Pregnancy Chronicles - He's here!

That's right! The baby is here. I'd say finally, but he came a few days early. I'm absolutely thrilled to meet my son, and I don't think I could love anything more. However, labor did not exactly go the way I wanted it to. You know that birth plan you have? Maybe even wrote it down for the doctors? Yeah, throw it away. It ain't gonna happen like that.

I guess it started 4:30 am on Friday. Maybe sometime before that, but I was too sleepy to think about contractions. I thought maybe it was terrible indigestion. So it wasn't until 4:30 that I had a big one, nasty enough that my husband woke to find his wife writhing in pain.

He got up and started packing a bag for the hospital. I told him he was nuts and that it was just false labor. All the signs for false labor were there. Inconsistent contractions, contractions that lessen when you change position or drink water, no blood, no mucus plug, etc. We started to keep track of the contraction time and duration because it's not like either of us were going back to sleep.

For the next couple of hours, that's what we did. I had contractions, he wrote it down, we did some laundry, packed the bag. The contractions remained inconsistent. Sometimes they were 20 minutes apart, sometimes 5. Sometimes they lasted for a few seconds, sometimes 30 seconds. You aren't supposed to go to the hospital until your contractions occur every 5 minutes for an hour. Everything pointed to false labor. I ended up convincing the hubby to go to work because I was confident the contractions would stop.

Two hours later, I asked him to come home. They had gotten bad. BAD I TELL YOU. Every 5 minutes, increasing intensity each time. I called the doctor, but the office is closed from 12-1:30. I called the emergency line but the unhelpful woman said to call the office. I told her the office was closed you dingbat and basically she provided NO help. That's okay because I had a few things around the house to finish up - which sounds crazy, but if you're going to the hospital for 2-3 days, you have to prepare a few things. We didn't end up leaving until 1:30 anyway, but at least I finally did get in touch with the doctor's office to let them know I was in labor.

I was dilated 4cm when we arrived at the hospital. It takes 10cm to give birth, 5cm to get an epidural. Within a few minutes, I was 5cm. Contractions were coming every 3 minutes and were insane. You want to know what it felt like? Have you ever had a leg cramp? Or a foot cramp? Where your muscle tenses and bulges and constricts for a few seconds and there ain't a damn thing you can do to help it? That, except for all over your abdomen and lower back.

Oh and here's a fun tidbit they didn't tell you in labor class: you can't get an epidural until you drain one complete IV bag of fluid. That fucker did not drip fast enough, I tell you. With the contractions 3 minutes apart, it was just a blur of pain. I'm not sure how women do this naturally. They kept asking me on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad was the pain. It was a 10, 10 I tell you! Stop asking stupid questions and get the epidural.

Hooray when it finally did come! I'm not sure I had a normal reaction to it. One, I could still move my legs pretty well. Even put weight on them. Two, I went a bit loopy. I don't remember much from this time except a few happy texts to family members and a feeling of sweet, blissful relief from the pain. Hubby and I started watching the machine I was hooked up to. We giggled as the contractions started coming 1 minute apart. Hehe, the peaks and valleys are so cute! Seriously, I was out of it.

My doctor arrived to break the bag of waters. Things went downhill from there, sorry to say. The baby's heartbeat decelerated. The doctor thinks he was leaning on the umbilical cord or grabbing it. The bag of waters that provided cushion between baby and cord was gone. They kept flipping me around in bed trying to find a position that would take the weight off the umbilical cord. We found one - on my side, with my leg up on a table. I've been in more comfortable positions. The thing is though, I had to lie there and not move an inch. I tried shifting my shoulder around once and the baby's heart rate dropped again.

I stayed there when I got pins and needles. I stayed there when it all went numb. I stayed there until I thought I would never regain feeling again. And I would've stayed there until my leg fell off. Unfortunately, labor was not going well. I had reached 7cm and plateaued.

An hour went by, still 7cm.

Another.

And another.

In total, I stayed at 7cm for 5 hours. Then my nightmare come true. The doctor said the baby's head was too swollen from the constant pushing against my cervix. And my cervix was swollen and didn't look like it was going to progress to 10cm. I had no choice but to get a Cesarean.

