35 weeks

Depending on whose due date you believe, I hit 35 weeks yesterday or will hit it tomorrow. This marks a turning point of sorts, as most doctors (including mine) won't stop labor once you reach this point, a fact of which she advised me this morning. In theory, then, I could have the baby at any time. Personally, I'm happy to go the full 40 weeks; all I lose out on by delivering early is what would otherwise be paid pre-baby leave, but I'm not above reminding the partners with whom I work semifrequently that my estimated date of departure, Sept. 21, is just that, an estimate. People do sometimes have babies early.

She is also sending me for another ultrasound because, of course, I am still measuring small. She didn't seem too concerned, and since they won't be able to see me for another week and I won't get the results for a further week after that (at least 2 weeks from now), I've decided that it's not worth me stressing either. If something really is wrong, there'll be plenty of time to worry about it two weeks from now, right?

The day the wall went up

No pictures yet (the connector for the camera is in the bottom of the bookcase, which is currently blocked by the couch and coffee table, which I don't want to move back until we paint), but the wall is up! I'm really pleased with how it turned out. The french doors let in a lot of light and air, so it really does still feel relatively open (considering), and some light comes in from the bedroom as well.

They put the baseboards on, so I don't have to get the baseboard guy back to do that. They swept and even mopped up after themselves. If I'd had any cash in the house, I would have tipped them, but somehow, it seemed like the quarters left over from laundry day might be taken as more of an insult than a gesture of appreciation.

So, sometime this week, we have to prime the wall and woodwork around the door; then, this weekend, we'll paint the wall, the door trim, and the baseboards. After that, we can put the carpet squares down in the baby's room. The pendulum has apparently swung in the direction of it looking like my mom may not be able to come with the furniture before the baby is born, but I'm still keeping my fingers crossed. I can't wait to get everything set up. I may have to resort to putting the bedding on her mattress on the floor and folding/stacking her clothes in the empty bookshelf. Wait, that's totally pathetic. Hmm . . .

Oh what a beautiful morning (and weekend)

View from the East River Esplanade on a Monday morning

Weekends are really beautiful things when you can spend them with a loved one outside the office. This is true even if you while away the hours drilling through thick metal window frames, already dotted with numerous holes, in order to install new blinds (a trick that requires an 18-volt drill, as we discovered, which luckily one can rent from home depot for a mere $13/4 hours or $18/day).

It's hard work, though.

Frankly, I think the glasses are kind of a turn on. In my opinion, observing proper safety rules is totally sexy.

And, if you happen to pry your metal windowframe a little bit away from the surrounding wall because your screws are too long, it will probably still be okay. (John claims the blinds won't fall; they still feel really stable.) You can always paint over it or hide it with some sort of decorative valance later.

Your blinds will still look great.

Because I haven't posted one in awhile, and because Mom is clamoring for it, here's a 34.5 week pregnancy picture. The devil eyes are really attractive, I know, but I don't have red eye remover on this computer.

Motorcycles are dangerous (even when you wear a helmet)

I'm pretty risk averse anyway, so the idea of cruising down the freeway on a motorcycle, wind blowing by and all . . . not that appealing, frankly. I'd rather be warm and windfree inside a car. With a seatbelt. And airbags. I have heard John sigh once or twice at the freedom of a bike, but after what I saw today, I told him, "No motorcycles. Ever."

I was walking on the esplanade that runs along the FDR at midday today when I heard a loud sound. I look up to see several cars swerving around what looked like large pieces of debris in the road. Because it isn't obvious what the debris is, I am intrigued. Initially, it almost looks as though someone has hit construction cones or something. So, as I walk along, I watch the road.

A few seconds later, I see someone walking on the edge of the FDR. He stumbles along for a bit and then climbs over the wall to come onto the esplande. I happened to be passing right when he sits down on a bench, and I notice that he's bleeding. A few cars have now stopped and several people get out of one. Two are on their cell phones, so I ask if they're calling 911, and they tell me yes. Concerned, I take another look at the guy sitting on the bench. He is concious but not particularly coherent. His pants are ripped, and although he doesn't seem to be gushing blood from anywhere, he is definitely bleeding. I notice a couple of deep abrasions on one arm, at least one of which is down to the bone. His top lip is completely mangled on one side, ground to a pulp and pulled mostly away from the rest of his face. A few minutes later, I see that several of his fingers on his right hand have been partially crushed. Parts of some of the fingers look like they're gone, but by this time, I'm trying to avoid vomiting all over him, so I try not to look too closely.

Not being a trained medical professional, I can't really do much. I hang around along with one of the girls who called 911, watching him, trying to talk to him a little, make sure he is still concious, that kind of thing. He asks if he can take the helmet off, and eyeing his lip again, I tell him he definitely cannot take the helmet off. He needs to wait for the doctors to do it. I try to get him to lay down, but he is too disoriented to do it himself, and I'm afraid he is too tall and heavy for me to be able to keep him safe if I try to help him and he stumbles or trips. The first ambulette comes quite quickly, luckily. The EMTs are taking their time getting out and to the patient - not rushing at all. By this time, a rollerblader has stopped as well, and she starts screaming at them - this is an emergency, you need to hurry, this man is seriously injured, etc. The rollerblader also calls 911 again.

