Mountain Mamas

The Mountain Mamas need a model... so I applied. It's a company dedicated to making clothing big enough for big adventures when you're, well... big. I was bored and searched Craigslist for "pregnant" and this is what I came up with:Pregnant Models Needed for Catalog Shoot (L.A. County)

Mountain Mama, Inc., Makers of the world’s first technical outdoor apparel for maternity, is looking for pregnant models for our next photo shoot, June 24-June 26, 2010

We’re looking for:

• Pregnant women with due dates between July 15 and September 1, 2010
• Pre-pregnancy dress size: 2-4
• Height: 5’2” – 5’8”
• Any ethnicity
• Athletic build
• Modeling experience a plus

We’re especially interested in working with surfers, stand-up paddlers, climbers, cyclists, hikers, yoginis, and runners. Models will be captured having sporty summer fun on the beach in Ventura and at local and state parks throughout L.A. County.

Please take a look at our website to find out more about Mountain Mama and to see pictures from our last photo shoot. www.mountain-mama.com

Compensation will be negotiated based on models’ experience. Go-sees will take place in Los Angeles and Santa Monica 6/10-6/12

Please send an email to info@mountain-mama.com with the following information:

• Headshots
• Due date
• Height
• Pre-pregnancy dress size
• Shoe size
• Favorite sports
• Previous modeling experience
• Anything else you’d like us to know

Jackpot, no?

I had Clint take some pictures of me (he didn't even whine or complain that much about it) and just sent them off. I think it would be good if I can get some work while my feet are swelling up like sausages and my gums bleed for no good reason. It'd be something to look forward to! I'll be sure to keep you posted. And if it turns out to be a bust, at least I can order their super comfy-looking fleece hoodie thing. That looks sooo Topanga!

Puffin' Up

I thought my toes were sore from the shoes I was wearing yesterday. Then I thought maybe from the shoes I had on today. And then Clint pointed out that I was pregnant, and this happens a lot. Puffy feet. Ow! I have stubby little toes to begin with, and now they're boxy little puffy toes.

Naturally, I need to get myself some new shoes to fit my new toes. I have considered a few different types of easy-to-wear shoes and I keep coming back to Birkenstocks. I think I could get one pair and wear them to walk the dog, drive around town, work in the yard, or just putter around the house. And I could wear them with socks if I feel like it. Any other suggestions? My requirements are that I have to be able to slip them on and they have to be adjustable because I might have marshmallow feet by the time August rolls around. Let me know!

The Pitter-Patter of Little Feet

*Warning: Attached Photo May Disturb Some Readers*

It's a little early to hear footsteps but yesterday we heard them... and they weren't the kind we wanted to hear. We also heard nibbling. And some scratching. At first I thought it was our puppy, but we realized she was fast asleep. It was another four-legged creature... upstairs in the attic.

After trying to ignore it around 2am, we went down to the basement and located the batteries for our mouse zapper. I had trouble forcing the batteries into place weeks ago and had given up; Clint easily wedged them in and seconds later, the thing was ready to go. It looks like a little tunnel of death. Back upstairs, we opened the attic door, took the ladder down, and placed the tunnel (along with a little peanut butter bait) on the new subfloor up there.

We weren't back in bed for more than five minutes (I don't even think Clint had made it back yet) when the footsteps ceased. Was it smart and ran off, or were we triumphant? Did I get the Maine mouse trapping gene? I drifted off to sleep and sorta looked forward to checking on the thing in the morning.

After Clint left for work, Trouble was wreaking havoc so I had a protein-packed bagel and took a little nap. After the dog and I went for a walk, it was time to get down to business. Armed with a few plastic grocery bags and a towel (I couldn't find the rubber gloves I wanted to wear), I donned the headlamp, opened the attic door and got the ladder down. I climbed up. It was dark. I looked over near the trap, which Clint had faced away from the attic entry, so all I could see was a little shadow. Once I found the light and used my towel to turn the thing around, my suspicions-- our suspicions -- were confirmed. There was a mouse in the house!

Actually, it was too large to be a mouse. It did have Mickey-esque ears, but that tail was definitely rat-like. I didn't do any scientific measurements, but it was longer than an iPhone. Weighed more, too. I dumped it in the trash (I didn't think it deserved a burial) and now the little zapping machine is awaiting its next victim!

I'm hoping I didn't contract any rodent-borne diseases while I was up there. Hands were washed and I don't think I've been ingesting any rodent poo or urine (I'll try just about anything to get the never-ending morning sickness to go away by now but those things aren't on my list)...

I'm not ready for any more four-legged visitors right now, so we'll just stick to waiting for the two legs to come in a few months. But if we get any more, I'll let you know.

