This discussion was possible – or at least interesting – because I work in Queens, which is the most ethnically diverse concentration of people in the United States – hell, possibly in the world.  My co-workers include a Malaysian woman; an Uzbekistanian Jewish woman; a woman from Hong Kong; A woman from Canton; a woman & a man from Haiti; a Pakistani Muslim man; two African-American women who grew up really poor in the Bronx; a young woman from Yemen; a German guy; an Italian woman, two devoutly Catholic women from Columbia; a woman from Romania, several men and women from Puerto Rico – mostly Jehovah’s Witnesses – & the Dominican Republic; an Albanian girl; a woman from Minsk and a man from a teeny Russian village whose name I don’t remember; a Queens-born Jewish man; and me – whitebread mutt from Southwestern America.  All of whom are now American citizens and most of whom had to work really hard to become so.  Needless to say, the different feelings about race and identity were fascinating.

• The Haitians resent being called “African-American”, because they identify as Americans of Carribbean ancestry.  Or just plain ‘black’.
• One of the older African-American women from the Bronx describes herself as “an extremely dark-skinned white lady” because she identifies more, culturally, with mainstream Martha-Stewart America than with what’s popularly portrayed as “black culture” in New York.
• The Chinese women are tired of being called “Asians,” or even as being lumped together as Chinese – the woman from Canton grew up speaking an entirely different language than the others, and the woman from Hong Kong feels like she has more in common with the Malaysian woman, who’s from Singapore, than with the Chinese women – who are from rural villages – even though they all speak Mandarin in public.
• The South American & Uzbekistani women spoke mostly of how frustrating it was for people to assume they were Mexican or Russian.
• The German guy has a lot of pride in his heritage, but gets irritated by the Nazi comments.
• The young woman from Yemen is about as “all-American” a girl as you could imagine, only she wears a headscarf and long skirts over her blue-jeans every day to work.
• The Pakistani guy is sick to death of being teased about being a terrorist.
• The Albanian girl just received her American citizenship yesterday, and she’s over-the-moon excited over it.
• The Russian guy gets twitchy when people ask him if he knew the spies who were just arrested.
• The folks from Puerto Rico are more distinctive for their religious practices than for their culture-of-origin, and the guy from DR is sick of being mistaken for Puerto Rican.  Or JW.  Because he’s not.  Not at all.

At the end of the day, they’re all American and that’s how they’d prefer to be identified.  They’ve held onto their first languages & favorite foods (& let me tell you that potluck dinners in Queens tend to be instances of gastronomic glory!) but they’re Americans, and they work hard to be American – whatever that means to each of them at any given time, and no matter what other people might think ‘being American’ is or should be.  It’s a definition that’s broad enough to encompass just about everyone who wants to be encompassed, and for me, that’s what’s absolutely and totally the best about this country.

It’s not something I’ve ever applied too much to myself, though, because my ancestors have been here since approximately forever; plus I look like your basic, European-heritage person: brown-hair,brown-eyes,beige skin.  No one ever asks me where I’m from, or where my parents are from because, honestly, they expect it’s somewhere er, boring.

Which is fine – Phoenix is kind of boring, especially compared to a childhood spent raising camels & pomegranates in the Kashmir valley.  But it occurred to me that Thor is possibly going to be dealing with some of these issues of perception and of others’ views on ‘being a real American’ when he gets older, depending on the hand that the genetic cards have dealt him.

Genetically, he’s half Turkish/Armenian & half German/Northern Euro.  Which means he could end up being dark-skinned, black-eyed, black-haired, or could be lighter skinned, -haired, -eyed than either I or his father (or his egg donor) are.  My own family is mostly German/English on my mom’s side, and a hodge-podge of European ethnicities on my dad’s.   We have suspicions of a Cherokee ancestor.  There were lots of Quakers.  And Huguenots.  And a couple of defrocked priests.  You know, the usual interesting stuff that shows up when you make a study of anyone’s genealogy.  But culturally, we’re pretty much ‘standard American’.  No fancy food passed down from generation to generation, no lullabies hummed in minor keys that no one remembers the words to anymore, no stories of oppression and coming here to escape or to make a new life or to begin anew.

