Today was a much much better day. Or I could just be buzzed on hormones. Bizzleburp has been kicking up a storm lately. Must be growth-spurt time. Whatever it is, I'll take it.

It's been "Extreme Monday" over here in Purple Scare land. I got the news today that a colleague and friend who went west for her maternity leave this weekend landed just in time, as her water broke Saturday night. She now has a bouncing baby boy -- six weeks early. The good news is that both mother and baby are doing well and are expected to be just fine.
And aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? Yep, and it's only Monday.

Random thing I just thought I'd share with you: never underestimate the power of the subliminal. Every time I post to the blog, I get a Meat Loaf song stuck in my head for a few minutes. Why? Because blogger.com's main interface page is called the "dashboard" -- and every time, without fail, "I can see paradise by the dashboard light..." sneaks its way into my alpha waves. It used to annoy me, but now I just look at like part of the process, kinda like opening my Yahoo! mail and going to my "Bulk" folder to delete all the Viagra ads and Confidential Business Proposals from Nigerian exiles.

And you thought the Americans were over the top on warning labels. Folding laundry this morning (whoo hoo, more pre-kids hedonism on a Saturday!) I noticed that the tags on my maternity undies read "KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE." How does one react to this label?

a) Well, DUH!
b) Rats, there go my plans for making a little extra money on the side before the baby comes.
c) What's your definition of "away"?
d) Who is this label for?

The security guys in our building run a TGIF canteen, selling bagels and coffee for those of us who are too slack-jawed at the end of the week to feed ourselves in the morning. I was whimpering about wanting Baileys in my coffee today and not being able to drink, and he looked at me all puzzled. "Why can't you have Baileys?" he asked. (I should note that he didn't look surprised at my wanting a drink before 10 a.m. Life is like that behind the Rusted Iron Curtain.) I looked at him, equally puzzled, and pointed to the growing bulge under my very loose sweater. "Oh, are you pregnant?" C'est la vie, says this old folk, it goes to show you never can tell.

Now my corner fruit lady has gotten into the act: "You've really lost a lot of weight!" Yes, I told her, see the tummy here? I was really sick for about three months but I'm much better now, thank you. Mostly.
Corner Fruit Lady is one of the bonuses of living in my adopted hometown. CFL (previously we had a CFGuy) operates a little kiosk selling fresh produce (or the local definition thereof) at the end of our block. It's very nice to come home at the end of the day and pick up some oranges for a vitamin C fix. What's amazing is that they're there year-round, even when it's 20 below zero in the dead of winter. And she's always friendly and chatty and notices if we haven't been to see her for a while. One of the things I will miss (yes, there is more than one, believe it or not) when we return to our usual side of the Atlantic will be our CFL.

Good news: dinner with friends does wonders to erase a bad afternoon, especially when the food is homemade Thai. Here in the Baltics we don't get a whole lot of flavorsome Asian cuisine, but our chums shipped a bunch of ingredients when they moved here. Mmmmmm...Pad Thai and Peanut Chicken...mmmm.
Another peculiarity of living this far north: it's past midnight and the sun has not yet set. It will eventually dip below the horizon for an hour or two tonight, but that's about it. Happy Summer Solstice, everyone!

I managed to have a rotten afternoon even with lots of sunshine. It takes two things to override a sunny day: a city power failure and an interaction with the home office.
City power failure=operating on a generator. Generator=lots of noise and fluctuations in the electrical works that make my computer, despite the UPS, roll over and play dead every five minutes. Yeah, that's a real kick in the productivity.
Interaction with the home office - more specifically, my HR point of contact. I could get better answers out of a Magic 8 Ball:
"Is the company paying for temporary relocation housing while I'm on maternity leave, since I'm still technically on the payroll then?"
"Reply Hazy...Ask Again Later."
In order to be any less helpful this person would have to be declared legally dead.
I expect a nice dinner with friends will cheer me up considerably. If that doesn't do it, I'll flip a coin over bubble bath & nice warm glass of milk vs. DVD of Kill Bill, vol. 1.

