That La Kid

wishin' an' hopin'!

room to grow

I don’t usually like to overwhelm you with two posts in one day, and odds are I won’t be able to think of anything to write about tomorrow because I talked your ear (eyes) off today.

I worked on the nursery before we left for Charlottesville on Friday and just can’t wait to show you how it’s going, although a smart Wendy would wait for the big TA-DA in a week or so when it’s done.

It was a big help for me psychologically to get something going.  I feel less depressed.  I’ve been complaining this whole time, “geez, if only I had a dresser!”  But now, I’m all, “Well, there’s nothing wrong with his outfits hanging up in the closet…”  So we have an adorable, practically empty, dresser.

BUT I STILL LIKE HAVING IT!

I can’t wait to pick up the matching one and the toy box.  And the crib.  And, hey, I need to finish sanding and repainting the changing table that we bought waaaay the heck back in February.

But back to my little success story… most people buy a set of stuff that’s beautifully coordinated and create nurseries that look like catalog pages.  (I’m talking about you Kinsey Parham! …not that you’ll read this.)  I’ve always had trouble with this.  Let’s say I pick out that adorable Baby Simba jungle motif that’s out right now.  Well, then where do Mickey and Goofy go?  Most toys are brilliant primary colors, and I want them to look like they have a home in Mr. Happy’s room.  I’ve tried really hard not to be all matchy-matchy, but to keep it coordinated.  Let’s see how things are going…

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“…and ev’ry last inch of me’s covered with HAIR!”

I am giving Gaston a run for his money on levels of testosterone.

(Incidentally, wasn’t the Beast ALSO completely covered with hair?  Just sayin’.)

From Wikipedia:

Waxing is a way of semi-permanent hair removal which removes the hair from the root. New hair will not grow back in the previously waxed area for two to eight weeks, although some people will start to see regrowth in only a week.

Try 3 days.  And in 3 days, I am not seeing a little, “oh, yeah -looky there… some hair is starting to grown back in.”  It’s like that movie “The Santa Clause” when Tim Allen shaves, lets out a sigh of relief, and then his full white beard grows right back.  I am wondering what it would look like if i just let it go.  If I just didn’t touch it, would I turn into Teen Wolf?  Some of the hairs are dark brown, some are red.  I bet I would have a very pretty auburn beard.

I already had PCOS symptoms, which I believe (although I never had the levels checked) includes tons of extra testosterone anyway.

So, I don’t know… I guess I should just wait it out, hideout inside my house while it grows out and then flee to the salon under a bandana on Friday and get it waxed again in time for the shower.  Or should I continue tweezing like a crazy person?  Or should I use the Hair Removal Creme?  Or should I buy a kit and wax at home?  I had used the creme, and (as it turns out) it lasts about as long as the waxing did!  Ha!  The girl at the salon looked at my face and was like, “yeah, shaving is the worst thing you can do…”  Do I look stupid to you?  I absolutely wouldn’t shave it, ever!  “I tried hair removal creme a couple days ago.”  She did not look convinced.

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asian time

Tom has a tendency to run his life on something his best friend Nathan calls “Asian time.”  Basically, it means if he has to be someplace at 7 o’clock, he leaves the house at 7 o’clock.  I’m not sure if this actually has anything to do with being Asian.

I, on the other hand, cannot stand being late.  I think I was traumatized in my youth by choruses of, “well, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence” when we’d have to run from one family’s Christmas to the other.  I don’t know why – but we were always late to everything.  Fifteen minutes late to church, like clockwork – every week.  You’d think that we would have just started waking up 15 minutes earlier.  Nope.

I don’t like close calls!

I’m nervous the shower will fall into Asian time.  (Sounds so racist, we really should come up with another name for it.)