So while the history behind little Thor’s DNA is just one more addition to the familial mix he’s going to be culturally as much of a sponge as I am.  We’ll celebrate Christmas with the family and we’ll go look for meteor showers with friends at the solstice.  We’ll likely attend Seder dinners with his oldest sister, and we’ll make a point of watching the parades in Chinatown at the Lunar New Year.  We’ll watch fireworks and eat cherries on the Fourth of July and we’ll celebrate the things we love about this country just as we’ll try to change the things we don’t love so much.  He’ll grow up a part of so many different things.  And if he shows an interest, we’ll go out of our way to explore Turkish/Armenian culture and history with him.  Because it’s a part of who he is & who he’ll be, which means that culture and history have become a part of us as a family.  Which is just the way it should be.

I’ve always been a big fan of the intrinsically American ideal of the ‘melting pot’ – where the best parts of so many different cultures have the chance to come together and form something entirely new, something which is likely better than any of the originals.

Sort of like what this kid of mine will be.  I can’t wait to meet him, my little Turkish-Armenian-German-English-American son whose very existence is possible because of American ideals.

I can’t wait to clap with him next Fourth of July when a particularly beautiful explosion of lights goes off over the water.  I can’t wait to feed him cherries and tell him what America means to me.

Happy Fourth of July, little one.  Happy Fourth of July.

For this I waited for over an hour?

Not really complaining.  I get my hospital U/S next week, and that’ll be a more comprehensive exam than this one, but it still felt a bit odd.

Reading The Big Book of Birth and rather enjoying it.  Far and away the best book I’ve found on the subject of actually giving birth, and a very non-attacking attitude about different pain controlling methods that women choose for various reasons.   I’m studying the Hypnobabies coursework, and hoping for a non-epidural, non-induced, non-C-section birth, but I’m also trying not to get too attached to any of those scenarios.  I’m also waffling back & forth on the idea of a doula – I don’t like being told what to do, but I’m also quite sure that not relying on the Boy for all my logistical support during labor might be a good thing.

And I’ve heard it both ways – people who hired doulas and were sorely disappointed in their services, and people who cannot imagine going through natural childbirth without them.

We’re taking the hospital tour in about 3 weeks, and I’m looking forward to seeing how things are done at this hospital.  It’s supposedly known as a natural-birth-friendly hospital, but their website kinda sucks, and I want a very clear picture of what to expect from the nurses, other staff, and the rooms themselves.

Yesterday, I got to hold my friend’s 7-week-old baby – probably the youngest baby I’ve ever spent any time with.

I want one.

I dreamed of babies last night.  Cooing, giggling babies.

This is really happening, folks.  For the first time, it’s really starting to feel like this is going to end up with a baby in arms instead of in dreams.

3/4 of the way through this part.  Only 10 weeks – or less – to go.

Wow.

But I can’t resist, plus there’s always the chance that other women might someday stumble upon this blog because they’re having the same kind of miserable SI back pain & are wondering what to do for it.

Ahem.

I think I found a battery of things that work.

I stumbled upon a book at the Sane Branch on my last day that I swear wasn’t there ever before.

Because surely I would have, um, picked it up before?  Yeah.  Well, it turns out that this sort of stabby, sacroiliac pregnancy-pain is pretty commonly regarded as being untreatable except by, say, delivery of a baby.  Except I knew my PT was able to make it go away temporarily.  So, again, I don’t want to take a tylenol or do acupuncture to deal with the pain, I want the dysfunction which is causing the pain to go away.   Stretching seem to work up to a point, but how often during the day can one really lie on one’s back to stretch with knees-over-ass, I ask you?

So I read the book.  And a lot of it seems more applicable to people with that Symphysis Pubic Dysfunction than with li’l ol’ sacroiliac pain. But still. Unlike many other things I’ve read, this book actually recommended sitting “tailor fashion”as a way to stretch out the butt muscles. Well, shoot, I grew up sitting on the floor and am still more comfortable doing that than sitting primly with my legs crossed delicately at the knee.

So I started sitting cross-legged on the couch (which is easy because it’s a piece of furniture sized for my gigantic husband and not for short me. My legs don’t come close to hitting the floor anyway, and I usually use a footstool.)  And I started sitting cross-legged in bed. In fact, I’m typing this with my laptop resting on crossed legs. And when I can’t sit “Indian style”, I cross one leg over the other “guy style” ie: ankle over the opposite knee.

And, folks? I can walk again. On Tuesday I walked several blocks before I felt any discomfort. Yesterday I didn’t feel more than the occasional twinge of hip pain all day long.

