandarin, although it all simmers down to genetics. So I think to myself, "Self? Does mom have stretch marks?" She had ten kids, but I don't recall white claw marks on her belly. I don't recall, but I could ultimately be mistaken.

In the meantime, I drink at least 10 glasses of water, if not more, a day to keep my skin fluid. I grease myself with coconut oil, cocoa butter lotion, and other concoctions that lead to a stretch mark free body. I'm not going to sit back and take it. It's not inevidable. If I get stretch marks, I can honestly say that I've tried my darndest.

Shellie's Proverb: An ant at a picnic never goes hungry.

Furthermore, a gradual weight gain also helps in managing the minimal amount of stretching. Since I have to watch what I eat and stay fit, than I'm one foot ahead of the game. These are the things that keep me up at night. Not really, but it is a concern of mine as I am somewhat superficial. I admit it, I am a victim to hollywood and all those celebrities that bounce back hours later after getting a c-section. The pressure. Once again that's hollywood and I am far from a celebrity.

In a world of false perfection, I am truly far from perfect. In my practice to not become a full time schlump, you can stress my concern for stretch marks. Maybe the root of my problem is that I need to realize that it's not my exterior shell, but my interior that needs looking into.

Lesson: Grasshopper must possess goodness in order to fight evil.

Third Trimester

The big twenty seven! Twenty seven weeks that is. I am all belly, and I am entering the wide open field of the third trimester. Gulp. I am racing towards the finish line. As Kitchstar starts to make itself at home in my womb, I am thrilled to pieces. The kicking and bopping is getting stronger and I look forward to each movement. A homage to communication, between mother and child. It's a trip! I'll put Shane's hand on my belly, hoping he could feel it and experience my excitement, but an outsider couldn't fathom the alien pod experience. It could creep any normal person out, for a second. Shane tries to relate, but there's no way, but I appreciate his attempt. Smile.

In honor of my progress, my walk is beginning to transition into a waddle. You know that walk that pregnant women have to keep from tipping over. Sort of like a weeble wobble. It hasn't gotten to that point yet, but I'll be there soon enough. Believe me, I'm in no hurry to walk like a duck. As I have concealed my pregnancy with the color black, my waddle will soon give me away. On the upside, I have waddled my way up and down hills to contribute to a healthy pregnancy. In order to strap this diabetes down, I have become more restricted on my diet and more aggressive with my cardio. Of course pilates and yoga is fine, I feel that my body benefits further if I walked at least thirty minutes a day. It's tough trying to keep myself healthy. I'm finally taking responsibility for someone besides myself so being selfish doesn't have it's place, at present.

Shellie's Proverb: An apple is only as sweet as the person's palette.

As I was saying, I'm not sure what to expect in the next thirteen weeks except to get larger. Even though my diet has become the nucleus of my daily, to look on the bright side, I've lost a few pounds. Yipee! In the meantime, we have signed up for childbirth intensive two day series. Sue McDonald recommend that first time parents attend these classes to educate ourselves on birthing and parenthood. I'm sure Shane can't wait to sit there from 9:30am to 1:30pm for two days. He expressed his motivation by a ten second silence on the end of the line ending in, "Two days? On a weekend? Is it like lamaze? What is it?" "I'm not sure, it was expensive and we shall see," I responded.

I am hoping that the third tri will be as fly as my second. I know I am being utterly delusional, but it's good to dream. In the past few days, my energy level has dropped immensely, and I'm hoping the third tri doesn't toss me into the wind of regression. I am making an appointment with my acupuncturist to make sure my body energy is flowing correctly.

All in all, I have embraced pregnancy for what it is. Beauty, strength, love and change. The sight of my naked belly after a shower still baffles me, because from backside you wouldn't be able to tell and than wham! Yet, I am no different from any other pregnant women. It sounds a bit hippy sappy, but I am elated that I am harboring a wonderful being. Moreover, I am grateful that I share this sunshine with Shane. I can sleep well at night knowing I did not coerce him into a corner to have Kitchstar. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have found someone so golden. The countdown to meeting the little star begins. I'm so delighted. I can't wait.