We have 2 weeks until the baby shower.  There is one weekend in between.  In those two weeks:

  • We need to buy bedroom furniture for the grandparents’ bedroom downstairs.
  • We need to have that room painted or paint it ourselves.
  • We need to unpack.
  • The Target registry is almost entirely online-only items.  So, do I wait until the shower to see what we get?  Shipping takes a while, so we’ll have to order what we don’t get and pray it gets delivered before our boy does.
  • I’ve got to buy some newborn size diapers.  (Cloth or otherwise.)
  • If I get newborn cloth diapers, I have to wash and dry them about 10 times BEFORE we put them on Jr.’s butt to increase the absorbency to full capacity.
  • My dad needs to hang my Mickey Mouse chandelier and move the light switch in the Bonus Room.  And we need to patch and paint the spot where the switch is now.
  • Tom’s Uncle Larry is coming to stay with us during the Democratic National Convention, the week leading up to the shower.
  • Pick out, figure out how to pay for, and purchase the most awesome rocking chair I can find.  (Special gift from my Baby-Daddy.)
  • Pack for a month in Charlottesville.

So, I.  AM.  PANICKED.

…to say the least.  I reckon I should go unpack instead of writing a whiny blog.

The planner in me is like, you can’t just do this on Asian time.  But… there is a little half-Asian boy inside me that is doing EVERYTHING on at least half-Asian time.

We are really doing this.  In about a month, I WILL HAVE A FREAKING BABY.

Hooooooooly cow.

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lately

It’s been a busy couple of weeks.  No progress on Little Happy’s room or anything.  At this point we’re just trying to get out of the old house.  We’ve got one week.

It’s been a rough few days.

We bought a house, closed on 7/27 and have to be moved out of our rental by 8/18.

I don’t have gestational diabetes per se… but my numbers are elevated.  So I’m diligently trying to figure that whole mess out.

Tom went to Dallas last Thursday and Friday, so in addition to be pregnant and having to work on the old house by myself, I was super-duper depressed at being alone.  There’s nothing in the new house to eat.  So, I had to go to the store.  Everyone I know who has a pet can just walk out the door and go to the store.  Not us.  We have to dog-proof the whole house.  Close all the doors to all the bedrooms…  Put boxes on the couch so she doesn’t jump up there and cover it in fur…  Move anything that’s edible higher than 5 feet off the floor…  It’s exhausting.  I just want to be able to go to the freaking store without having to turn my pantry into Fort Knox.  I just want things to be easy.  I just want my life to be simple!

So.  I put the dog in the garage.  I prayed she wouldn’t crap in the garage – because I’m still nauseous all the time and didn’t want her sh*t to make me throw up.  Still, I bought clothespins at Walmart so I could put one on my nose if she did poop and figured we could use them at the baby shower.

It started raining when I went into Walmart, when I was ready to leave it was a gosh-darned MONSOON.  I got soaked, despite the umbrella (“…big ol’ fat rain.  Rain that flew in sideways…”)  I looked like a drowned rat.  Aaaand I slipped in the parking lot.  Stubbed my toe.  I’ll live.  My super-long second toe kind of folded and saved the rest of me from going down, but it got cut pretty bad and hurts like a mug.  Added injury to the insult of being soaking wet, and lonely, and sad, and frantic about Jasmine.

At home, of course there was sh*t in the garage, which infuriated me.  Of course.  Just because I DID NOT NEED THAT IN MY LIFE AT THAT MOMENT.  So, okay… fine.  I can pick up poop.  I mean.  I’m having a baby.  Me an’ poop are about to get real friendly.

But geeeeeez… do I hate dog poop.

So, I open the clothespins and they don’t fit on my GIGANTIC, HUGE, ENORMOUS, TITANIC nose.

I stuffed a paper towel up my schnoz and picked up the crap, put it in a bag and cracked the garage door so I could throw it out on to the driveway and throw it away when it’s not raining cats and dogs.  Oh!  And speaking of rain/dogs… Jasmine decides she’s out.  She’s gon’ bounce.  She peacin’.  So, she runs out of the garage into the rain.  Nice little plus.  Like my evening wasn’t already awesome… now I get to go find a wet dog.

JASMINE!  WHY YOU SO DUMB!  WHY YOU RUN OUT INTO STORM!

I don’t get it.  I’ll be damned if I’m going out there.  I yelled and she came back.  I yelled at her to stay and went inside to get a cup of water the flush out the pee that she also made for me while I was gone.  Come back out – she’s gone again.