Now, I knew throughout the whole pregnancy that I did not want a Cesarean. I remember when we made our birth plan, I said to my husband, "Make sure they do everything possible before they slice me open." I don't like the idea of being cut into. I don't even like needles or IVs. All along, the ultrasounds and doctor appointments looked good. The baby was in position. No chance of a breech birth. Baby's weight was between 7 and 8lbs; doctor said I should be able to deliver that no problem. There was never any foreshadowing this might happen to me.

Which made this day the happiest and the most horrific of my life. I had an hour to prepare for surgery. One hour to come to terms with my fears, accept the fact they were going to cut into me, and mourn the loss of the labor I wanted. I'm not going to tell you the things I thought during that hour, but lets just say I was in a dark place.

See, there's a big difference between pushing life into the world and having it surgically removed. I was cheated out of a life experience that should've been mine. I WANTED to push, as crazy as that sounds. I wanted the physical challenge; I wanted to look at my son and know "I did that." The Cesarean took that all away from me. I had a few contractions, got an epidural, then got sliced up. You can't even call it labor. I certainly don't.

First they shave you. Then they inject more pain killers so you can't move at all. I could move my head around and my arms if I really tried. I remember being freezing cold (because the fluids and medications being injected into my veins were room temperature) and shaking uncontrollably. They put scrubs on the hubby and wheeled me into the operating room. All the doctors and nurses were really nice and calm, but I knew they didn't want to deal with my tears.

They set you on a table under really bright lights, arrange your arms spread eagle out to the side and expose everything breasts down. A curtain is placed in front of your face, which is a saving grace. Though at one point during the surgery, it become blood-splattered. I wondered if the curtain was for my piece of mind or just to minimize the cleanup.

The hubby was placed almost directly behind my head. He could watch the surgery even though they tried to shield him somewhat. It was awful. The doctor used a hot knife to cut my skin; I could smell my flesh burning. Hubby tried to distract me by pretending they hadn't started, but deep down in my drugged out state, I knew better. I knew what that smell was. I asked the nurses NOT to narrate for me or tell me a damn thing about the procedure. I just didn't want to know. It took every ounce of courage I had just to be in that room. But I was doing it, for my baby.

At some point, it occurred to me that this was a bigger test. Yes, I wanted the physical challenge of labor. I wanted to beat it and deliver my son into the world. I was always afraid of a Cesarean, so maybe this was my thing I had to face. I clung to that idea throughout the surgery and it helped. However, it's not true. I still feel cheated and still feel like a failure. A healthy pregnancy for 9 months and my son had to be delivered by scalpel. I didn't even get a chance to push.

Again, I think I had a weird reaction to the pain killers. The doctor said she was going to apply pressure on my diaphragm area to get the baby into a position where they could grab him. She said it was going to feel like "an elephant standing on your chest". I felt her moving around a little and wondered when she was going to get started. About a week later, the hubby told me the two doctors were yanking on my abdominal muscles as hard as they could to expose the baby. Turns out, all those hours of yoga did NOT help. Weak abs make surgery easier. Anyway, so I was waiting for this elephant to arrive when hubby pointed to our baby in the incubator next to us. I was too drugged out and weak to see him or touch him. They took Baby away, with the hubby, while they closed my incision and cleaned me up. It took about an hour until I saw him again. Yet another thing taken from me.

I finally did hold him and it was one of the happiest moments of my life. Then the pain killers from the surgery started to wear off. My incision felt like it had been lit on fire. The nurse wasn't exactly snappy with the pills; I had to call for her twice. The pain got so bad I couldn't enjoy my son in my arms. And he was so beautiful. With gooey crap in his hair, little upturned nose, an overbite, and a chin exactly like his daddy's. I just wanted to stare at him, but the pain kept returning me to the planet Earth. It shouldn't have been like that.

The first night was kinda terrible. It took the nurses a few hours to clean me up, manage the pain, and track my vitals to make sure I was okay. They sent hubby to sleep in another room while they took care of me. Eventually they wheeled me to his room and brought the baby to stay with us.We stayed there for 4 days until I was strong enough to go home. I'm still not allowed to go up or down stairs, or do normal things like cough and sneeze. But at least I'm home and I have my son.

He was born at 12:56am. 7 lbs, 7oz, 20 inches long. Perfect in every way.

Football Baby Blanket

I mentioned that my husband's Eagles jersey got messed up in the laundry? Well, it did. Has a bunch of holes in the backside.

Luckily it was a knockoff anyway and didn't cost very much money. Still, he'd only worn it a couple of times and wanted to recycle it into something else.

