The Language of Pregnancy

I am pregnant and in my last trimester. I feel gaggy sitting long periods at the computer, so I haven't written very much.

Pregnancy: nine months a man will never understand

Pregnancy: nine months of the mother's body suppressing the immune system against a foreign object...the baby

Morning sickness: that feeling in the pit of your stomach, rising to your throat, out your mouth and twirling in your head.

Ginger: the pretend spice that's supposed to make me feel better.

Lemonade: all I could drink for 3 months.

First pregnancy husband: held my hair when I threw up and got me a water after.

2nd and 3rd pregnancy husband: got me water to drink after retching

4th pregnancy husband: stays where he is at and occasionally brings me water after. He's at a loss about what to do because he has no control.

Toilet: my best friend.

Chunky, spicy food: my worst enemy.

Bile: the yellow color I see many mornings in the toilet bowl.

Tired: a permanent state of being.

Bending: I could do it two weeks ago.

Group Strep B: Antibiotics pumped into my system until I am dead.

Sugar in urine: watch out gestational diabetes!

Birth: the painful event I dread, but so look forward to. Get this baby out!

Epidural: if the anesthesiologist misses my spine (2nd baby) or causes my blood pressure to drop because he says I don't need a bag of saline solution (3rd baby), I will scream!

I hated the anesthesiologist on my first pregnancy because he was brusque, but he aimed right on the first poke and made sure I had enough saline so my blood pressure didn't drop. Poor anesthesiologists.

2nd pillow: to support my tummy when I lie on my side.

3rd pillow: to put between my legs so my hips stay aligned.

4th pillow: optional pillow to support my back.

Goodread Review of Chasing Tess by Annette Lyon

Chasing Tess by Annette Lyon
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is a great hour or two read when you only have a little bit of time to read. I enjoyed reading this novella, but not as much as Annette Lyon's other novels.

Annette cleverly kept James POV until later, so the twist is somewhat a surprise given the foreshadowing.

I liked the characters. I wonder if Tess was a bit too hasty in her big decision to fit the plot more than if she would have waited longer, IMO.

View all my reviews

Review of "A Midwinter Ball" Regency Romance Anthology

"Glamorous Couple Vintage Art"

I am a huge clean Regency romance fan of late. I enjoyed Jane Austen novels in high school and college.

Over four years ago, I started reading Sarah M. Eden's regency romance novels and fell in love with the genre. She wrote with humor and a deep point of view. It was like reading a modern Jane Austen novel. Soon I discovered many more Regency romance authors such as Julie Klassen, Carla Kelly, Ruth Axtell (Morren), Karen Cogan, and so many more that I can't possibly list.

I made it through one and a half of Georgette Heyer's books, but they were written in the more passive style of Jane Austen.

So I really enjoyed reading this collection of clean romance novellas A Timeless Regency Collection: a Midwinter Ball, featuring Heidi Ashworth, Annette Lyon, and Michele Paige Holmes.

Much Ado About Dancing by Heidi Ashworth

I started reading the second book in the Miss Delacourt series of Heidi Ashworth's but got lost. This is why I should start with the first book in the series, which I intend to do after reading Much Ado About Dancing.

Lord Northrup has ruined Analisa's chances of a match because of his threat to possible suitors, but Analisa found the perfect host Mrs. Smith to remedy her single status at Dance Hall. Dance Hall seems like the perfect solution for these days :).

I enjoyed the witty repartee in this comedy of manners since Analisa and Northrup lacked certain manners--silence, tempers. Analisa deserved a good talking-to because she wouldn't tell the truth about the letters! Her lying by silence and coyness got her nowhere.

Sweeter Than Any Dream by Annette Lyon

Olivia Wallington (not like Duke of Wellington) suffers at the hand of her mother and aunt who treat her like the "very monster of Frankenstein." 

She copes through staying silent, or eating to avoid conversation. Annette Lyon wrote "A chewing mouth was a mouth incapable of speaking." At least if you show your manners, which doesn't always happen in my house.

Edward made the horrible mistake of portraying what Olivia perceived as pity. The line "Dancing is the object of pity was far worse than sitting at the edge of the room without a single partner" feels reminiscent of a Jane Austen observation.

I like Olivia's dream shadow man because that's how I dreamed before I was engaged (or it was whatever current crush I had. How embarrassing!). And the dream man soon takes on an identity.

I cheered for Olivia when she braved telling the truth since the truth allowed her to live more fully.