My weight has hit a plateau, which is both good and bad. I'm not losing anymore, but I'm also not quite gaining yet. But everyone keeps telling me that I look great: "We can tell you've lost weight, we can see it in your face!" Great, so I lost all that weight in my face, and my butt is still the envy of any dancer in a Sir Mix-A-Lot video? Puh-leeeze!
Okay, really, it's nice to hear compliments, especially on days when I feel like two gallons of soiled diapers in a one-gallon pail. And I suppose that the weight I've got, in numbers, is just rearranging itself (like leaving my face ?!?!?! and heading for my waist), and in the end Bizzleburp will be a nice healthy size. It's right up there with "I feel sorry for Nancy Reagan" on my list of things I never thought I'd hear myself say: "Gosh, I'd feel a little better if I gained a few more pounds."

Sorry folks, nothing witty or interesting to say today. I've been kind of insomniac lately, which is giving me a great preview of my Zombie NewMom life to come in about four and a half months. My colleagues have orders to shoot on sight if I start stumbling around the office groaning, "Braaaainns...must...have...fresh...braaaains."

Mad Props to all the Pops! Happy Fathers Day to all who are celebrating.

Today's Purple Scare FAQ: Why "Mugs"? 98% of my readership knows my real name, but I'm staying incognito on-line anyway. Very few nicknames have ever stuck to me, for reasons that elude me. My brother started this one, and he's the only one who really uses it consistently. This one has stuck and I like it, so I use it for the blog. It has nothing to do with the fact that I've been dreaming of coffee, no no no. Not real, caffeine-drenched, sweet creamy coffee, nooooo.

For the record: all you Yahoo! users out there who think the new interface stinks, raise your hands. Yep, I thought so. Yay for increased storage space, boo for running slower than honey in the Yukon.

Mad props to one Kindly Uncle William for finding this article on the incomparable Sir Ian: "I can imagine what it's like to kill someone, I can imagine what it's like to cast spells or have superpowers. But imagining what it's like to be Canadian? No. You'd need experience for something like that."

Doctor's appointment went just fine. We didn't do the ultrasound, but we listened to the heartbeat (138bpm - sounds like a 12" dance mix). Everything is fine (so don't worry, Mom) and I go back in two weeks for a "Glucose Tolerance Test" -- usually done between 24 and 28 weeks, and I'm at 22.

Boss returns at the end of this week. I will have to practice gritting my teeth and biting my tongue. Ah, it was good while it lasted.

Doctor appointment tomorrow! New ultrasound pix coming up! The first ones looked like they were taken with the Hubble space telescope. Lately, they've looked more like something out of the X-Files. That's progress, right?

A less frequently asked question, but a relevant one:

Why did you ask for a leave of absence for a whole year? Because I wanted to, we could afford to, and I figured it was about time I figured out what I want to be when I grow up. Bizzleburp is an added bonus. I picked up a book when vacationing out West in October 2003 and found it very informative. More recommended reading, if you're interested, available shortly.

Time for a Purple Scare FAQ:

When is your due date? Mid-October.

Is it a boy or a girl? Yes. We won't know which, though, until B-Day. Meanwhile, we're referring to our growing family member as "Bizzleburp".

"Bizzleburp"? Are you serious? Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time. It's Greg the Bunny's Puppish name, and appropriately onomatopoetic for the anti-social sound effects I've been experiencing since the early weeks. Don't worry, we'll come up with something better for the birth certificate.

When are you returning to the other side of the Atlantic? No later than September 1.

Where will you live? Good question. Know any good realtors?

How long will you be back in North America? Ummmm...good question.

Here's the story: Last winter, I asked my employer for a leave of absence starting when my contract here was up (fall 2004). My employer agreed. Shortly after my employer agreed to this, we learned about Bizzleburp. Around the time Bizzleburp is supposed to show up, my employer is going to want to figure out where to send me when my leave is up in Fall 2005. So within a period of about ten weeks, we're going to
1) make a transAtlantic move;
2) figure out how long we're going to be at our new location;
3) figure out whether to rent or buy;
4) settle into said place and unpack several tons of household effects;
5) try to guess where we're going to be in another year; and, oh, yeah,
6) bring another human being into the world and begin nurturing him or her on a 24-7 basis.