So voila. A baby blanket. I'll go through the steps on how I made this sucker. There's not detailed instructions, but if you wanted to recreate it, I think you can follow along.

Actually, I ended up making two blankets. One for my expected son and one for my cousin's brand new baby boy. Only because the jersey had numbers on the front and back. I also got the fleece 30% off and the minky fabric 50% off.

Materials to make 2 blankets:
2 yds fleece
1 yd minky
scrap white fabric
70-80 inches of grosgrain or satin ribbon
green, white, and brown thread

First, wash everything in baby detergent. I use Dreft. Then cut out the numbers from the jersey.

I also used this opportunity to cut all the patches and other decals from the Jersey. Like the two eagles on each sleeve, the NFL logo, and whatever else was attached to the jersey. I could embellish a bib later on.

Square up your two yards of fleece and fold into quarters. Cut along the folds. By square up, I mean make sure they are all equal sizes. Cut off the salvages and cut straight edges. It helps to have a large self healing mat and rotary cutter to do this.

Once I have the blanket squared off (which is kind of a pain in the ass), I mark the corners with color coded pins. That way I know it's supposed to be the upper left corner of the blanket and don't accidentally flip it sideways sew it wrong.

Find the middle of the blanket and pin the numbers on. Fold the raw edges under. You could use an iron here, but I was concerned about the heat and the jersey melting. Sew it on with either a straight stitch or zig zag. Just make sure you are sewing it to the RIGHT side of the fabric.

Next, get a piece of cardboard. Or not, if you are capable of doing this freestyle. More power to you. I needed a pattern. I measured the blanket and used pins to indicate where I wanted the football to be. I measured the vertical distance between the pins and drew a line on the cardboard. The curved line of the football was a little trickier. I found something in my house that was flexible and used it to trace the arc. It happened to be a piece of garden edging that we bought but never installed. When you're done, you should have a semi-circle of cardboard that fits your fleece.

Take the minky fabric - remember I'm making two blankets here. I folded it in half, then folded it along the length, just wider than the semicircle. Put the straight edge of the cardboard alongside the fold. Cut.

You should have two football shapes.

Take some white fabric and cut two inch strips. 

Fold the raw edges to the center and iron flat. 

I eyeballed the next part. I folded the raw edges of the minky fabric under and pinned in place. Then I lined up where I wanted the white stripes to be. No measuring, just guess and check until I was happy with it. Those got pinned into place.

Sew the white strips onto the minky fabric. Straight stitch or zig zag would work. If I were doing this project again, I would've reinforced the white strips with fusible web. They would've been more easy to place, pin, and sew if they were stiffer.

Sew the football onto the blanket.

Cut 6 inch long pieces of ribbon. I don't know how many you'll need. You can space these out as you wish. I found that anywhere from 4-8 inches apart looked nice. These are just going to be tabs the baby can play with. Pin them to the fabric wherever you want. If your ribbon has words or a pattern on it like mine, make sure the pattern goes in the same direction as the pattern on the fleece.

 Stitch the sides up. Here's the front:

 Here's the back.

Pregnancy Chronicles - Week 39

I could turn this blog post into a discussion regarding my cervix, but let's not. There is no baby yet. Still pregnant. Still very pregnant. And getting bigger. Could be because I don't want anything to eat besides donuts and ice cream.

I'm definitely ready for this baby to come. Yet this is the second week where the doctor reported no internal progress. This is the part where I could give you tons  of details about my cervix. Let's just say it's not ready.

Which means this pregnancy is likely to go past week 40. A lot of first pregnancies do. I believe the due date was calculated correctly because it was triple checked with ultrasound measurements. Between 5% and 10% of pregnancies end in week 41 or 42. So it happens.

It's what comes next that I'm not thrilled about. The longer the pregnancy goes on, the more the placenta could deteriorate. The baby may not be getting enough oxygen or nutrients. That's when they induce labor or schedule a Cesarean.

I don't want either of those. I suppose no one does really. But I REALLY don't. Look, I'm not stupid. I know for all my bitching and moaning each week, this pregnancy has actually been pretty easy compared to what other people go through. My aches and pains are not that bad. Yeah, it's uncomfortable, but manageable. I've had worse sore muscles than what I'm feeling in my lower back right now. My swollen ankles are disturbing to look at, but I can deal with it.