An Invitation to Dance by Michele Paige Holmes

I enjoyed reading Michele Holmes novella in the A Timeless Romance Anthology: A European Collection. I checked out one of her books from the library, but I didn't finish it. I am so awful because I wanted to read a historical or regency romance instead. 

Last night, I saw Holmes has three Regency romance novellas, but they aren't available through my library. Maybe I should put in a request at my library.

I love the mouthful name Lady Eleanora Theodesia Whitticomb of 11 syllables. In fact, I'm jealous because I never had a middle name and this character does. My father forgot to put "Rose" on my birth certificate forms. However, I prefer simplicity too like Lady Ella and enjoy the simplicity filling out forms faster than others with middle names.

Mr. Darling has a rather Mr. Darcy moment of "She has pretty eyes" versus the "fine" eyes of Elizabeth Bennett. He has other reasons for staying aloof though.

I enjoy the journey of Ella and Mr. Darling turning their inabilities into abilities together (p. 134). And the plot twist along the way.

Review of "An Unexpected Proposal"

Annette Lyon asked me to review "An Unexpected Proposal" (no money changed hands; just a review copy). I'm having nightmares of AP English and my almost minor in English literature as I think of writing a review for this novella. I must tell myself: this is not a college paper. No one's grading me, just the potential of every human on the planet reading it.

Force Vs. Choice

The juxtaposition of a forced "intimacy" next to chosen intimacy jumped out at me. Forced "intimacy" is an attack, but two people choosing intimacy is love. True love means showing respect for another person's choice, whether they reject or accept the offer of love. Or the case of a marriage proposal for Caroline.

The Details

I enjoyed the historical and descriptive details while reading. As I read "An Unexpected Proposal," I felt cold reading about Caroline up a canyon from Logan, Utah during the winter. Maybe I felt cold because there's snow on the ground where I live.

The moon takes a journey during "An Unexpected Proposal" according to Caroline's mood. First kiss equals a warm glow of the moon. Then the moon turns cold and hard when she's away from her first kiss.

Isn't it funny how we describe inanimate objects according to our own emotions?

Similes

Annette Lyon used similes such as bland as paper and melting romantically as simmering and boiling.

What would I compare bland to? Somehow paper seems to fit so well. I've chewed on some pretty bland paper in my lifetime. So have my boys.

Fantasy Vs. Reality

I enjoyed when Caroline's fantasy bubble popped. After all, reality can be much better. Besides that reality is the only life we'll live. I love the practicality of James complimenting Caroline's "perfect, crisp bacon". Life is practical and magical.

I remember having fantasies of dating and my first kiss. Reality was much more interesting. I had no idea how to kiss and my then-future husband instructed me how to do it. Embarrassing. But I got him back when I spied the price tag on my engagement ring.


 What would be your idea of perfect love? Has reality been more magical than your fantasies?

GINGERZILLA!

"Dinosaur Park" by Carlos Sarta

A parody of Gingerella. Yes, I did a parody on my own work. It made me laugh thinking of it.

Ginger Ellen swung her head back and forth, her red-haired ponytails brushing her cheeks. No predators ahead on the road. She skittered forward.

“Mom!” she called back. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Excuse me, dear.” Mom rolled her green eyes and picked up Ginger’s toddler brother. “Greg Elliot isn’t cooperating.” Greg grabbed Mom’s glasses and tossed them onto the gravel.

Ginger Ellen stopped and snarled. “I’m gonna be late to my first day of first grade.”

“You’re just going to have to wait.” Mom bent over and squinted her eyes. “Blast it! I can’t find my glasses.” She pawed through the gravel with her free hand while Greg Elliot pulled her brown hair. “Ginger Ellen, I need your help.”

“Grr.” While sniffing the air, she squatted and stalked forward.  She bent her head to the ground and snatched the glasses with her teeth. She rose and stood patiently before her mother.

“Thank you, Ginger Ellen.” Mom grabbed the glasses from her mouth and wiped them off. “But use your fingers next time. I’m not fond of scratches on my lenses.” Mom shoved the glasses askew on her face. Greg reached for glasses again. “Stop!” Mom slapped Greg’s hand and he howled.

“Let’s go!” Ginger Ellen bounded forward on her toes and her arms tucked in front.

Mom jogged and Greg Elliot screeched happily with each bounce. Mom smiled at him and then at Ginger Ellen.