I think I might be on to something. And I’m practically giddy with relief. Yeah, it’s going to take a while, and I probably won’t be looking all that ladylike for the rest of this pregnancy. But if I’m good and I keep doing this – I might be able to behave more normally from here on out? I might be able to walk to the grocery store again – shoot – I might be able to walk to the post office to mail my parents’ Father’s Day and Birthday gifts?

Heck, I might not be completely pool-bound in Italy, but might get to go exploring nearby villages and cities with the non-pregnant sorts.

Oh yeah.

The books is all kinds of awesome, but really?  Hot shower in the morning to loosen everything up.  Sit “tailor fashion” and cross your legs ‘guy style’ and see if that doesn’t work.  Can’t hurt.  I mean, certainly can’t hurt more than it already does, right?

This has been a public service announcement from a not-in-pain-Sprogblogger.  Now we’ll see if I double over today from the bad-luck I’m surely drawing down upon myself by saying any of this out loud…

Naming A Child

And of course, I say “We’ve” but I mean “He’s” because there’s no way I’m schlepping his books & desk & bookshelves &c. up two flights of stairs.  So I can’t really complain that he’s not doing this on my schedule.

But still.  I want to decorate, damn it.

I read a horrifying article online yesterday about how children born of sperm donors have horrifyingly high rates of depression, substance abuse, and other symptoms of feelings of alienation – much higher than adopted children, even.  This wigged me out to no end, and I’ve spent the last, approximately 24 hours rationalizing to myself how Thor will know from the beginning, and we’ll be upfront with him and he’ll always know he was so very loved that he won’t care and ohmygodwhatifheCARES?  Of course, this study was conducted by a “focus on the family” type place, and I should ignore it because they’re biased and their interpretations of survey data looked wonky just from the (skewed) article, but still.   Whatifhecares?WhatifThorhatesme?Ack!

Minor freak out.  I’ll get over it just as soon as I order another gentle “you are a very special baby” book dealing with DE off Amazon.

Thor’s still kicking up a storm, somersaulting and ka-powing my bladder at odd times of the day & night.  I’m starting to get pissed off at the back pain, because other than the fact that I’m sort of chair-bound, I’m loving this stage of pregnancy.  I’m big, but not huge.  I’m unwieldy, but not immobile.  I’m aware of him, but not unpleasantly so.  I know these things will change.  But at the moment, (at least when I’m sitting down,) pregnancy is pretty ok.

And the payoff?  The payoff in less than three months?

Oh wow.

Making it look like a baby lives here.

And it was on sale for about half off, making it a better price than any of the ones I’ve seen outside of IKEA.  And it’s one of the one’s I’ve had in my registry.

I bought a high chair.  For Thor (whose actual name is under revision yet again.  But that doesn’t matter because at least the tiny nameless one will have a HIGH CHAIR to sit in, in, say, February.)

woohoo!

**

I’d been feeling mildly apprehensive for a few days now, because it seems like Thor just isn’t wiggling as much as he was for a while.  I figured maybe I was just getting used to it, not noticing it as much, or that just maybe – god forbid – he simply wasn’t moving much.  But last night, what with the feeling better & all (ok, and because I had those chocolate mints after dinner and chocolate REALLY seems to set me off) I started out the night sitting up for the first time in a week or so.

ka-Pow! punch-a-punch-a-punch-a!  wigglewigglewigglewiggle-squirm!

It seems that my ‘propped up in bed’ position is either really comfortable for him, or really uncomfortable.  Whatever.  A relief that he’s still capable of knocking my book off my belly when he’s feeling so inclined.

**

Today is the first day of my 27th week.  Holy shit.  We’re creeping up on ‘decent chance of viability’ here.  It’s all starting to feel much more real now – in part, I think, because of how solicitously strangers treat me now that I’m obviously showing.  In this last week I’ve had women in line for a Starbucks’ restroom offer to cut me ahead of them.  I’m having to eat my previous complaints about young men never offering a seat on the subway, because, really, quite a few young men have offered in the last few days – going far out of their way to get my attention, even, which is really unusual.  It’s fun, but it also makes me thoughtful in a way I didn’t expect.  Let’s see if I can articulate it even though this is feeling really nebulous in my mind.

I guess because other than the back-pain issues (which seem to be getting a bit better) I’m having an easy beginning to my third trimester.  Second trimester was a breeze.  This ‘growing a person’ stuff is sort of fun!  Yeah, I’m awkward in motion, and by the end of the day, my feet look like Jabba-the-Hutt’s flippers, but I’m not suffering here.  I’m still over-the-moon giddy with happiness that this little person is on his way into the world.  Physical discomfort?  Pah.  No biggie, in the long-run – especially when contrasted with what the last few years have been like.