So before I even give birth I'm going to have to decide whether I'm going back to work and if so, when.

Are you out of your mind? Not yet. But now you see why I started the vent-a-blog. It's cheaper than escapist chemical recreation and less likely to damage the baby.

That address once again is purplescareblog@yahoo.com.

A former colleague sent me Belly Laughs, a pregnancy humor book detailing the wit and wisdom of Jenny McCarthy (yes, it's a pretty slim volume). It is refreshing to know that even the rich and famous get their share of symptoms, side effects, and stresses during these nine months. Jenny referred to experiencing bowel difficulties as "passing Stonehenge." I'm with her on that, with two caveats: first, let's be clear that we're talking about the real Stonehenge, not the six-inch-scale model from Spinal Tap; and second, yeah, as long as Stonehenge were made of peanut brittle.
And yes, it's nice to know that the rich and shameless, too, know what it's like when you have to cross your legs every time you sneeze, 'cause you're bound to have some kind of leakage even though your bladder is about the size of a cough drop by now.
Oh, how we suffer to keep the human race going.
I don't know about you, but I'm thinking it was just one stupid apple, it was several millenia ago, I'm sure Eve is very sorry she did it, and isn't there a statute of limitations on divine curses?
And this is the "golden trimester," too.

We got out of town over the weekend, and at long last I got to see Kill Bill, volume 2. I enjoyed it tremendously, with a few hitches: all the scenes involving The Bride training with Master Pei Mei were subtitled only in two Nordic languages -- neither of which I read. So I missed out on about 15-20 minutes' worth of stuff. I was also a little bummed not to get more backstory on some of the characters, after we had learned so much about O-ren Ishii in volume 1. Well, I guess I'll have to wait for the Director's Cut DVD.
I also made a five-hour roadtrip, in the backseat, without losing my lunch or having any bathroom crises. This is a major accomplishment for me as we move into Month Five. I'll take my small victories where I can.

The Japanese have an honor they bestow upon performing artists: "Living National Treasure". I've always thought the US should create such a title, and I had the perfect candidate for inaugurating the award, but now there's little point. Forget Reagan -- NOW is the time for a national day of mourning, discussions of changing the currency, and debates over where to erect a monument. A great American is no longer among us, and I shall miss him greatly. Hail and farewell to you, sir.

At the end of an extremely long day, I laughed out loud at this. That's my excuse. My sister-in-law sent me this, so you can blame her if you groan.

"A mother and her young inquisitive son were flying Southwest Airlines
from Kansas City to Chicago. The son (who had been looking out the
window) turned to his mother and asked, "If dogs have baby dogs and cats
have baby cats, why don't planes have baby planes?"

"The mother (who couldn't think of an answer) told her son to ask the flight
attendant.

"So the boy dutifully asked the flight attendant, "If dogs have baby dogs
and cats have baby cats, why don't planes have baby planes?"

"The flight attendant responded, "Did your mother tell you to ask me that?"
The little boy admitted that she did. "Well, then, tell your mother that
there are no baby planes because Southwest always pulls out on time. Now,
let your mother explain that to you."

Missed blogging yesterday, sorry. Our ISP was holding us hostage. Back to normal now.

Today I decided that it was time to end my "awkward, in-between phase" of pregnancy and break out the Office Maternity Clothes I bought almost two months ago during an unexpected trip to the English-speaking world. (I was able to shop in a language I more or less understood, so I spent a wad of money sophisticated, dignified, tailored outfits that wouldn't make me look a big wad of ruffles.) I am coming up on five months, by golly, it's time to revel in it. Under any other circumstances, I would be thrilled to discover that my clothes are too big for me because I've lost weight. This is not the case here, though.
I spent my first trimester in a near-constant state of nausea. It wasn't until I saw my first sonogram that I realized that there was really a baby growing in there and I didn't really just have the Tapeworm From Hell. Even now, my doctor yells at me when I walk in her office because I keep losing weight (believe me, I had the pounds to spare, it's not like anyone is going to mistake me for a supermodel anytime soon). But 20 pounds is 20 pounds. And now my sophisticated, dignified, tailored outfits fit me like a clown suit.
So here's my dilemma: do I put them away for another month and hope I grow into them naturally, or do I go on a binge with ice cream, peanut butter and chocolate to ensure that those suckers fit me?
Nah...then my doctor would yell at me for gaining too much. (But she always forgives me when she brings out the ultrasound wand and starts making goo-goo noises at the screen.)

