For most of yesterday, it seemed that every glass of water I drank made me pee at least three times. I had to get up a few times in the middle of the night too. I woke up and something was different. I waddled down to the full length mirror in the baby room. I took a deep breath. I took a deep breath? I haven't been able to breathe deeply without getting a lung caught on a foot, hand or rib for a few months. Our little friend has dropped or "lightened", moving further down into my pelvic region, thus creating more room in my chest. Apparently, he's getting ready to meet us...

My belly looks like it got pushed down a bit lower and it feels like there is something stuck between my legs. Dare I mention, the yogic squats were interesting in class today.

lightening
engagement, dropping When the fetus descends into the pelvic cavity. In first-time mothers, usually occurs two to four weeks before delivery; women who have already givenbirth usually don't lighten until they begin labor. (from babycenter.com)

I'm still in awe from the incredible show we saw at the Greek on Friday night. What a lovely venue. It is an excellent place to see live music. The air was warm, the moon was full. The time passed way too quickly even with three bands. The Blasters got things started, with Phil singing strong and playing all their best songs. G and I have talked about seeing Hank III for years now, but it never seemed to work out. He was worth the price of admission alone. He had this excellent stand up bass player and a great fiddle player too. Although he only did one Hank Sr. cover, he looks and sounds so much like him it's eerie.

Then Dwight took the stage. Then Dwight took over the stage. He moves those hips like Elvis and sings like nobody else. It's all so effortless and these perfect sounds come out of his mouth. Thanks Dwight hope to see you again real soon.

I dreamt that I gave birth to a baby calf last night. Luckily I did not have a labor dream, I just simply had a new baby in my life and it happened to be a baby cow. My sister was very helpful, which I hope is a good omen. We were in a barn trying to swaddle the huge thing and get it to go to sleep so that we could too. It was bleating and rolling around, too big for one person to handle. Then my sister suggested we take off his black rubber boots and socks. Once we managed to do that he seemed to settle down. I felt like a bad mother because I did not even notice that my baby calf was wearing shoes!

Yes, such dreams are "normal" for women in their 8th month of pregnancy who seem to grow bigger every night. It is harder and harder to find a comfortable position to sleep in and then the boy starts in with the grabbing or kicking or hiccuping which all affect different parts of the belly. Jo told me today that she dreamt that she gave birth to a dog, that seems much more reasonable.

I can only hope that our little boy has such pretty eyes and such a nice soft hide.

I just met Miss K for coffee at the coffee table and now I'm wired to the gills (on de-caf for all you prego-Nazis out there ready to call in the maternity cops) and spinning around the messy cat-hair infested house and not really getting anything done.

It's been a great weekend so far and since we have a few more parties this afternoon, I thought I should get an early jump on the re-capping.

My sister and bro-to-be got back from Maui at 4am on Friday. They are tan and happy and staying with us for a few days before heading back out to Wright's Lake and then Burning Man. It's great to have my sister around, somehow it feels just like summer vacation.

On Friday, we went to Cafe Largo in the Fairfax District with a nice smelling crew of people for dinner. I finally saw Jon Brion after hearing about him for the last few years. Guess I'm just slow to jump on those slow-moving bandwagons. People have tried to explain his act to me and words can't really do it justice. You'll just have to get down there and see it for yourself. I never really got past the image of "he plays all these instruments." Like he was some sort of one man band with everything strapped to his body. It's far more classy than that, I HIGHLY recommend it. Fantastic. The music just sweeps you up and carries you away. Most importantly he really enjoys himself the whole time, like some sort of mad scientist showing off his experiments as they smoke and explode and then come out as simple perfection. He ended the first set (per audience semi-request) with a ragtime medley of Bowie tunes. The food at Largo is ok, but not too expensive, so worth it so you can sit down instead of standing in back at the bar (especially if you in your 8th month...) I am all over dinner theater, my next dream is check out Preston Smith somewhere in the Valley.

Yesterday, sis and I went swimming. Yummy. We also went to see The Good Girl which I cannot recommend with very much enthusiasm. But you know, I can't find a bad review of the damn thing, so maybe it's just me. I feel like that Jake Gyllenhaal is following me around though, I keep seeing him in all these movies.

So while I'm still buzzing I best get some real stuff done. The carefree childless weekends are slowly counting down, so I'm out there fighting the good fight while I still can. Don't know how many parties you get invited to when you have a screamy poopy adorable little bugger with you. It's pretty weird being the pot-bellied sober girl at some of these functions though.

Be well and get used to the clouds because they are here to stay for another week...

Marc and Nancy threw a party at their downtown loft last night. It's a cool joint. Lots of room, lots of cement. People were friendly, the music was good. Crazy views of downtown from the 11th floor.

KCRW's Sandra Tsing Loh comments on her personal experiences during World Breastfeeding Week.

You can listen to Part 1 and Part 2.

According to Loh, "Nothing goes with nursing like a nice... cold... beer."