Lesson: A Grasshopper who knows not how to eat with chopstick shall go hungry.

Sugar Baby

As the myriad of doctors appointments pile up, I'm thankful for having such outstanding medical benefits. As my gestational diabetes is being ruled by a strict thumb, so the need to skirt my diet is mandatory. I had an appointment with a dietician and diabetic counselor today. Formerly, a student of Nutrition 101, I never found the need to apply it to my life. Does anyone assimilate chemistry into their daily? Exactly.

In the depths of my mind, I was convinced my lab work was confused for another. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Jupiter. I deserved an apology gosh darnit, for wasting my time. I couldn't have developed this condition, I have been actively fit and managed a fit diet. There goes the delusional part of me again. Who cares that my parents are diabetic?

Sylvia, diabetic counselor, reviewed the blood test and provided the numbers. The numbers which pertain to the time it takes for my body to process glucose within three hours. The numbers weren't gold medal, it was no medal. The chip on my shoulder was just crunched. "Any person could develop diabetes?" Sylvia went easy on my pride, but my pride had nothing to do with my health. I was predisposed.

We moved on to diet, I had no worries as I strived for excellence in that category. Organic, free range, cage free is the way of the Lord, but nutritional fact is holier than thou. I was in for a nutritional awakening. As I sat upright on my tall organic box, it was quickly kicked from under me when the truth was finally revealed. The vital ingredient to be weary of, regarding the nutritional fact, were carbohydrate and sugar. Funny, I was always steered towards the calories and the fat calories.

Basically, organic or non organic, carbohydrates is still Satan in my blood. I was further cultured on the daily food pyramid along with entails what to eat, per meal, per day. Shackle and chain, I'm now in a prison. No milk or fruit in the morning (it turns into sugar). Worse, no cereal. This is a travesty! My world is spinning backwards. I keep looking on the bright side of things, that's the only way I'll get through it. My meals, mainly lunch and dinner, incorporates fruit, bread/starch, carbohydrate, fat, milk, and protein. Apparently, when all these foods are introduced to my blood system, it takes awhile to breakdown as opposed to simply introducing just two food groups into the blood. It's a hemoglobin diversion. I assumed that carbohydrates would be omitted, but I was wrong...again. On top of everything else, I have 3 snacks that are wrenched into my meals. Phew, will my days compass my eating habit?

Shellie's Proverb: A hog that rules the trough is worth eating.

The big cherry, the sprinkle and the nuts, the dollop of whip cream and all the guck, is that I have to gauge my blood glucose four times a day by way of finger pricking. Four times! Pricking.....Painful.....Four Times! I loathe finger pricking! Eeeeek Gadz! Here I am face to face with a prick. First prick is taken before all meals and the rest are taken an hour after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was provided with a kit with an electronic reader, blood strips, spiffy prick gadget, needles, and a container to dispose of my needles. High maintenance? Gulp. Exactly. The objective to this game is to score a glucose count of 130 and below.

Double gulp. She did the honors as I cringed like a kitten in a corner ready to pounce. She promised that it would be harmless, but so is a blood sucking tick. I gave into her prick, she inserted the blood onto the strip which read 148, the goal is to reach 130 or below. "Damn you whole wheat organic blueberry turd." I cursed under my breath. I was appalled. No, I was shocked! No, I was shockingly disappointed. How could this be? Shane and I had just gone shopping on Sunday and filled our pantry with organic goodness. The counselor advised that there's lots of sugar and high carbohydrate in everything. So I shouldn't be fooled with packaging and marketing. The only reassurance is the nutritional factoids. You'd be surprised as to how much carbohydrates and sugar are in yogurt, unless it's plain and even than. She kicked dirt in my face. I couldn't believe my ears. Here I was a high snooter with my nose in the know it all, only to find out I didn't know diddy. Damn you glucose. I curse you and that sugar coated cookie you rode on!