SUNNUVA!

I called her again and she came back.  WTF, Jasmine?!  It. Is. RAINING.  Stay in the garage… if for no other reason, because I JUST told you to.

WHY YOU SO DUMB?!

This happened every time I went in to get another cup of water.  By the time the pee was flushed out into the rain I was ready to just shut the door and leave Jasmine out there.  I didn’t.  I called her back into the garage from wherever the heck she was.  I stood by her bowl and watched her eat the food that had been there since I left.  (If you don’t know this dog, she loves to eat.  We pour the food at dinner time, she eats it.  Interesting, huh?  Leave her in the house and she will eat anything within those 5 feet of ground level.  Leave her in the garage with a full bowl of food and she doesn’t touch it.)  Poured her some water.  Stood there while she drank it.  Went in the house, told her to get the F away from me, and I finally got to eat something.  Finally.  Sat in the kitchen and cried and ate “dinner,” a Lean Cuisine.

I was beginning to think Tom had forgotten about his wife.  It was about midnight, Texas time.  So… clearly he’s having more fun than I was.  Whatever.  I’m going to bed… Jasmine was finally dry, but I didn’t want her near me and she knew it.  She got as close as she thought she could safely, which was the landing halfway up the stairs and eventually outside my bedroom door.

Tom called at about the same moment I gave up on him.

Maybe none of it is a big deal, but I FEEL depressed.  So, I FEEL like it’s a nightmare.

Tom got home and we decided that we’re never doing that again.  Ever.  That was stupid.  Lil’ Happy and I are going next year.

The screen on my laptop, my only means of communication with the outside world, went black on Tom’s first day away – JUST as I was opening photoshop to create Baby Shower invitations.  I also have someone WAITING for me on Etsy, and no way to create a listing.  Our shower leaks.  The washing machine stopped working.  The ceiling fan and light in our bedroom turn on and off at random.  And oh yeah, we have a house to move out of.  Oh yeah, and my nose is huge.

Friday night – Tom was finally home!  I met him at the door.  It was like in the movies where they guy has been over seas fighting Nazis for 9 months.  We just wanted to be together.  We drove to get food at 11:30 – not because we were hungry, but because we wanted to drive around and talk and just be together.  Took the Holy Terror with us.  Got home and Tom showed me cupcakes! And presents! We were in bed around 12:30.

At about 1:30 am, his phone starts going off and we both thought it was the alarm.  We were supposed to leave early to go to Virginia.  It wasn’t the alarm, it was the neighbor that lives by the old house.  She said some kid told her he thought our house was robbed.  We got dressed, loaded Jasmine up in the truck that was full of stuff from me moving earlier that day and went to the old house.  The cops were there.  They said the back door was open.  Great.  We went in the front door.  The cop was like, “alright – what’s missing?”  “Nothing.  It looks just as it did when I left this evening.”

Turns out, they had parked the getaway car in front of our house, broke in to a house about 5 houses down and ran behind all the houses in-between with the goods.  But it wasn’t us.  It’s like Tom’s back home and all is right with the world.  Nothing is a big deal.  Everything’s okay.

We were up late.

We went to Virginia for a glorious wedding – but traveling is always tough anyway.  I’ve got this gestational diabetes problem and it’s been tough to find good nutritious food on the road.  Anyway.  Being on the road is just an extra stressor on the existing list of crap that’s going on.  We were both tired from the night before.

It was a whoooole weekend that we weren’t moving.

It was a great weekend.  Great wedding.  Great day at Busch Gardens – although I could not ride a damn thing.

I take that back, I rode the carousel.  Everything else was either too dangerous or part of the Sesame Street Forest of Fun.

As if my list of whiny complaints wasn’t long enough, at the wedding a friend of mine pointed out that my voice is suddenly very deep.  Yes, it is.  Thank you.  I actually find it quite devastating.  Huge nose… growing a beard… voice of Gaston… wedding band doesn’t fit… yes… pregnancy is AWESOME.