So to be deferred to, pampered – babied, even – by strangers as well as friends & acquaintances, is nice but I don’t feel worthy.

Or rather, I feel sad that during all those times during the last few years when a kind hand extended by a stranger might have startled me out of my numbed disbelief that this horror was my life the kind hand was usually nowhere to be seen.  

I vividly recall the day I learned of my last miscarriage, I was hurrying down the escalator at the Lexington Avenue stop trying to get home before I fell apart completely, and a woman had come to a dead stop on the ‘walking side’ of the escalator.  I excused myself but brushed past her because I desperately needed to get to someplace relatively private (the end of the downtown platform) where I could clean up my face and try to stop the tears that just wouldn’t stop.  ”How rude,” I heard her hiss to her friend as I hurried down the moving stairs, and her comment just capped off the worst day of my life.

Of course she had no way of knowing it was the worst day of my life, but it still stung more than it should have, because I was already feeling so raw, so horrified by what my life had become.  So now?  When people go out of their way to be nice, I’m grateful because it’d be a drag to have my buzz bummed out because someone was randomly mean to me, but truly?  I don’t need it the way I needed it last August.   Or last March.  Or 2 Decembers ago.  Or July of 2008.

I suppose it could also be that my experiences of the last few years have sort of innured me to the discomforts of pregnancy, so what feels like a minor issue to me looks like a major hardship to folks who have no idea what the last few years have been like for me.  

I certainly don’t need pity right now (though that cut to the head of the restroom line was awesome and MUCH appreciated by my overworked pelvic floor muscles).  But people trying to make a good day even better?  That, I can accept gratefully.

If not gracefully.  (Because really? I was told today that my gait resembles that of an arthritic duck, and I’m pretty sure that’s being kind.  When I hobble to the bathroom at 1am I’m thinking I look more like a crippled, 108-year-old arthritic duck.)

In my defense (because I do feel like I need a defense) I anticipate using this stroller an awful lot.  For anyone who’s not familiar with the “culture” of Brooklyn/Manhattan, walking is simply how you get places.  I have a car, but I have no idea where, exactly, it’s parked right now.  The Boy handles moving it out of the way of streetcleaners every week, and truly, if we didn’t love this car so much there’d be no reason to keep it – it only gets driven out of town.

Also, since the Boy works at home, at a couple of jobs that require concentration, I anticipate Little Thor & Nellie & I will be walking around the neighborhood rather regularly.  Besides the typical grocery-shopping/dog-walking/errand running that the Boy does the most of right now, we’ll also be walking to get out of the house & away from the WriterMan.  Also to keep me from going stir-crazy.  Also to help me lose the IVF/baby weight.  Also because – well, because I just want one, ok?

The reason this is presenting me with such a tough decision is that besides the fact that it’s the only “gucci” thing I really want for this baby-experience (ie: we’re going for a cheap, simple IKEA gulliver crib for $89 or so, and most of my maternity clothes have been purchased on eBay for <$5), I’m having a helluva time deciding between the two front-runners.  Even though I realize that either one of these strollers would be perfectly adequate (and then some) for wheeling a baby around the city.

But is that good enough for me?  No!  For I have decided to obsess.  So it’s time for another waffling chart!  That I’m going to share with you’all!  Because what could be more fun than listening to me whine about which ridiculously over-engineered stroller I should spend almost an entire paycheck on!

Both strollers cost about the same, though the UppaBaby definitely comes with more “stuff” included.  Both have the features I’m non-negotiable on – baby can face either forward or back, adjustable handlebar to accommodate my 6’4″ husband as well as 5’2″ me.  Sturdy, top rated, all that good stuff.  Everyone agrees these are nice strollers.  But the things that are different between them:

Bugaboo Bee 2010 Pros:

1. Small.  Small and lightweight, with a nicely narrow footprint.  Meaning I can take it inside the greenmarket without blocking passage for everyone else in the greenmarket.
2. Lightweight.  Only 17#!  I’ll be schlepping this + baby + baby gear up and down subway steps (and lots of ‘em) nearly every time I go into Manhattan.  Also folds up smallish, for tossing in the trunk, or stashing out of sight in the house (though I rather suspect it’ll be left unfolded because I’m lazy like that.
3. I feel totally lame for admitting this, but it’s just plain adorable.  I can totally picture Thor in this stroller, and it comes in bright yellow, which is one of my favorite colors for baby gear.
4. Takes the MaxiCosi car seats.  I’m a fan of European safety standards, and these car seats look great and are very highly rated for safety.