I went straight to Rainbow, hippie co-op, to carry out my duty to be healthy. There I was in the bread aisle reading the nutritional facts like a psychotic obsessed carbohydrate counter. I was consumed by labels of organic and quickly picked them up only to find that the carbohydrate count was astounding. Finally, after sorting through the entire bread section there it was the no wheat, no glucose, organic, and weighed like a brick with a perfect carbohydrate count of 13.5 grams. I was in heaven. Onto the yogurt, I perused each shelf reading the back of each container like a I was hooked on phonics. I was truly astonished by the nutritional fact and how much sugar and carbohydrates were in these yummers. Death defying. I had no idea. None in the world. I settled for the Saint Benoit plain Yogurt as the nutritional value was the best.

Between my soap box and the chip on my shoulder, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In a matter of a week, my eating lifestyle has been turned topsy turvy. I must make amends to make sure I don't endanger Kitchstar. I need to snip this at the stem. Cest la vie ice cream sundae. Whah. Sniffle. Sob. Maybe I'm too strict on myself. All in moderation I keep telling myself. But, could moderation possibly compromise the baby? For now, I'll be fighting this diabetes through my food intake.

Lesson: Grasshopper must lay gentle on the bed of nails to overcome all hostilities.

The Slip

In my black business suit and my black sneakers, I stepped out of the house at 630am to start my usual route to the bus stop. The sun hasn't peeked its head yet, and I am one step ahead of the day. In the eye of the hub, the cold air brushing my cheek as I briskly make my way to Third Street. It's Friday and I have no plans this weekend, except to spend it with Shane and Chloe. I have high hopes of catching Smoking Aces which opens in theatres today, but I'm better off catching a matinee this weekend.

It's been a long week and I look forward to spending time with Shane and taking Chloe for a walk at Crissy Fields, and enjoying brunch at Rose's Cafe tomorrow. Yes, it's the little things that make me happy. As I make my way towards the overpass, the repercussions of last nights work out heeds it's pain on my gluteus maximus. The rush of traffic below is thrilling as I witness the surge of man's invention at it's climax. Potrero Hill is at a standstill, except for the usual indolent dog walker. Northward the weeds of buildings and lights stand upright, and to think that I'll be in that financial jungle in thirty minutes.

Shellie's Proverb: Never stop to smell the flowers at a dog park.

Insignificant tasks effortlessly trickle in my head, "Researching strollers, changing tables, What am I preparing for the dinner party tomorrow? I didn't pack my lunch today, what am I going to eat? These shoes have no support, but they look better than my white sneakers. God, I'm hungry. Was that a kick? Baby never kicks as much as it should. Uh, it's so nice to be walking.." Like a faucet, I wish I could turn my thoughts off. The main purpose behind my foolish reprise of catching public transportation is to integrate a cardio workout into my day as sitting on my butt doesn't coincide with my fitness. It's Friday and I should be jumping for joy, because I'm eight hours away from freedom! I'll be happy once I'm off the San Francisco public transportation, a vessel for bacteria, psychotics, and bad manners. In the meantime, keep my chin up and paint a bright smile on my face. It's Friday!

Lesson: Grasshopper must remember that flatulence is a form of violence.

Hard to Fit Genes

As I have been peculiar about eating ridiculously healthy, despite the closet ice cream sundae that I have become accustomed to sneaking, I was just notified by Dr. Sue McDonald that I have developed gestational diabetes. After suffering from drinking that putrid orange glucose matter and giving blood on the hour for the next three hours, it never occurred to me that I could be victim to the medical condition. Apparently, it's common in the top 2 to 7 percentile of pregnant women. As I hectically browse through my books and google trying to resolve this condition, I realize that I am genetically screwed as both parents are diabetics.