Every blogger on earth probably has some reflection today on the passing of America's 40th President. Far be it from me to exclude myself from the flood of commentary.
The fact is, I never liked the Reagans. I thought the U.S. First Lady was a superficial, clueless caricature that made the Stepford Wives look like Eleanor Roosevelt. "President" Reagan was unfit for the job, he stood for everything I found objectionable, and I disliked him intensely. I choke on the new appellation of Washington's National Airport, as I consider naming an aviation facility after the man who fired striking air traffic controllers to be on par with naming a coal processing facility after Margaret Thatcher. One would just as soon name a day care center after Timothy McVeigh.
But -- and there's always a "but" -- I lost someone I loved more than life itself to Alzheimer's a few years ago. I was very close to my grandmother and namesake. She had travelled all over the world (in part, no doubt, inspiring my career choice) and led a good, full, satisfying life that on the whole would be the envy of most people. I always said that Saint Peter was going to have drag her kicking and screaming through the Pearly Gates. Her love was one of the greatest gifts of my life. Her family was everything to her - even when she could no longer tell us apart. Losing her by inches over a period of years was excruciating. Watching her watch, uncomprehending and increasingly helpless, as her world shrank around her was a torture that even a year in Abu Gharib prison could not top.
I wouldn't wish a death via Alzheimer's on anyone. It took five years for the disease to claim my grandmother. Reagan lasted more than ten. God help me, I can actually empathize with Nancy Reagan today. If you had asked my adolescent self twenty (gulp) years ago if I ever believed that would be possible, I would have said no. I don't give myself any credit for being more mature now. I just know what it is to mourn and to feel tremendous relief at the same time. My heart goes out to her.

Oh cruel fate! First, I have to wait two months to catch Kill Bill, Volume 2. If I had stayed in France, my last vacation spot, just one more day I could have seen it...in French (probably would not have done me much good). Now it looks as though I may be unable to see the new Harry Potter for over two months - I might not even see it until I get home! Moviegoing choices are really limited where I live. I can slip across the border to a neighboring country where they show stuff in English (as you have seen below, with Troy and The Day After Tomorrow). Or I can wait a week after the North American release date and get a bootleg DVD...but that would be wrong. After all, KB and HP really require big screens. Oh, and there's that whole copyright infringement/intellectual property/piracy issue.
Really, this wouldn't be so poignant, except that I know that after B-Day in October, I will not see the inside of a movie theatre for months, if not years. I've already resigned myself to at least ten years of "vacations" that involve cartoon animals at every stop. Not going to the movies, now that is gonna hurt.
And look at it this way: in ten years, I'll probably have the Harry Potter series - written and cinematic - committed to memory. What's the rush?

My belly now sticks out farther than the rest of me. Time to hold a farewell party for my waistline. Yippee!

I took the day off from blogging yesterday. When I got home from work I could barely keep my eyes open. So I lay down for a few hours, woke up at 10 p.m., got up to brush my teeth, and proceeded to toss and turn for the next five hours. Oh fate, how you mock me.

I have figured out why the Ineffable Tao gives pregnant women mood swings on top of all our other symptoms & side effects: so that our partners can experience the joys of pregnancy vicariously. Nothing can replicate three straight months of nausea, but my husband can get that queasy feeling just watching me threaten to have a thermonuclear meltdown because the mashed potatoes turned out less well than expected. Nature is full of such wonders.

Okay, I leave town for a few years, and Sarah grows her hair way out, and Alanis chops her locks. Anything else I should know about? Has k.d. started eating meat?