Please, do not touch the belly.

Tomorrow marks week 24, which means I have 16 weeks to go to the magic 40 and then I can forget all about everything that has happened since oh, January 28 or so. This morning I was sick again, so whoever it was who said the morning sickness is over by 20 weeks is a big fat liar.

Anyway, now that my wardrobe is somewhat limited, the belly is starting to bulge a little. Some ladies look like this all the time, but I'm getting used to being slightly larger. At first I tried wearing big shirts but Clint said I just looked fat. So now, in order to avoid just looking plump, I've started to wear things like comfy form-fitting cotton t-shirts and yoga pants. The only problem with this is that people think it's an invitation to touch me.

Let me say this: Generally, I don't mind being touched. In fact, I like hugs and I am usually ok being corrected if I'm lifting weights or giving people high-5s as I run past them in a big race. HOWEVER, I am not a human version of "Pat the Bunny" and do not need any extra paws touching me, especially if I don't know them or if they haven't asked. What happened to personal space? What compels people to reach out to touch a swollen belly? I don't understand! Don't these people have manners? It's only happened twice, but I'm done with it. I can rub my own belly, thank you very much.

I've decided that from now on, I'm flat out refusing to cooperate. Baby Rockwell is gonna get plenty of lovin' and doesn't need any extra helping hands.

Beverly Hills Baby Show = too much to handle

Perhaps I felt overwhelmed because it was the Beverly Hilton (I think not), or maybe because there were many, many hormones (got plenty of my own), but it was probably because ladies were pushing cribs with a family crest and trying to get me to enter to win a custom-made BANNER for my unborn child. Really? I lived here?

I went to a baby show yesterday with some mommies-to-be from my baby class. Surrounded by women who actually look pregnant, I was smartly dressed in something comfortable, cotton, and clearly not tight enough to fully expose my bump. One of the vendors handed a bunch of organic soap samples to my buddy and completely ignored me. Others asked, "do you have a family yet?" and, "are you expecting?" ummmm. ok. It was nice that one of them recovered with, "You're carrying so well"-- let me tell ya sister, my back says otherwise.

So anyway, this wasn't my idea. I went along because I thought there was promise of finding a highly recommended car seat, stroller, maybe even a top-notch crib. But instead it was a smallish ballroom full of pastels and frilly things (even something called a paparazzi shade for the car seat). It was smaller than a running expo and rather than serving Odwalla juice and Go Naked! granola, they were giving out cupcakes and cookies. In a way I was glad it was small enough to navigate in under an hour, I'm not sure I could have handled anything larger.

Those of you who know me well know that I have never and probably will never ever carry a purse on a regular basis. I'd go to the opera with a timbuk2 if I could. So I was a little dismayed when I saw ladies cooing over a giant purse-- not a purse though, a diaper bag designed to look like a purse. How practical is that? I'm sorry, but I see no need for most of the things they were hawking!

I will be building my yurt soon and the baby will have a nice cardboard box to play in and around. Then I'll start my own Topanga baby event where everything is made of hemp and things like bedazzled rattles don't exist!

Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day in the U.S. -- a made-up holiday to celebrate mom and get people to buy stuff. I personally like to think I celebrate MY MOM all the time, but I guess there aren't many people out there who do, so they need Hallmark and FTD to remind them to remember their mamas.

I don't think it is holiday related at all, but I have decided over the past two weeks of continued discomfort and general misery that I don't want to be pregnant any more. I'd like to throw in the towel, thanks very much. I am sooo glad I'm not an elephant or a whale (really), since those animals have even longer gestation times. I just don't wanna do it any more.

I would like to get my energy back, and I would like to eat whatever I want whenever I want, and I'd really love to have a beer. I would also like to stop vomiting, which hasn't completely gone away and since we're already beyond 21 weeks, it's possible that it won't until this little bugger is born. This isn't what I signed up for!

I guess I have a tendency to do things like this-- jump into something I'm not quite prepared for-- but it usually works out. Now it's just on a much bigger scale. Not like signing up for a 400 mile bike ride and realizing that yes, eventually I'd have to get on the bike. This is 21-year marathon, and it has only just begun. What was I thinking?

Perhaps, since this is numero uno, I don't have anything to remind me that it's going to be worth it in a year or two when I'm finger painting or listening to kiddie rock or picking Cheerios and play-dough out of the carpet in my car... I know there are many Mother's Days ahead, but right now I'm just not into it, and my exhausted body -- from my bleeding gums to my sensitive tummy and my sloth-like digestive system, aren't into it either. 19 weeks to go.