The women on the other end of the line lectures me to steer clear of juices and sodas, I remind her that it is not part of my repertoire. She than tells me to refrain from fruit. That is a very vague generalization, "What kind of fruit?" As I enjoy my morning breakfast with strawberries, rasberries, blueberries, banana, apples. I mean she might as well advise me to stop breathing oxygen. What am I supposed to eat instead? I will have to wait till next week's appointment at the Diabetes center for the educational low down. I'll probably have to meet with a dietician which will be pretty nifty. I keep reminding myself that it could be worse. I could be in bed rest with a hemmeroid the size of a hibiscus. If I'm proactive and watch what I eat...whah... no more ice cream sundaes...and increase my exercise, I should be okay.

Shellie's Proverb: Constipation is all about diet over matter.

Thus far, my pregnancy has been darling. From the narcoleptic episodes to the discovery of Kitchstar's movements, I'm whizzing through my second trimester like a kid at an arcade. Although all good things must come to an end. As I blew my sciatica out from simply sneezing while standing up, it has taken my acupuncturist, yoga, pilates and masseuse to manage this monster. It's better loads now, but look where a simple sneeze will get you. No complaints from Mrs. Kitchen, but you may want to inquire with my better half. He may tell you otherwise. Smile.

Lesson: A grasshopper that accepts his flaws won't mind drinking cold tea.

Love and Marriage

As we delve into the open jaws of crib searching, I walk among the trap of sharp teeth vulnerable and alone. As my husband usually doesn't want anything to do with shopping and would prefer to spend his time on a golf course, I am left with the task by my buoyant lonesome. It may sound fun having full reign on the crib sector, woo hoo! Halt, as my husband is opinionated and will provide his two cents at the very tail of my decision. Truthfully, it upsets me that he has the audacity. Secondly, he, and every father to be, would rather put their kid in a dresser drawer or a cubby hole and call it a day and resume to their tee time. I can feel the searing eyes of the "I walked 20 miles to school everyday" generation shaking their heads at what today's parents find vital.

Shellie's Proverb: A wife with no husband is lucky.

Seriously! Big example, grocery shopping with Shane is like a blind man finding his sight for the first time and realizing that he's been having sexual relations with a trannie. He just goes on about the price of meat, produce, bar of soap, tooth paste, ice cream that it drives me batty. It's ridiculous. Resolution, designate him the official grocery shopper. We live in California, what do you expect in the state of gimmick? Despite his uproar, he'll still eat it the damn food.

His lack of interest in anything has got his head in the clouds. Why am I complaining? Well, this head in the cloud factor applies to every aspect of his existence which in turn triggers my failure to exist. This is my pain. This is the man I married. This is my life. I'm not grumbling, sigh, I am just venting. Where's the punching bag when I need it? Serenity now!

I invest a lot of time on research, and it takes ten seconds for him to retort on either the price or the look. Normally I can tolerate it, but today it's my bane. It's all coming to a head and I just want to be ready as possible, which is impossible, before my butterball butt explodes. To think that we still have to tackle the name game. Sob!

Lesson: Grasshopper must learn to co-exist with monkeys in order to evolve into the temple of Buddha.

Fade to Fad

It's the new world baby order. These days women nest. These days babies get their own room filled with toy debris. These days parents spoil their kids in attempts to fullfill the emptiness of their own childhood. Well, except for my husband, because he's had every toy made by mankind. In a world full of dizzying material pressure, when do I say, "stop!"

We, well more I, started browsing for baby essentials. I wanted to start now while I'm still mobile and patient. The online world is decadent and mischievous. In a world of material things, I realize that I am keeping up with the Jones(s). From the
Bugaboo stroller going for $800 and the endless baby crap, I begin to wonder, if it is all about me and less about Kitchstar. I grew up in the days where babies slept in dresser drawers stuffed with sheets for the first couple months. The fortunate ones with cribs well you were a rockstar. These days a baby in a dresser drawer would be considered child abuse. Damn you social services.