She also goes over the La Leche guidelines for breastfeeding:

"...Only certain activities are sanctioned in the La Leche League handbook. Can a woman breastfeed twins? Of course she can. Can she breastfeed while working? Of course she can. While skiing? Why not!?! Doing brain surgery? Give it a try! Indeed multi-task is what you'll have to do if you breastfeed your baby as recommended, a.k.a. fifteen minutes per side, two sides per feeding, ten to twelve times every twenty-four hours, preferably for at least two years. Which is not possible unless you have a small coterie of men in g-strings oiling you, powdering you and rolling you over and over like a gigantic larva so you can be unconcious the whole day because p.s. things like pain medication are frowned upon... but never mind, who needs an epidural when "Breastfed babies get sick less!" "Breastfed babies don't get fat!" "Breastfed babies are smarter!"

I'm getting really pumped up!

Old friends and veteran parents, Marisa and Lance came down from Ventura this weekend. They brought their two-year-old Cal who is funny, adorable and a huge handful. His strongest two words are "no" (which actually means "yes" unless said emphatically in which case it actually means "no") and "mommy." "Mommy" occasionally refers to Marisa but it can also mean Lance or anyone in authority or who might give him a banana or help him chase the cat around the house. G spent the day with Lance and Cal at the Huntington Gardens and I think it was great exposure while Marisa and I went to my baby shower in Manhattan Beach.

The shower was fantastic and I am truly amazed once again by the love and generosity of my incredible family for throwing the shower and by our friends for going all the way across town and giving such thoughtful and wonderful gifts.

We ate out decadently last night at Fleming's in Manhattan Beach. Swanky and delicious like most family outings. We were celebrating Kelly and Glen's birthdays. Once a month it seems we have a reason to get together for a party or else we just make one up.

Sweet Kelly is throwing the baby a shower this weekend. She is a great party planner and a darling person.

Are you getting the picture?

What fun we have when Foj comes for a visit. Last night he taught Greg a few tricks on guitar. All this time I thought he was just a silly drummer! He also had a lot of parental advice. Well, I'd better stop typing and get this cat to a record store because he likes the mu-zak. More soon...

I did finally sleep last night for almost seven hours straight, but woke up in a panic. (I write this while my worry free husband sleeps through a beautiful Saturday after painting the night away.) One of my recurring dreams is that I am late for a terrible Chemistry class. This class I have not yet cracked a book for and I have missed half the lectures. In my dream, I have slept through the midterm and it is past the add/drop deadline so I will be forced to fail unless I can pull it together and ace the final. I am in way over my head and cannot seem to get across campus to the lab. I awake with my gibbous body wedged between a mountain of pillows, I am freaking out and worried about how this will affect all my other classes. I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that I am not in school.

I am simply seven months pregnant and either this Chemistry class represents labor and delivery or perhaps the whole concept of parenthood. Either way, I sure don't miss that terrible end of the quarter feeling when finals are looming. I remember making plans with friends to meet at the beach or a bar after finals to celebrate, but I usually found myself biking straight back to my apartment and falling asleep. Days later I would wake up to find a mostly empty town and a stack of books ready to be sold and the money squandered on cheap beer and pinball until the next quarter.

While watching the amazing Paul Muni in "I Am A Fugitive from a Chain Gang" last night one of his girlfriends has the best line in the whole film...

"There are no musts in my life. I'm free, white, and twenty-one."

The funny thing is twenty-one did not feel so free to me. Looking back, it should have. I was in the middle of college, hardly worked, barely went to class. Had already met or was in the process of meeting some of my best friends. My obssession was with men, sort of like those sad ladies on Sex and the City. Wondering if I would ever meet the right one. I was always trying to make truly lame relationships or friendships into serious love affairs. It's like you want it all and you want it all right then. I had no patience. I was impulsive and insecure. It's not a time I would like to go back to. Just getting the hang of your own skin. Testing the limits of your mind. Everything was so serious.

There are plenty more "musts" in my life now and soon to be more, but every one of them real and every one worth it.

Well the story ended on a happy note, or at least the bathroom light fixture is back in place. One of the little known facts about pregnancy is that you become very clumsy. Awkward and clumsy that is. Not only is your weight distribution all wrong, but dizziness and overwhelming feelings about life and mortality crowd your every waking thought.

I had a Raymond Carver day finding a 1950s light fixture for the bathroom to replace the one I broke whilst trying to "clean" it. Yes, the furious nesting process has begun. Do you need your closets reorganized? Back to Carver, I rambled all over town with the cracked ceiling fixture in my shakey hands. I was turned away by ten different hardware stores including Home 'Despot'. Finally someone mentioned an antique fixture place on the corner of Wilton and Melrose. I've driven by that corner a million times since moving to L.A. and never noticed the little white house. Old Joe and his wife Carmelita (names have been changed to protect the innocent) sit on the front porch and wait for people to pull up. Then Joe painstakingly gets up leaning on to his cane and asks if he can help. Before I realize what is happening Joe dips his hands into the plastic bag holding the glass shards of the light fixture. I quickly pull it away from him when I discover he is mostly blind and has to feel a fixture to identify it. "Don't you worry about me. Let me see what you've got there," he says then disappears among the crowded shelves only to return moments later with a good match. Carmela does not bother to leave her seat until it seems like you might be buying something, then she appears behind the cash (only) register and handwrites a receipt.

I have not gone back to Wilton and Melrose for fear that the house does not really exist.