My point is, everything has been going perfectly for 39 weeks. I can't accept that labor will be different. I don't see my baby as something that has to be medically removed by drugs or scalpel. I can't help to feel that if I need a Cesarean, I will somehow have failed at pregnancy. That is probably irrational, but feelings don't need to make sense. And I do NOT judge other women who had Cesareans; everyone is different. I just know it's not for me.

So if the baby doesn't come by next Thursday, the doctor is going to run a non-stress test. This is risk-free and measures heart rate, movements, and uterine activity. The results may give us a better indication of the baby's health and if medical interference is necessary.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. This baby needs to come soon and naturally.

Favorite Romances

For Valentine's Day, here's my list of favorite romances. Mostly they are taken from books I read recently.

Alina and Mal. Orphaned together, joined the Army together, were forcibly separated, and well, I won't spoil the ending.

Meliora and Vidanric. They spend a good part of the book on opposite sides of the war. Meliora can be a bit irritating, but the second half (and the romance) make up for it.

Tris and Four. Because damn. They just have chemistry. They understand each other and click from the very beginning.

Jordan and Ty. She's the quarterback and he's on the team. And he waits for her while she figures out what's going on.

Tessa and Jeck. Okay, I'm not sure if this should count. The characters actually didn't get together in this book, or the sequel. But if there's ever a third book (it's been 6 years), it'll be awesome.

Senneth and Tayse.  Just perfection. This is one of my all time favorite books.





 

Cordelia and Aral. This is my other favorite book.

Yelena and Valek. She's the royal taste tester. He's the chief of security.

Lena and Alex. Because where they live, people are given lobotomies to remove love. People are put to death for exhibiting feelings.

Sonea and Akkarin. She's a bad-ass orphan plucked from the Thieves Guild. He's the High Lord at the magic academy.

Baby's New Normal

It occurred to me recently that my child will grow up with video chatting as the new normal. Facetime with the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins will be more common than regular talking on the phone.

Laptops will be a joke. Smartphones and tablets will be the mobile device of choice. Amid the mix of rattles, stuffed toys, and pacifiers, there will be iPhones and iPads to keep baby entertained.

I wonder how many actual books he'll hold in his hands, or will all his reading be over the Kindle? By the time he gets to high school, will the school district still supply textbooks? Will he know what it's like to tote a huge backpack, gym clothes, and lunch to school everyday and somehow cramming it all into a locker that's 6 inches wide?

Will DVDs even matter anymore?

He'll grow up in a world where his every milestone will be captured on camera or video and shared for all friends and family to see. I don't think I could help myself; Facebook was created for mothers to brag about their children. It'll seem normal to him though, like everyone grew up this way.

He'll never spend time in a mall. But he will know the first name of the UPS man (Danny) and the post man (Alan).

I wonder if he'll even handle cash that often.

Will he look a photo album and wonder what the F this is? Why can't he click dammit?

Will he still have to pump gas? Or will that be a thing he had to do for his crappy first car?

He'll never hear what a dial-up modem sounds like. Or have to blow on something to get it to work.

Even right now before he's born, he has a video monitor that detects motion and has night vision. He has a stroller with shock absorbers and unfolds like a pop-up tent. He has a swing that goes both side-to-side and forward-to-back with different speeds and music. Nearly all his toys and equipment require batteries of some kind.

I really think the next technological age will begin with the invention of a longer, lighter battery. It'll be as revolutionary as the semiconductor.

And who knows? Maybe he'll live to be 120. Or maybe he won't die, but will have his consciousness uploaded to a storage device and live in a cyber world. Or transferred to a clone. The brain-computer interface is a real thing already being worked.

Working from home

Today ends my second week of working 100% at home. Let me start by saying I don't regret this. It's difficult for me to move around and my ankles are swollen. I don't have to haul a lunch, laptop, gym bag, and purse to and from the parking lot everyday. I'm also less tired than I was when I was going into the office.

It sounds like an introvert's dream right? Stay at home and still get paid. I have email, instant messaging, and a phone to coordinate with coworkers.

So why am I depressed. The last time I left the house was 6 days ago. I went to the grocery store and post office. Today I get to go to my doctor's appointment and the fabric store. Tomorrow a funeral (I don't know the person, just there for friend support). I'm not even sure if my car still works.