Besides the basic crib, changing table, and stroller, I'm being hit with a list of ridiculous absurdities. A must have list like diaper bags, gliders, bassinets, jogging stroller, swings, bouncers, baby bjorn, and play yards. It is all too much for me. Could it be that I'm suffering from a metropolitan syndrome called yuppie? Does the baby require all of this? I have become a victim to my own environment and I am embarassed. Damn you Potrero Hill! Sheesh, imagine if I lived in Noe Valley or the Marina,? I'd be in a world of hurt!

Shellie's Proverb: The Ford Pinto rocking the spinners is still a Pinto.
How did I get here? When did I transform into such a fluppie? The BMW X5 really doesn't help my image. Huff, I've worked hard to get where I am. There's nothing wrong with having nice things, especially when I've worked hard for it. Hence, I can spend it anyway I please. I think the same goes for anyone. I started from the bottom. The same goes for any hard working individual that started from the bottom and worked their way through.

If you possess the drive, than why not? In fact, slumming it in the kitchen for $8/hour after taking a $100K+ paycut surely transformed me into a humble person. It's not like I'm sitting at home plopping bond bonds, playing the Superlotto, and sucking the blood from my husband's income. Good grief, no! But, the idea sounds beautiful. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being a lazy turd. My envy goes out to you awesome turdies.

Suddenly, I was feverishly taken over...I apologize for the baby detour. It's more about the parent's attempt to ease the mind: translation: hmmm, what will keep this kid quiet? Parent's are willing to donate their liver to make sure their child is comfortable and healthy. Besides, babies sprout faster than weeds in the summer time, and in sprouting, these trendy gadgets become null.

It is our duty as parents to fulfill the safety and health of little Kitchstar. Simple and clean. The cost of a stroller or any newfangled gadget is indifferent when it all comes down to true purpose. I am a sucker for marketing. The first time I saw a bottle of Voss, I snagged that sucker regardless of the price. Who cares look at that fabulous bottle! That is me in a nut shell. I am a person that is susceptible to packaging. I am a marketer's wet dream. Now, that a child is on the way, I have to be extremely careful. I have to think of the child's benefit and forget about the dernier cri. It's a great plan. It's a start. It's a change.

Lesson: In order for wise grasshopper to achieve Nirvana, it must always write his name on his underwear.

Pregnancy Update

My weeks have been overlapped between doctors appointments, acupuncture, prenatal yoga and pilates, long walks, that I've neglected my will to write aka vent. I've promised mom in law pictures of my development, but I can't even find the time to upload pictures to Ofotos. What is my problem? I need to snap with it! Not to mention the holidays was just one long speed bump. So here I am trying to find my way through my jungle of excuses. I spend most of my days in front of the computer slaving for a private equity, work has been quite hectic like a rabid dog in heat. It's been difficult to motivate and exercise after work. The very thought of it sometimes can be silenced with a relaxing moment on the couch.

In the meantime, little Kitchstar is starting to kick and/or punch. It all started with subtle butterfly flutters and as the weeks proceed it's becom more apparent that this little tyke will be starting a riot soon. As I spend most of my days sitting in front of the computer, the punches and kicks become evident. Today, especially, I swear it was pounding on the walls of my body for food. Perhaps, I am neglecting Kitchstar. For Pete's sake I had a healthy bowl of fruit and cereal this morning topped off with a yogurt for my morning snack. It's eleven o'clock what more does it want? Honestly, it's so cool to feel this miracle growing. I absolutely love it! In fact, I'm kicking myself in the butt wishing that we had done this earlier.

Shellie's Proverb: A book with no words has no meaning.

