Secondly, my good friend, Tom Viola at Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS, whom I've known forever, read the blog and contacted The Actors Fund on my behalf. I am relieved to say that The Actors Fund has come through for me in a major way and I will be forever in their debt.
If you would like to help me in thanking either organization, please click one of the links below to send a tax deductible donation! Think of it as a baby shower gift!
In other news, all the baby books say it's common for pregnant ladies to have vivid dreams. I've had extraordinarily bizarre dreams all my life. When I was a teenager I dreamt once that I was giving a 20 foot high devil a blow job. Please don't ask me about the mechanics of that. I have no idea. Generally, my dreams have been epic and complicated.
I've only had a handful of dreams about my mother in the nearly 20 years since her death, though, which is disappointing and somehow ends up making me feel guilty. Like, if I were a better daughter I would dream about her more often. Early on the dreams were about seeing her on the subway and trying to get her attention only to catch up to her and realize she was a little, old Chinese lady (she had a similar build to the little, old Chinese ladies I used to see in China Town.). And, of course I had a couple dreams in which she was inexplicably back in my life and no one wanted to address the impossibility of that.
Oddly enough, the past six months have proven largely quiet on the dream front. In the week after we decided to go through with this whole thing and have the kid I dreamt I gave birth to a perfectly viable three inch baby. I swaddled it and carried it around in a pocket protector. That same week I dreamt we had a sonogram that was like a perfect snapshot and we found out the baby was half Japanese. . . When I reported this to Dr. Yamaguchi she said, "You didn't tell me I was the father!" She was a great O.B. Otherwise I've had a couple apocalyptic dreams in which I had to fight bad guys (or zombies) while carrying a newborn. Kurt had a dream in which someone gave us a baby Orangutan to care for. One of it's arms was longer than the other. I'm really hoping these dreams aren't prophetic. Otherwise, I'll be giving birth to a three inch, Japanese, lopsided Orangutan during a zombie apocalypse. Here's a picture my good friend, Angie O'Neal made for me upon reading this entry:
Next week is our first official appointment with our Midwife. I started keeping a food log so I could report to her how amazingly awesome my diet has been. But once I realized how often I was writing "One piece of cake with buttercream frosting", I abandoned the log. A friend told me about a 25-year-old model client of his who only gained 16 pounds during her pregnancy and now I hate her with a passion that is indescribable.
Our Midwife recommends walking five miles a day in order to facilitate an easier labor. But seeing as how I'm not completely insane, I'm not walking five miles a day. At best I'm doing two miles. I know when Krumholtz is pushing his enormous head through my extremely slender pelvis (I'm so skinny, you guys) I will rue all the days I didn't walk five miles. But, really, who has time to walk five miles a day when there's all this cake with buttercream frosting to be eaten?