Ginger Ellen spotted the school with big crayon pillars. “I can get to school from here, Mom.”

“Are you sure?” Mom stopped. “Do you remember where your class is?”

“Of course.” Ginger Ellen mentally reviewed the place from Back to School night. “I’m always aware of my surroundings.”

“Okay. Love you.” Mom blew kisses. “Please act like a human!”

“Dinosaurs nuzzle, not blow kisses.” Ginger Ellen rolled her head back. “But I can be human sometimes. Love you too.” When would her mother learn the ways of the wild?

She sprinted forward to the other kids at the crosswalk. She grinned from ear-to-ear at the girl next to her, but the girl looked the other way. Ginger Ellen frowned.

Finally, the crossing guard led them across the street. Ginger Ellen gazed up at the tall crayon columns until the crowd bumped her forward. She moved with the crush through the front door. She resisted clawing her way through.

She looked at the three directions to go and lifted her nose. She smelled the skunky perfume of her teacher down the hall to her right. She checked her hands real quick. I scribble with my right hand…so my right.

Ginger Ellen followed the herd of kids into her classroom. She looked around for her name on one of the desks. It wasn’t there! Surely her nose hadn’t led her astray.

“Mrs. Miller, where’s my seat?” she approached the teacher and winced at the perfume.

“Over there, Ginger.” Mrs. Miller pointed to the third desk from the door on the front row.

“But my name’s not just Ginger—”

“Please be seated, Ginger.”

She hung her head down. People never got her name right.

“Hello, class. I’m so excited to get to know you this year.” Mrs. Miller stood behind her desk. “Now, let’s do roll call.” She stooped to reach her laptop.

Ginger Ellen looked at the other kids as their names were called. There were so many unfamiliar faces in this herd.

“Ginger, Ginger…I’m calling your name.” Mrs. Miller looked at her.

Ginger Ellen snapped to attention. “My name’s not Ginger. It’s Ginger Ellen.”

“Okay.” Mrs. Miller typed a note on her computer. “I’ll remember that in the future.”

The class giggled. She growled and scratched her desk.

“Gingerzilla,” a boy whispered behind her.

Ginger Ellen jerked around her head, her ponytails stinging her cheeks. “I like that name!”

“Calm down, class.” Mrs. Miller said.

Gingerzilla. She liked the sound of that and bared her teeth while smiling.

What should Gingerzilla do next?

Ginger Ellen's New Nickname

"Cinderella" by Elena Kalis

This is the first part in a series that I am posting hopefully on a weekly basis. Ginger Ellen is a "ginger" as some call redheads. I prefer being called a redhead. The spice ginger is more yellowish than red-orange. Anyway, this story is meant for fun and not as a polished piece. Enjoy!

Ginger Ellen swung her head back and forth so her red-haired ponytails brushed her cheeks as she skipped to school. She felt the wind come through the holey knees on her pants.

“Mom!” she called back. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Excuse me, dear.” Mom rolled her green eyes and picked up Ginger’s toddler brother. “Greg Elliot isn’t cooperating.” Greg grabbed Mom’s glasses and tossed them onto the gravel.

Ginger Ellen stopped and suddenly snarled. “I’m gonna be late for my first day of first grade at my new school.”

“You’re just going to have to wait.” Mom bent over and squinted her eyes. “Blast it! I can’t find my glasses.” She pawed through the gravel with her free hand while Greg Elliot pulled her brown hair. “Ginger Ellen, I need your help.”

“Whatever, Mom.” She jogged over and picked up the glasses right under Mom’s nose. It had several new scratches.

“They were right there? Oh bother.” Mom grabbed the glasses and shoved them askew on her face. Greg reached for glasses again. “Stop!” Mom slapped Greg’s hand and he howled.

“Let’s go now!” Ginger Ellen ran forward, her worn backpack bouncing in rhythm with her ponytails.

Mom jogged forward and Greg screeched happily with each bounce. Mom smiled at him and then at Ginger Ellen.

Ginger Ellen spotted the school with big crayon pillars. “I can get to school from here, Mom.”

“Are you sure?” Mom stopped. “Do you remember where your class is?”

“Of course.” Ginger Ellen mentally reviewed the place from Back to School night. “Yep. I’ve got it.”

“Okay. Love you.” Mom blew kisses.

“Love you too, Mom.” Ginger Ellen rolled her head back. How often did she have to go through this routine? And it was only the first day of school.