Once the EMTs got to him and started examining him, I assumed I'd be in the way, so I walked on. The rollerblader was still there, keeping careful watch. (Had I actually seen the accident itself, I would have stayed to leave my name and contact information as a potential witness, but I didn't, I just saw the aftermath. I have no idea if he slid out, if someone hit him, what happened). Within a few minutes, I heard sirens and saw fire trucks, police cars, and additional ambulences going toward the scene of the accident. On my way back, I stopped for a minute. Several police and fire officers were at the scene, as well as more EMTs (which frankly, was probably a good thing. I don't know that the ambulette girls could have handled this on their own; the guy was pretty big and they didn't seem that motivated).

I felt so badly for him. He was obviously in a lot of pain, definitely in shock. I think I heard him saying something about insurance. I just felt awful. And this guy walked away from the accident. He'll have scars, certainly, and perhaps long-term problems because of the facial and finger injuries (plus possibly other internal injuries), but I think we can assume he will not die or be paralyzed. Thank goodness he was wearing a helmet. However, no one in a car was injured at all (and I'm pretty sure the motorcycle came into contact with at least one car, based on some dents on one of the stopped cars). I don't know, maybe I'm crazy, but motorcycles, just not that enticing in my opinion.

Whistle while you work

After more than 6 weeks of furniture in the middle of the floor and more than 4 months of back and forth regarding bids and such, the first phase of pre-baby renovations is done! The contractor finished the baseboards Friday (with the exception of a small overlooked spot behind the bedroom door that'll be taken care of in a week or two). This weekend was our turn, so we got to work. First, we painted the baseboards everywhere but the bedroom Friday night. Then, on Saturday, I repainted the bottom of the wall where we had already painted the baseboards (it had caulking and stuff on it from the baseboard work) while John painted the bedroom. We decided that as long as all the furniture was out of there, we should take advantage and get something up other than "linen white" (which I have decided is one of my LEAST favorite colors).

Next, we had to vacuum and scrub everywhere while the paint dried in the bedroom. Then, the sister missionaries came over for dinner, which was a real joke since all the furniture was still in the middle of the floor, but we made do (thank you Dominos). Once the bedroom paint was dry, I painted the baseboards in there while John worked on his talk for Sunday (which was very inspiring; he did a great job despite being so busy on Saturday). After church, some kindhearted friends in the ward took pity on us and helped us move all our furniture back. Then, we spent an hour or two rearranging books and media stuff to fill up the new entertainment center, and voila, we were done! We even listed the old TV on craigslist, and it sold tonight.

So, next up is the temporary wall installation next Tuesday. We're going to have extra baseboards here, so hopefully they'll agree to put those on instead of whatever they bring with them; otherwise, our contractor agreed to come back for an extra fee, of course, and put baseboards on the new wall. Then, we get to paint the wall and the baseboards on the wall Labor Day weekend. After that, we just wait for Mom to come out with the nursery furniture (for which we will trade her one bookcase and a sofa table), and then, we're done until after the baby.

It really feels like things are coming along. The list of what still needs to be done in this apartment is now less than one hand's worth: (1) replacing closet doors (3 sets), (2) replacing internal doors in bedroom and bathroom, (3) stripping and repainting doorways, and the big one, (4) redoing the kitchen cabinets and sink. Whew! At least we've gotten a good start.

Partial view of new entertainment center

Bedroom paint color (we're going to dispense with matching blue bedding and go for something in a contrasting or complementary color eventually)

Baseboards detail 1

Baseboards detail 2

And for everyone who is sick of hearing about the home renovations already, please don't give up on our blog entirely. I'm sure we'll have much more amusing posts with better pictures after the baby is born. In the meantime, we have to find some way to keep ourselves occupied . . .

Hello, my sisters

This post is for my sisters (and a little for my mom), who are really the only people who will get it.

I have a candy apple. Do YOU have a candy apple? I have a candy apple. MY candy apple is RED. . . .

(Look, John has a caramel apple. Caramel apples are not as good as candy apples.)

True wisdom

It's not often you find wise words in a bathroom, but it happened to me tonight. I was at dinner with my friends Nancy and Heather from law school, and as is now my custom, went to the bathroom before leaving. (Generally, even if I think I don't have to go, I make it a practice to go to the bathroom before I leave anywhere these days). Across from the toilet, a cheap poster titled "Sarcastic Zen Sayings" was plastered to the wall. One saying read as follows, "Never make yourself irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted."

Those who have heard me vent about John's job situation will understand why this is particularly apropos at this time in our lives. Luckily things have picked up on that front now that he has become the one responsible for screening applicant resumes, doing the initial phone interviews, and scheduling the in-office interviews. Keep your fingers crossed for us . . .

Oh, and just because I posted about it only the other day, our guy caulked the baseboards and added the shoe moulding in the living room today. I teared up when I saw it, it looked so good. It almost makes me wish we had decided to do crown moulding too, but I mustn't let my thoughts wander in that direction.