Bugaboo Bee 2010 Cons:

1. This year’s model has been completely redesigned to address some sizing issues that other folks have had with BBs in the past.  Initial reports say that Bugaboo did a great job, but  I’m always leery buying the first year’s model of anything.
2. Little wheels.  The sidewalks in Brooklyn are just a bare step above post-apocalyptic.  I don’t want Thor getting shaken baby syndrome every time we go to the store.
3. Bugaboo charges top dollar for every damn little accessory.  $25 for a cup holder?  Oh come on.  You people are already making a Rockefeller fortune off the insanely expensive stroller.  How about throwing in some of the accessories (rain cover, perhaps!) that everyone’s going to need?
4. No bassinet option, even aftermarket.  Not a huge big deal.  The seat lays flat for infants, and it is car-seat compatible, but a bassinet would be really nice – both for strolling and for having in the house as an ‘extra’ place for Thor to sleep.

UPPABaby Vista 2010

1. Big wheels in back for sand (beach!) smoother ride over insane Brooklyn sidewalks, etc.
2. Bassinet is included.  I’m thinking this stroller could double as Thor’s upstairs bassinet for the first few months.  Hell.  Depending on how easily detachable the bassinet really is, it might be his downstairs nighttime bassinet as well.  Throw that sucker on a stand and call it a bed til he’s sleeping more than 2 hours at a stretch.
3. Most accessories I’d want are included, and those that aren’t are priced a little more reasonably than Bugaboo’s products.  Not that it makes sense to quibble over a $10 difference in price when I’m all but selling the farm to buy a fancy stroller, but Bugaboo’s attitude pisses me off more than UPPABaby’s does.
4. Because it’s a bit beefier, it looks like it’d be more comfortable for a toddler.

UPPABaby Vista 2010′s Cons:

1. It’s bigger.  Bigger footprint – especially in width – and bulkier and heavier – like 7# heavier.  Which is a lot.   Or will be a lot when I’m carrying all that stuff.  Plus the whole “taking up more room in stores than I like” thing is going on here.  Smaller is better.  Except when it’s not.  Yeah.
2. Those giant wheels in back look like overkill for 90% of what I’ll be using it for – like I’m taking the kid out four-wheeling.  NYC is an Urban Center, for heaven’s sake.
3. I don’t like the colors it comes in.  Pale yellow.  Khaki.  Actually, the orange is nice, but do I really want my kid’s first vehicle to look like a big pumpkin?  Seems to be tempting Cinderella fate or something…
4. It may or may not take a MaxiCosi car seat.  The website is confusing on this (and can I just say that every website I’ve visited in the Quest for Stroller has sucked?  If I wanted to start up a for-profit website it’d totally be a comparison shopping site for strollers that wasn’t rendered completely useless by fucking animation & frou-frou music and groovy graphic artz.  This is so annoying…)

I’ve heard great things about both strollers, and suppose I really need to dedicate a few hours to irritating the shit out of my local stroller boutique owner by tearing both models apart & really getting to know them for an afternoon.  I am your worst nightmare-customer, lady.  I am pregnant, ungainly, insanely interested in this particular piece of baby gear, and I’m not even likely to make a purchase today to justify the annoyance factor of me.  Bwahahahahah!!!

After leaving a sniveling message begging for a callback -that I thought would surely get results, because I sounded pretty pathetic according to my co-workers – I still had to track him down after 3 o’clock.  I didn’t even want to talk to him, just to get a recommendation from his nurse for a PT person in NYC who wasn’t afraid of pregnant women.  But after hearing my story of woe the nurse sent me on to him, worried that I couldn’t tell a skeletal problem from a preterm-labor contraction.

*sigh*

I realize he’s a high risk OB and so has to think of these things, but really – I’m pregnant, not stupid, and if I were in any doubt as to what was going on here, I’d be in his office demanding emergency care, not calling for a PT or chiropractor recommendation – you know?

Once he established that the shooting, grinding pain when I walk wasn’t accompanied by, say, contractions or gushes of bloody, watery fluid, he suggested I not wear high-heeled shoes.