Side note: this sounds like me, http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1770619/, I’d love to know other peoples’ opinions on the subject.  People on various message boards claim the nose thing will go away after I have the baby, but the deep voice bit sounds like a legit issue (that will resolve itself eventually, but an issue nonetheless).  All the stuff about the ovaries sounds like me… just sayin’.  Look at it.

So… yeah.  That’s what’s happening down here.  I’m just kind of waiting for this pregnancy thing to get fun.  At first, I figured it was lame because I was waiting until after my cousin’s wedding to make a big deal about it.  But here it is a month later and I’m still miserable.  I don’t feel special!  I’m not glowing!  I’m just… kind of… blubbering.  I’m tired.  I’m fat.  I’m sad.  Projects are not getting done.  The house is a mess.  I was looking forward to the baby shower because that’ll be fun… show off my new house, you know?  But like, people have a problem with it because I want it to be at my house in Charlotte.  That’s really getting to me for some reason… like, making them unhappy is completely filling me with anxiety and irritability.  There really just aren’t words to express my feelings about that.  I can’t imagine any of the complainers being like, “oh – you know what, I’m going to have my baby 4 hours from home because that’ll be easier on Wendy,” but that’s what I’m doing for them.  (Not just for them, I like the doctor, too – but if you ask, “wow, why are you having the baby in Cville?”  First thing out of my mouth is, “Well, my whole family is there.”)  And they can’t come here, to my home for a shower, so I can nest for one f*cking minute before I have to move to Charlottesville for a month – away from Tom, and we’ve seen how well that worked out – and live as a guest, out of a suitcase while I have this baby?!

Buuuuut…. trying to be optimistic.  I don’t know.  Trying.  Sorry if you wanted a fluffy entry about magic baby fairy dust.  Tom makes me feel better.  We tried for so long.  This is our little miracle.  I’m hoping it’ll be a whole different story when he emerges from… my… gosh… I do not want to think about that right now.

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not to keep bringing it up

One thing I am noticing about being pregnant, moms LOOOOOOVE to talk about their birth stories.  (Don’t traumatize me.)  Well, I’ve got one for you.  (Let me traumatize you.)

I’ve said that 2 weeks after surgery I was at Disney World.  I was thinking of my anniversary, December 16th being 14 days after I checked out from the hospital.  You know what?  I can make it sound better than that.  December 2nd, I was at Martha Jefferson.  December 11th I was at Walt Disney World.  That’s 9 days!  Crazy!  I’m awesome!

I suddenly have a new burst of energy thinking about our trip this coming December.  For some reason, I had assumed that I’d basically be on bed-rest for 3 months after giving birth… so how the heck will I finagle an anniversary trip 2 months after the baby’s due date?  So.  Okay.  What?  Like, this is the one year we don’t have dinner at California Grill on our anniversary?  Poor baby.  Can you cope?  It’s the end of the woooorld…

No wait.

I was cut wide open and had a 15 lb. pot roast removed and 9 days after I checked out of the hospital, I checked in to Disney’s Wilderness Lodge!

It was no little cut either!  No little golf-ball sized cyst that was removed with 3 tiny incisions.  No.  Every doctor that I have seen since (and it’s a lot with this pregnancy thing) who sees the (like 10? 12 inch?) scar from Mr. Nasty is taken aback with a gasp and a distinct “WTF” face.  They all ask who did that to me, like I went to a butcher (and it was a pot roast – ha).  None of them can believe it.  I should start carrying around the picture of that bad boy in my wallet.

Boom.

Image

and 9 days later… BOOM.

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Look how happy I am!  I could see my feet!  This isn’t a girl who’s on bed-rest or in unbearable pain.  This is a girl on the mend!  This is a happy girl – glad to have that disgusting thing out of her!!!

Tom says Dr. Stadler said that I am one tough cookie.  I like that.  I am.  I can do this.  It might be a slower trip.  The trip last year was slow.  That’s good.  I can relish every moment.  Last December I was feeling like it was a new beginning, and like I had the best husband in the whole wide world.  So optimistic.  So happy.  We were both just over-the-moon excited.  You know, like, maybe this year we’ll be able to get pregnant… finally.