She sprinted forward to the other kids at the crosswalk. She grinned from ear-to-ear at the girl next to her, but the girl looked the other way. Ginger Ellen frowned.

Finally, the crossing guard led them across the street. Ginger gazed up at the tall crayon columns until the crowd bumped her forward. She moved with the crush through the front door.

She looked at the three directions to go. Which way again? She closed her eyes. Yes, it was the hall to her right. She checked her hands real quick. I write with my right hand…so that way.

Ginger Ellen followed other kids into her classroom. She looked around for her name on one of the desks. It wasn’t there! Was she in the wrong classroom?

“Mrs. Miller, where’s my seat?” she approached the teacher.

“Over there, Ginger.” Mrs. Miller pointed to the third desk from the door on the front row.

“But my name’s not just Ginger—”

“Please be seated, Ginger.”

She hung her head down. People never got her name right.

“Hello, class. I’m so excited to get to know you this year.” Mrs. Miller stood behind her desk. “Now, let’s do roll call.” She stooped to reach her laptop.

Ginger Ellen looked at the other kids as their names were called. There were so many new faces.

“Ginger, Ginger…I’m calling your name.” Mrs. Miller looked at Ginger Ellen.

Ginger Ellen snapped to attention. “My name is not Ginger. It’s Ginger Ellen.”

“Okay.” Mrs. Miller typed a note on her computer. “I’ll remember that in the future.”

Other kids giggled behind her.

“Gingerella,” a voice whispered behind her. “Looks poor enough to be Gingerella.”

Ginger Ellen whipped around her head, her ponytails stinging her cheeks. “Don’t call me that!”

“Calm down, class.” Mrs. Miller continued calling names, which Ginger Ellen didn’t hear.

Was she poor? Ginger Ellen looked at the scuffs on her dingy shoes, the holes at her knees, and then looked at another girl. The girl had new jeans sporting butterflies and perfectly white shoes with pink shoelaces.

Ginger Ellen laid her head on her desk and hoped this day would go faster.

Watch Out for the B Poem

"Red Glassy Bison" by Piotr Siedlecki

On my personal Facebook page, I asked my friends and family to give me 20 B words. I got a list of 21 or 22. You want to count them? I don't. Okay, I counted them: 22.

This is the list of B words:

brush, bison, belligerent, brown, bicep, beryllium, buccinators, bacon, balloon, Bolivia, beginning, bravo, bulbous, bingo, brachylogy, buxom, baloney, believe, bugging, Beetle Juice, brachiosaurus, Bilbo

Some of these words reflect the personality of the person who supplied them. I'm sure there may be stories behind the other choices.

A nurse chose buccinators.
Brother-in-law in Montana chose bison.
A body coach chose bicep.
My cousin chose brachylogy. He posts occasionally on FB.

Other words beginning with b sneaked in while I wrote: bore, boy, bellowed, but, Bruce, Bertha, birth, bowels, banish, and bone.


Here's the poem:

Buxom Bertha labored two days, then bore a boy.
Her belligerent spouse declared the boy, Beetle Juice;
“Baloney!” Bertha bellowed and popped out a second joy.
“Fine, Beetle Juice and Bilbo—but not the name Bruce.”

Bertha believed in bulbous biceps for her lads
And fed them bison bacon from birth, but no beryllium.
Beginning in their buccinators, BJ and Bilbo chewed scads,
But their bowels hurt and mum gave them husk of psyllium.

“Stop bugging me!” BJ punched Bilbo’s brown balloon.
“Mum and Dad will banish you to Bolivia,” Bilbo cried.
He threw BJ’s bone brush and brachiosaurus toward the moon.
BJ ran and caught beloved broccoli-saur midstride.

“Bravo, BJ!” Bertha called from the window.
“Bingo!” Dad jumped and threw down his newspaper.
The brachylogy and praise bugged poor Bilbo.
Bilbo growled, “You won’t get away with this caper!”


My cousin-in-law asked on Facebook: "Why you picking on Bruce?" 

I replied: "Because he happens to rhyme with juice. That's the only reason. Rhyming misfortune."

A cousin included brachiosaurus because her oldest daughter called it a broccoli-saurus as a toddler. So technically, the word comes from my cousin once removed. I made a tribute to them with broccoli-saur.

To my brother-in-law who lived in Bolivia for two years: I'm not picking on Bolivia. It just happened to be a word I had to use.