I need to get out. Every day I dress like I might leave the house. I get a shower, put on decent clothes, slide on some slippers, and power up the laptop. It makes me feel like less of a bum. Still I need to get out of here. Even if it's just to take a mini-break from the dog.

I'm not sure why I feel like this. There's nothing for me out there. I'm too massive to enjoy walking around stores. We have Netflix so I don't need to see a movie. I can order any household supplies or whatnots from the internet. I can get takeout food, even groceries delivered from PeaPod. I don't need a haircut. I can't think of a single GOOD reason that would justify leaving the house (other than the doctor).

So why do I want out so bad.

I'm starting to get a bit concerned about this. It's only been 2 weeks. I have 12 weeks of maternity leave ahead of me after the baby is born. The first week I'll have my parents; the second week will be his parents, then nothing. He goes back to work and everyone leaves. I have to keep an infant alive by myself for 10 more weeks. At home. Not working. Just feeding and wiping butt. Never leaving or doing anything other than that.

Here's a good way to put it, stolen from here:
<blockquote>[You] are alternating between crazy excitement about finally meeting your baby and crazy panic about oh my God, you’re finally going to meet your baby and they’re going to expect that you take it home and like, keep it alive and stuff.</blockquote>

Fine. Accuse me of being melodramatic, all you experienced parents out there. But postpartum depression is a real thing. If I get this mopey before the baby is born, I imagine it'll be worse after.

Saturday Mail

Announced yesterday, the US Postal Service (USPS) will stop delivering first class mail on Saturdays starting August 5th this year. What's first class mail? Letters, cards, magazines, catalogs, bills, flyers, etc.

As a home-based, small business owner, I find this disconcerting. I mail out a lot of packages on Saturday. There have been times where the mailbox didn't shut. USPS has said package delivery will continue on Saturday, but it's not clear to me if that includes First Class Packages or just Priority and Express only. Either way, they will not collect mail on Saturday.

Which means I will have to go to the post office every stinking Saturday to drop off packages. Assuming the post offices will still be open on Saturday. They better be; that's the only time of the week I can mail international packages.

Speaking of which, with the latest postage increase two weeks ago, mailing international packages just doubled in cost. Mailing to Canada used to cost $3.30 for a 3oz package. Now it's $7.35. The costs for United Kingdom and Australia went from $4.56 to $9.45. Yeah, that dried up my international business VERY quickly. Thanks for that.

The domestic rates increased too, but not enough for me to charge customers more for shipping. Even though it costs $0.05 more to mail a 3oz package, I can absorb that.

Anyway, I'm not thrilled about the change in Saturday deliveries. It may save the post office fuel and wages, but I can't be the only small business that depends on Saturday mail. I just hope my customers will be ok with slower delivery rates.

Pregnancy Chronicles - Week 38

The nursery is done! Everything is prepped and ready to go. We put the wall decals on this week as the last finishing touch. If you are wondering where I got them, check out this Etsy shop for a wide selection and decent prices. This set only cost $55 with shipping and was very easy to apply.

I'm still walking the dog and still doing yoga a few times a week. Just doing everything at home. The only time I'll leave the house this week is to go to my doctor's appointment on Friday. Then maybe the supermarket on Saturday and the fabric store too. I'm starting to feel like a cave troll. I don't even pay attention to the news because that's "out there" and I'm "in here". Gas prices increased? Heh, who cares.

Anyway, I'm fine. I have aches and pains, but nothing I can't handle.

What's that you say? You want more details than that? Okay here are the answers to some of your burning questions that you are too embarrassed to ask.

1. No, my belly button hasn't popped out. It's still an innie.

2. Yes, I waddle.

3. I sleep great. Though the hubby tells me I snore now.

4. Yes, I can see the baby move. My belly dances around. No, I can't identify which body part it is.

5. No, I don't have stretch marks (that I know about)

6. Sometimes my feet are swollen but never badly. Mostly I wear slippers around the house so I don't notice it too much.

7.  Yes, the hubby clips my toenails.

8. I still shave my legs even though it's hard to bend that way. Feeling like a gross cave troll is worse than a few minutes of discomfort.

9. Yes, I eat a lot. I eat at 7am, 10am, 12pm, 3pm, 6pm, and 9pm.

10. No, the doctor has not given me much indication if the baby will be early/late. I cannot help you in your "due date" pool. Yes, I know you have one. I can tell by the way you ask me the same question every time we talk. No, it doesn't bother me you have a "due date" pool. As long as you don't have something hurtful like a "weight gain" pool.