Not much has changed.  Tom is still the absolute best guy in the wide, wide world.  And just think of the “new beginning” that we’ll be celebrating this year.  A brand new life!

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fffffffffffffppptttttttt

Last night I dreamed that my water broke, but I wasn’t positive if it was really happening.  It was just kind of trickling out.  Mom, Trudy, Lindsay and Sunny would not take me to the hospital until after they showed Haley the great pizza restaurant with the amazing salad dressing.  We did a lot of walking through tall grass to try and find the place.

Yeah.  That’s all I’ve got.  I’m as lost as you are.  What pizza restaurant?  No idea.

I don’t like close calls.  “To be early is to be on time.”  I feel like they were thinking labor takes a while – we’ve got time.  But for me, it wasn’t about having time… it was about amniotic fluid dripping down my leg.  Can my baby live without that?  Since when is salad dressing more important than– actually, you know what?  Haley doesn’t even LIKE dressing on her salad!

All of these things that once seemed far off are rapidly approaching.  Tomorrow, we are doing a final walk-through of the house and then on Friday we’re closing!  Tom already had the power and water changed to our names as of Friday.  So, on Friday night we’re ordering pizza and watching the Olympics on the floor in our new living room.

Time to buy the kid a dresser!  Time to do the baby’s room!  Time to pack up and get out of here!  Time to move again… and not move again for 10+ years!

One thing I am preoccupied with is hooks.  I want to get little hooks to hang on the wall near his dresser or changing table.  Do not ask me why.  But this morning, after I recovered from the WTF dream, I was like, “Today’s Wednesday!  We close on Friday!  I need to buy hooks!”

My favorite place in Charlotte is closing… so I am going to bring this to an abrupt end to go paint some pottery at Our Pottery Paintin’ Place.  They are citing the economy.  I hate to hear that.  I really wish the owner was retiring to the Bahamas or something.

Here’s my work in progress:

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I feel like this whole post was a brain fart.

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it’s my beach house…

I got upset in the Outer Banks.  I was cryin’.

Tom was amazing.

Earlier in the week, we had been to the Cape Hatteras lighthouse.  They are a National Park, so they sell these National Park Passports.  You can get your passport stamped at every National Park.  The only ones I’ve been to are Cape Hatteras and Jamestown.  So, in the car driving around Buxton, Tom was saying wouldn’t it be neat if that was something we did with our son.  Every year we take a trip to get his National Parks Passport stamped.  Sometimes we’ll go on big trips, like to Yosemite in California or the Grand Canyon in Arizona.  Other times, the trips will be closer to home, like Hatteras or Jamestown.  At Christmas, we’ll present options, and Little Mr. Happy gets to make the final choice.

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Anyway, so I’m crying… and Tom starts talking to me about taking our son to Hatteras.  He described how our little boy will stamp his passport all by himself, then turn around and show his mom and dad.  Smiling.  So excited.  So proud – we’ll all be proud.  We’ll walk around and explore the old lighthouse site, and the Keeper’s Quarters, and I’ll say, “the last time we were here, you were in Mommy’s tummy.”

It was so good.  It made me so happy – turned my frown upside-down!  Someone said that having a kid intensifies whatever kind of relationship you have.  So, if you and your husband’s relationship isn’t great, a kid will make it super-challenging, but if your relationship is awesome, well, then you’ll be a super-awesome family.  I think that’s us.  I think we’re going to be super-awesome.

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really! i wanna know!

Can someone please tell me why the cribs at Land of Nod are worth ten times as much as the cribs at Ikea?

Here’s the thing: when I was getting married, and debating about where to register, Target seemed to fit the bill.  We picked out a china pattern at Bed, Bath & Beyond.  I also found some really luxurious towels at Kohl’s that I fell in love with.  Basically, if you asked me where we were registered, I’d have answered “Target.”  We never got the china. I’m not sure whether I registered for it or not.  I picked some functional, replaceable, everyday stuff from Ikea that I really loved.  (Side note, it’s the same stuff as Barb’s house on “Big Love,” but we picked ours first.)