Thus, I am trying not to find a reason to gorge my face with nonsensical food. As my visit from the doctors last Friday, I have broken the 140 weight barrier. One should never be concerned with one's weight, although it is pretty scary when I've never ventured in these scary dark woods before. In my attempts to eat healthy and simply be healthy it seems that Kitchstar is growing at an alarming rate. I have sixteen more weeks to go and my belly is growing faster than a bacteria performing in a petri dish parade! In fact, the 20 week ultrasound the head on Kitchstar was pretty big so as I laughed and joked with Shane. He had an gigantuous head as an infant. I mean this thing could have been in the Guiness Book of World Records...anyway as I harmlessly jest, Shane shrugs, "laugh it up, I'm not the one that'll have to push it out." Right than and there, the comedy came to a halt. My little frame, my little box will have to push this turkey out. Gulp. Double Gulp! Triple Double Gulp Skip Gulp.

It does make me feel better that people at work have only noticed my transformation recently. Women, just remember the color black does wonders to slim the body. Especially, if your at that stage where your feeling like a super blimp, a black shirt does wonders and will really make your day. Please don't get me wrong, I embrace my pregnancy wholeheartedly, but I would like to preserve my body as best I can. What's wrong with taking care of myself? In true relativity, I'm taking care of little Kitchstar too. I mean between the intake of probiotic, organic, free range and cage free to have chocolate is a true sin (as I stuff a caramel kiss into my mouth). I am enjoying my pregnancy while it lasts. In fact, I had a Mitchell's ice cream at 3 o'clock pm before consuming a Thai duck lunch plate. Living on the edge baby, living on the edge. I'm trying to have fun with this, because as we shoot to start the Kitchen clan which means rug rats galore, I will fight the elasticity, bloating, fat, and gravity off with a stick. That is why it is important to be proactive.

All in all, it's been busy and I can't fathom how hectic it will be at the end of nine months. I keep telling myself to enjoy this time. Really take it in. I know it's sounds hippie and granola, but it's true. I am in the eye of the storm. I could be whining and complaining and finding every reason to bite my man's nuts off, but I'm not. I'm better than that, besides life is too short for tantrums.

Lesson: A wise Grasshopper must slowly walk on hot coals to appreciate the air of life.

Happy Birthday, Shugah!

Ode to the man that stole my heart!

My sweet bee that coves in my honey
My sweet honey that coves in my hive
My hive that I hold in my heart
My heart, he is my heart.

2007

We greeted new years in our home surrounded by a few close friends. As the past two years we greeted the new year as intoxicatedly festive as possible. Instead, we took the quite route. A glass of champagne, for me, went a long way. By midnight, everyone had consumed enough alcohol to kill a baby pig. As I wanted to do the elderly thing, and have a boggle master tournament, the drinkers slurred instead. In the height of my sobriety, I reflected on 2006, a year of celebration and unforeseen events. It was a year of definite highs and lows.

Shellie's Proverb: A home with windows welcomes light.

It was the year of the Dog, and I could not get enough of snowboarding. In world sports, Italy took the World Cup. In July, my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Simultaneously, a dear friend Johnny suffered a misfortunate accident. In August, Duke, Shane's dad, enjoyed his 60th birthday with a surprise from his children. Also, we celebrated our first year as the Kitchens followed with the conception of Kitchstar. In September, I celebrated the entry into the cougar world as I turned 35. In the meantime, we adopted our sweet bichon Chloe.

As most people don't believe in new years resolutions, I do. It's been three years, since I've had a cigarette. Cold turkey! Furthermore, I have achieved my past new years resolution. I thank my lucky stars that 2006 kept most of us safe from harm. In good thought, I hope 2007 will bring a fruitful and positive year for everyone, we all could use it. In my secret of secrets, I only wish absolute positivity for all. Moreover, 2007 will be a record year as we expect Kitchstar to make it's appearance in May. Finally, I hope Shane the success on his embarkment with his new business. 2007 brace yourself, because here we come with a vengeance for happiness and health.

Lesson: An unwise grasshopper does not believe in fortune cookies.

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.