11. Which brings me to the last question. I gained 30lbs. Now you know.

Sewing Project Ideas

The dryer ate my husband's Eagles jersey. Don't worry, it was a $25 knockoff. But now there are large burn holes in the back, right at the butt. Since he's only worn it a few times, he asked me to find a project where we could save the majority  of the shirt.

Here's what I'm working with - both front and back numbers are in tact. The player's name is in tact. The sleeves have an Eagles patch on each one. The sides of the jersey is a mesh fabric.

I searched the internet (hooray for Pinterest!) for some possible upcycle ideas. I narrowed it down to a few choices:

A jersey pillow tutorial is doable. However, I made pillows before and in our house, the dog assumes any sewing project of mine must be a dog toy. The fluffy throw pillows did not last. We put up a valiant fight though, keeping them alive for a few weeks before we left the house and forgot to put them in the closet.

While pillows are a good, low-skill project, we'd have to keep them high on a shelf for display only. Still a possibility for the jersey.

Create a quilt out of old jerseys and tshirts. I love this idea. It's also massively time consuming and I really only have 1 jersey that needs to be recycled. It would be difficult to find something to put in each square. Maybe if we lived closer to Philadelphia and I could pick up old tshirts and sweatshirts from the thrift store.

Anyway, while this is an awesome idea, I may have to rule it out.

I found this awesome blanket from this Etsy shop. I could put the jersey numbers on the back and buy some minky fabric for the front. I'm not sure about doing it in a football shape. That seems like an unnecessary complication when a rectangular blanket would be just as cute.

Minky fabric is pretty expensive though. About $15 per yard. It would cost money to upcycle this jersey, which sorta defeats the point.

Also, I'm not sure how the blanket is secured to the back. It doesn't look quilted. If it's not secured to the back, it gets a little screwy in the washer. Ever wash non-quilted placemats? They aren't quite the same afterward, are they? I'd have the same problem because I don't want to quilt through the jersey numbers. This might be an easy, very cute project, but low in functionality.

Anyway, still looking for ideas to upcycle the burned out jersey. I'm leaning toward the minky blanket until I can find something better. Either way, it's a trip to the fabric store on Friday night! Say it with me now....ooooo fabrics!!!!

Book Review - Beauty Queens

Yikes. I couldn't finish this. It was just too....satirical.

The 50 girls from a national teenage beauty pageant were flying to a Caribbean island for a photo shoot. Their plane crashed, most of them died, including the pilot and film crew.

I think there are 12? 13? survivors. Anyway, enter heavy satire.

The author was trying to make some point about girls, women, beauty, culture, and society. Like we don't already know how stupid it is to have teenage girls be judged on a national stage in a bikini twirling a baton. No, boys don't have to do this. No, boys don't have to use spray-on tanner or dye their hair. They don't have to get low grades to be liked by their peers.

So, the message is not revolutionary. But it is crammed down the reader's throat with each sentence.  Not a syllable is uttered that doesn't make a girl sound stupid, clueless, or self-absorbed.

But it's a satire, so that's the point, right? Satire is fine, but when it comes at the expense of character development, that I cannot tolerate.

There were the white girls, a black girl, an Indian, a lesbian, a Texan Christian gun lover, and an intelligent one who entered the pageant to destroy it. Not sure how she did that since these national competitions aren't easy to get into. Anyway, no one had any back story, no motivation on why they wanted to win or why they were there in the first place. When they crashed, no one thought of their families or the girls that were killed. The 13 survivors actually voted on continuing to prepare for the pageant instead of working on survival because they'd be rescued soon.

Sorry but what? Even the most selfish, obnoxious teenage girl knows the difference between a luxury and a survival scenario. Yeah, when they have no responsibilities and are hanging out with their friends, they use "like" and "omg" and "what shade of lipstick is that?". But watch them at work or when applying for a job. That irritating inflection in their voice stops and they can speak like adults. Actually teenage girls are much better workers than boys.

And with more than half of them dead before page 1, you can guarantee that would be enough to drop the beauty pageant act and become a real person. For crap's sake, these girls were still wearing their sashes and calling each other Miss Colorado and Miss New Hampshire. Enough already. I just can't read any more.