Anyway, anyway, anyway… when it was all said and done, I was like, “why am I so dumb?”  I thought about Lindsay and Trudy taking lunch breaks from Compass instead of what I really like.  I really like Crate and Barrel!  I REALLY like it!  Crate and Barrel, and Ikea.  I should have registered at Crate and Barrel!  Why was I stupid?!

Fast forward to Little Happy here.  Not gonna make the same mistake twice… that’s for sure.  I love Crate and Barrel, so by golly that’s where we’ll register.  They kiddie branch of Crate and Barrel is called Land of Nod.  All the stuff is really mod and designy and just awesome.

What’s that?  Huh?  They don’t sell car seats at Land of Nod?  Oh.  Come again?  (That’s what she said…)  They also don’t sell strollers?  Shoot.  Excuse me?  Their cribs are TEN TIMES the price of a crib from Ikea?!  W… T… F… So, the bedding and designs and stuff are neat, but I already have a crib quilt.  So, what are we looking at?  High chair?  Crib?  Dresser?  Storage?

Explain this to me:

Look, I’ll pay more money for a better item.  Is it solid wood?  I bet it’s solid wood – is that it?  Actually, cribs have to be solid nowadays, don’t they?

Okay, fine, alright, swell… I’ll give you that they’re better.  Are they TEN TIMES better?  Because, they cost like they’re TEN TIMES better.  They’re better looking.  Two or three times better looking than Ikea cribs, but are they ten times better looking?  I’m not so sure about that.

Notice in my opening sentence I said, “why are they worth more?”  I’m not saying they’re not… I’m just saying that I don’t see it.

So.  Anyway.  We registered at Target.  Everything that I loved at Land of Nod (the Puj tub, the Skip Hop Tubby bath toy organizer, the grass drying rack, the Skip Hop Hare comb and brush set… you name it) was all also available at Target, often for way less.  (The Skip Hop Moby Bath Spout Cover is actually $ .09 more at Target.)  Plus, Target happens to have a plethora of strollers, car seats, and Pack n’ Plays.

Since I can get a crib from Ikea for 1/2 to 1/10 of the price of a crib from Target or Land of Nod, I don’t know how not to go with Ikea.  The little booger’s going to destroy it anyway… gnawing on the railings and stuff.  I might as well not invest a crap-ton of dough in the thing.

EXPLAIN YOURSELF, LAND OF NOD.

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comparison shopping

Just a quick note:

From http://www.diaperdecisions.com/pages/cost_of_cloth_diapers.php

Plus, we’re going with AIO OS, so we don’t need to buy 36 infant, 30 medium, and 24 large.  I will probably buy some infant diapers for the first couple of weeks, but after that (based on the sizes of my mom’s babies at birth) I assume the OS diapers will do the trick.

See also: Diapers.

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winey

I want a beer all of a sudden.  And wine.  And a margarita.

It’s actually not that sudden.  I wonder if it’s like when it snows, and all the roads are closed, so you and your cousins walk to the movie theater because you don’t want to be trapped in the house…

You know?

Do I just want it because it’s off limits?  I wonder if I could substitute something.  Of all the things to have cravings for!  I’ve got it for the ice cream truck and alcohol?

I had a sip of strawberry wine at the strawberry festival.  I actually had 3 sips.  It was such a relief.  I wonder if I could treat it like a tasting and spit it out – I wonder if that would satisfy me.  I held the strawberry wine in my mouth for a minute, and felt instant gratification.

We went wine tasting with Matt and I fell in love with Viognier, but I forget where we were.  I just remember making that mental note, “okay Wendy, VIOGNIER… vee own yay.  Remember that.  You love it.”  I think it was Barboursville, although it may have been Horton.  A cool, crisp Viognier.  That’s what I want.  Light, bubbly, sparkling wine.  Maybe I am thinking of the Barboursville Brut…

NO!  It was Horton… I just Googled it.  Horton had the Sparkling Viognier.  I remember the guy at Barboursville teaching us how to pronounce Viognier, though.  I mean, they both have ’em.  I hope Matt reads this and helps me out.

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