Real pictures to come when painted and the rest of the apartment no longer looks like a war zone.

It's the little things

This morning, I got up and rushed through my shower, then waited with bated breath. The big day had arrived. Finally, after no less than 4 months of bids and estimates and who knows what else, finally the work on replacing our baseboards would begin.

This might not seem that exciting on first thought, but just trust me, it really is. When we were renting, I never gave a second thought to things like baseboards, interior doors, quality of grout, but now, every single imperfection really bothers me, and that's unfortunate, since our apartment has many. I'm counting down the days until I can replace the closet and interior doors (the bids were so high that we are going to have to do it ourselves, if by "ourselves" you mean with the help of a friend who has tools and knowledge and was too kind to refuse my desperate pleas for help), refinish the doorframes, hang the new blinds, and eventually, get the kitchen redone. In the meantime, the pre-baby project list is pretty short - replace the baseboards and get the wall put in. That's it, but after the effort I've put in to get us to this point, it seems like a lot.

We prepared the apartment very carefully, inviting friends for dinner last night with the ulterior motive of soliciting their help in moving the large items of furniture, then shifting a few remaining things ourselves. In fact, we created a pretty clear path around every wall in the living/baby/dining/hall area (the apartment minus the bedroom). I was impressed with us, although I'm not really looking forward to clearing everything away from the walls in the bedroom in a couple of days.

I won't go into the details of how it took 45 minutes to get from the service entrance into our apartment, complete with alarms going off, etc, because that's all really beside the point. When I walked into the door from work tonight, I had two thoughts. First, I really think the apartment is going to look a lot better with the baseboards redone, and I have good taste in trim (that last part probably requires a little imagination still at this point). Second, I am so, so, so glad we are not doing this ourselves.

Just seeing the contractor's work area set up with various tools and glues and such led me to imagine the nervous breakdown I would have undergone had I tried to get this done myself before early October. And doing it with a baby around? Forget it. Definitely beyond my capacity. Looking at the beginnings of the new baseboards also highlighted again for me how uneven our walls are. Skim coating is beyond our budget, so the uneven walls, complete with all their many imperfections, are here to stay; I am 100% certain that the contractor will do a much, much better job of making the straight baseboards look nice against the crooked walls than I could have done. We got some scoffs and chuckles when our handier friends, especially those not in the city, heard that we didn't feel capable of slapping up a few measly baseboards ourselves, but I must say, I think they overestimated our skills. From where I stood tonight, every penny we're paying this guy (which seemed a little high before, frankly), looked like money well spent, and I guess in the end that's really all that matters.

John proudly displaying the perimeter we created

Tools and stuff

What was there before (and this is a relatively good section of it, unlike other sections that were chipped/cracked/etc)

The first stages of something better (minus caulking, shoe moulding, painting, etc)

Tropical Heat Wave

As expected, the third trimester of pregnancy in the hottest part of a New York City summer leaves a little something to be desired. Really, other than the shingles and all, I think I've been incredibly lucky so far with the whole pregnancy thing. I'm big, but not big enough that my back hurts from carrying the weight in the front. My feet generally haven't swollen all that badly, etc. I know all these things remain in my future over the next couple of months, but so far, lucky. However, pregnancy definitely has interfered with my ability to regulate body temperature. I am warmer than normal pretty much all the time.

During the day, this isn't too bad. I sit in my nice air conditioned office, where the temperature is regulated by someone other than me, and I don't need a sweater as I have in past years. Sometimes I'm even a little warm, but never really uncomfortably so. At night, however, it's a bit of a dilemma. I'm a restless sleeper anyway, and heat makes it worse. John swears that it is cold in our bedroom at night. He wraps himself tightly in the sheet and quilt. A couple of nights, he wore a hooded sweatshirt and socks because he said he was getting sick from having the fan blow on him at night. Frankly, I think he's making it all up. The decades-old a/c in our bedroom, while it does generally blow cold air, doesn't blow that much of it (thus the need for the fan blowing directly on me in addition to the a/c on high) and doesn't cool the room as well as the window units we were using in the old apartment.

Last night, it was particularly bad. Several days of temps in the low 90s have left the city a mucky mess. I took a freezing shower before bed and was still boiling all night. John had the blanket on as usual. This morning, when I woke up, I checked the a/c, and it wasn't even blowing cold. Just room temperature air. I complained about this off and on while John was getting dressed. He insisted I was making it up, that the bedroom was a comfortable temperature and the pregnancy hormones were making me crazy. Finally, I took his hand and walked him over to the pitiful stream of not-even-cold air coming out of the unit. Even he had to agree that it was not blowing cold. We called the doorman, and sure enough, the a/c was out in our building last night (and still is, as I sit here working sporadically from home while washing a load of whites because I realized I had nothing to wear to work this morning). I'm sure it was well over 80 degrees in the bedroom. And yet, John was still sleeping with a blanket, wrapped tightly around him no less, insisting that last night was no hotter than normal and that we should get an indoor thermometer so he could prove it was a comfortable temperature. So, who's the crazy one now?