EIGHT: 180

Pounds.

That's one hundred and eighty pounds.

I am not self conscious about this since the baby is a whopping 3 pounds, give or take.

SEVEN: The Visitors

Chum had some visitors.

R and T (And LeRoy in spirit) brought his mom clothing that actually fits (a muumuu) and introduced her to SYTYCD.

It was a glorious week.

SIX: The Parole Board (a departure from the usual)

It's been so many weeks since my last entry. I have many excuses including parole hearings.

I have a friend who has been in prison longer than I've been alive. She is actually the longest serving female prisoner in California (possibly U.S.) History (approaching 40 years). She was originally sentenced to death - a sentence that was automatically commuted to "7 years to life" when California laws changed in 1972. She has been eligible for parole every few years since she completed her 7th year and has been denied 12 times although she has, for at least three decades, met criteria for parole including recommendations for parole from CDC's prison staff (therapists and wardens and what not).

She was recently diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and so her family requested "Compassionate Release" so that she can receive visitors in the hospital and say goodbye (She is too sick to actually leave the hospital where she has been housed for the past four months but is not allowed visitors).

As far as I understand, the criteria for Compassionate Release is "less than six months to live" and "no longer a threat to society." The first criteria has been met according to the California Department of Corrections (CDC) own physicians and the second criteria has, I believe, been met for many years by her exemplary prison record and tireless devotion to benevolent volunteer work of any and every kind during her incarceration. Further, her physical infirmity (paralyzed on one side, amputated leg, difficulty speaking) renders her unable to sit up on her own, no less do harm to others.

Because of the stated criteria for compassionate release, I felt confident speaking on her behalf of her status as 'no longer a threat' at her recent Parole Hearing in Sacramento. I was among about 25 family and friends who spoke in support of release including her husband, brother, nieces, long time friends, Californians for responsible use of taxpayer money, and the original Prosecutor in the case (the one who originally sought (and won) the death penalty).

All those in favor of release spoke first, followed by about 5 or 6 people - among them family members of the victims - who were against her release. The Parole Board voted (supposedly unanimously) to deny the request.

I was obviously disappointed since I would like to say goodbye to her before she dies. But I was also a bit miffed since she clearly meets the criteria for compassionate release and thus wonder why they have criteria at all if they do not judge based on it. That said, the philosophical argument for release is a bit more muddled for me. I left Sacramento confident that legal justice was not served but with many questions about the meaning of "justice" in this situation.

She participated in horrible crimes which resulted in the murders of several people - denying their families the ability to say 'goodbye' and so the argument (logically) goes. But she was also 19 at the time and has, nearly every day since those events, attempted to repent for her actions both directly to the families of the victims but also through years and years of service through programs at the prison - She's been a model prisoner for almost four decades. If her demonstrated profound sorrow and regret and evolution as a human being can not be acknowledged and rewarded than what is the point? Why not simply put every convicted murderer immediately to death? Might a collective ability to grant forgivness and redemption at least allow something good, something evolved to come out of something horrible? And if not, how do we answer for the inconsistency of time served for murder? My friend participated in particularly 'notorious' crimes - but the lives of those victims were no more valuable; their deaths' no more tragic than the lives of those taken anonymously by perpetrators who were paroled after far shorter time served...

And of course, it is easy for me to imagine that this theory might cease to have any real meaning or weight to me if someone I loved was murdered. I can only imagine (unsuccessfully) what that would be like and therefore how I might feel about the perpetrator.

Perhaps feeling genuine sorrow and regret, being a 'good person,' and having 25 people in her life who love her and stood up in support of her should be acknowledgement and reward enough.

Don't know.

FIVE: The cramp

L and I went to Port Townsend, Washington for about five days to visit/meet my best friend from college and her family. This was L and I's first official vacation together and probably our last for quite some time (although I did have a dream recently where the baby was fine for several days after placing him tenderly in a cabinet and sprinkling a few raisins around for sustenance, so assuming we have enough raisins perhaps we can still travel for long weekends).

The first couple nights, J and T were kind enough to give up their bed and we were able to stay with them and their two fantastic and brilliant sons.

That's Henry on the left, preparing a series of questions regarding the internal combustion engine and infinity and Sebastian on the right, warming up for a dramatic monologue and/or an aria.

Then L and I had a couple getaway nights at a delightful little beach guesthouse nearby.

It was in this entry that I was going to recount, in gory detail, an anecdote involving a horrendous calf cramp (another miracle of pregnancy which I rank as worse than peeing oneself in public but better than hemorrhoids) which struck during a moment of...romance. But it is my understanding that this blog is getting some unanticipated distribution, so I'll skip the details and just provide the highlights of the event: sudden screaming, an elbow to a face, calf-clutching and more screaming, (to borrow L's phrase) "a lack of patriotism on flag day", laughter, crying - all of which required several hours of physical and emotional recovery time, a Nanny 911 marathon and an entire package of oreos. Ultimately, I think we are a better, stronger couple for having been through that together.

And finally, a few of you have been requesting a picture of L. Understandable since so few have met him (Don't feel too badly, I just met him myself) but I feel hesitant about completely exposing him, particularly since I've just told you about how suddenly unpatriotic he can be.

So here his is (only sort of) on the ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island.

as you were.

FOUR: The Martini Incident

One sunny day last week, I was waddling down the street, minding my own business when I felt what I could only describe (and what can only be politely be described) as a person of extremely compromised height throwing a warm martini up and onto my nether-regions. I was more confused than alarmed. First, there was no person of compromised height drinking a martini within sight. Second, there are many grotesque and bizarre things happening to my body these days - I quickly assumed that a little leak was just another slice of miracle.

Upon arriving home and looking on the Internet (you'd be surprised at how many online discussions are devoted to non-pornographic leaky lady-parts), I decided I needed to call my midwife. The Internet is a dramatic place; a slippery slope of worst case scenario doom but the quantity and quality of the..."martini" was such that I needed to make sure I was okay. My midwife immediately sent me to the hospital.

I called L who scolded me for not calling sooner (He could have sorted through the "You probably have anthrax" links on my behalf) and then met me at the hospital. I was scared for a short bit - being only 25 weeks, early labor would not bode well for this pregnancy - but I checked out okay pretty quickly. They put a fetal monitor on at one point, with the disclaimer that the monitor was designed for full term babies and would likely only pick up a faint heartbeat for a short amount of time. Chum proceeded to impress everyone with 30 minutes straight of war cry-decibel heart beats. I hope he is quieter and less "showy" in person.

The upshot of all this (physiologically speaking)...I most likely peed myself.

Please add incontinence to the other joys of pregnancy - the bloat, the gas, the waddle, the stabbing calf cramps at inopportune moments (more on that in an upcoming blog and not for the prudish), and the various skin anomalies (In addition to "Welcome to the Dollhouse" acne, I have a darkened swatch of skin in the perfect shape of a moustache).

Truth be told, I'm okay with it all - it's certainly entertaining. I just wish my diapers could also fit the baby.