Um, really now.  Do I seem like a high-heeled shoes person even when not pregnant and suffering from self-described agonizing back pain?  You all have (mostly) never even seen me, but I’d bet you understand just from this blog that I’m not the high-heeled shoes type.

I think I snorted derisively.

So then he suggested I might take a warm shower.  Or perhaps use a heating pad dialed to low.  Was I aware that sleeping with a pillow between my knees might make me more comfortable?

*sigh*

I reiterated that I wasn’t trying to be a whiner, and that I really believed that this was a sacroiliac issue and that the pain level was inching up into the land of “I can’t walk at all without tears running down my face” and that a PT person might be my best bet, since the pain was really getting unbearable, but that when I was able to stop and do some exercises throughout the day, it improves immediately afterwards (although it doesn’t necessarily stay improved after I get up and start walking again).  But still, it would indicate that this is a problem that might be correctable through exercise and maneuvering of recalcitrant body parts by someone trained in the art.  His response?

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t walk anymore.”

Um, I kind of have to.  Real life, you know.  Besides, I’m thinking that going on bedrest for back pain is sort of stupid.  Get really weak in preparation for childbirth & the parenting of a newborn!  Yay!

“Well, if the pain is really unbearable, we could always put you on narcotics.”

Nonono.  You’re not listening.  Pelvic bones out of alignment!  Can feel the edges grating on each other when I walk!  Not a pain I want to cover up, I just want to get the surrounding muscles strong enough to hold together everything that’s going wonky due to a relaxin overdose.  Which sounds like a good idea for a number of reasons – yes? (not least of which is my determination that if Tylenol is too much to expose Thor’s developing body/brain to, there aint no way narcotic painkillers are getting anywhere near us unless I’m delirious from pain & unable to refuse.)

“Perhaps acupuncture would work.  A lot of my patients have really good results.”

Ok, what am I not communicating here?  Or what am I not understanding?  Is it me, or does it seem to others that there are actually 2 kinds of pain.  There’s the warning kind of pain that signals damage being done, so you try to react to the problem – like this here back pain.  Something’s out of whack and needs to be put back into whack and then the pain will ease or even cease.  And then there’s the kind of pain that is just pain.  Menstrual cramps.  Charley horse.  Hell, even though I’m a ‘wannabe natural birther’, I’d even put labor pains into this camp.  Nothing’s wrong, it’s just going to hurt for a while.  No damage done in the end.  But do you use acupuncture to treat a broken arm?  No!  nonononononono!  Look, doc, can you give me a recommendation or not?  Because if not, I’ll just keep calling PTs until I find one who isn’t horrified by the thought of touching a pregnant lady.

The short answer to this long anecdote is that, no, he has no recommendation to give, but that if I find a good PT I should let him know.  (Because apparently I’m his first patient to require assistance with managing sacroiliac pain in 30+ years of practice. *rolls eyes*)

And so I’m going to take it beyond easy this weekend.  On Tuesday, if it’s worse, then it’s time to call PT people who specialize in pregnancy issues like this.  If it’s better, then maybe it’s time to take a week of sick leave to enforce some

Oi.

Ow.

Argh.

And did you know that although your IVF doctor tells you it might take a couple of days after “implanting embryos” to get a positive reading on an HPT, if you stand on your head for a few hours first, you can get a positive on the same day as the procedure?

And – hey! – while we’re at it, didja know that an IVF procedure using a surrogate costs only $16,000 in New York City?

I know the rest of the Western world has already experienced Phoebe’s foray into surrogate motherhood on Friends, like a decade ago, and so has already been exposed to this ridiculousness, but really, I must ask:

DOES THIS SORT OF NONSENSE IRRITATE EVERYONE ELSE AS MUCH AS IT DOES ME?

I know I should be grateful that the show dealt with these issues as gracefully as they did.  I know I shouldn’t quibble about the fact that a 45-year-old woman would be a thousand times more likely to need an egg-donor than a surrrogate uterus.  I know I shouldn’t sneer at the writers’ complete lack of attention to details that aren’t important to the show (it’s a sitcom, for heaven’s sake, get over your self-righteousness already, Sprogblogger!)

BUT STILL.

It’s annoying, and it’s frustrating and I wish that my back didn’t hurt so much, so that I could comfortably throw things at the tv screen for the rest of this season, every time the writers put something stupid into the mouths of these characters.

Maybe I’ll have to practice target spitting.  Easier on ye olde sacroiliac joint than a full-body pitching-of-the-remote-control-at-the-screen maneuver.

Ptoooooey.