What do my Child and Buffalo Bill have in Common?

It's a lazy Friday before a holiday weekend and I'm presently enjoying my couch.  I realized last weekend that this whole baby thing is moving much more quickly than I anticipated.  It's really quite unfair.  Basically I spent the first 16-20 weeks feeling sick.  Then I finally started to feel human again and all I wanted to do was go back to my life.  So I did and after a few weeks I started to realize that I have about 8 weeks of feeling human before I start to feel like the Goodyear blimp.  I think I'm in my 23rd week and I'm still pretty small.  Although I'm not lucky, so I suspect this reprieve is short lived.  So I resigned myself to the fact that I needed to get my ass in gear and actually plan for this poor baby girl/boy.

(btw - with all the modern technology available, they still couldn't really tell me for sure if this child is a boy or a girl.  The kid wouldn't give up the goods during the anatomy scan so while it looks "girl-ish" it could be a boy pulling a Silence of the Lambs Buffalo Bill kind of thing.  Fast forward to 3:00 if you're cinematically stunted.  And no, I'm not suggesting our child will be a transvestite with body piercings.  Did anyone else realize this chick is the one on ER now?  I digress...)

Well, I'm nothing if not a planner.  So I've started hitting up my friends at a frenetic pace. Anyone that has birthed a child in the last 2 years has gotten a phone call.  As a female we all talk about things that would probably horrify most men however pregnancy brings out a special brand of gross conversation.  For instance, my college roommate and I had an entire conversation about the merits of the hooter hider and something called Soothies which are apparently little silicon things you put on your nipples.  (In case you're wondering, I have decided we were significantly cooler when we used to get drunk in the shower before parties, stay out all night and then sleep all day.)  

Then a similar conversation with my old co-worker about breast pumps and under stroller baskets .  (Again....much cooler when we got drunk and went swimming half naked in a hotel pool.)

Last weekend and a few late nights this week produced a registry.  (PS - My wedding registry was about 1 million times more fun than this.  Selecting cookware is far cooler than organic onesies.) The resident expert, aka my mother, has decided that everything I've selected is far too expensive.  Apparently many people have experienced a similar phenomena.  

One of my co-workers tells me that his mother also came out of her time warp from the 70's to tell him that he and his wife were spending too much money and tried to sell them on the merits of an old umbrella stroller.  I sincerely believe my mother thinks I should be able to raise this child with an old playpen, a few onesies and a wooden spoon to beat them with when they get out of line.   She talks a good game but I see where this is going.  You see, it won't matter how much things cost when she's the one buying them for her grandchild.  I suspect this is only the start of a double standard that applies to grandparents the world over.

 

Today my big plan is to find a crib that will probably cost too much and visit a daycare that likely doesn't have space for our little Buffalo Bill... wish me luck.

Baby Stores Stink

Yesterday, for lack of anything better to do, we made the trip to Babies R Us.  At the end of the day I will end up deciding on all this crap and registering without ever setting foot in a store.  However, husband likes to have a say in all this stuff so I figured I could take him to the store, have him push a few strollers around and then we would go home.  In classic fashion he got there and ran away.  I found him standing in the baby monitor aisle.  He was looking glassy eyed at something called Baby TV. I reminded him that we have 1,100 square feet.

He didn't like any of the strollers. Mainly because none of them were European with a hefty price tag.  We moved to the pack and play aisle.  He looked around a little bit and then declared these were ugly and that everything was the color of poop.  I really couldn't argue since everything was in varying shades of brown.

On to cribs.  Husband disappeared again.  I peed for the 4,265th time that day.  I wander around the store to find him in the diaper bag aisle.  The wailing of children is increasing around us.  He says, "Can we please leave?". I say, "Yes, I hate it here."

We drove to Ikea.  Believe it or not, all the Ikea cribs got an A rating in our little book.  I trust those Swedes won't kill our child.  Problem solved.

My Boobs are up Here...

As a female we spend our lives having men stare at our boobs. It's expected that this will happen at least several times a day. Yes, even when you're like me and covered up like a nun.  Lately, despite the fact that my boobs are now huge, people do not stare at them.  All eyes go straight to my mid section.  

I feel weird about people staring at my belly button. 

Please put your eyes back where they belong!

A post about nothing...

I'm aware, I suck.  However, the blame for my lackluster blogging can be squarely laid on my unborn child.  Apparently pregnancy shrinks your brain by 6-8% depending on which website you read.  See!  It's not just me forgetting things, it's a medical condition.

PS: I want to smack the people who told me this was fun.  It's not fun. It sucks.  Not only am I fat now, but apparently becoming more stupid as the days go by.

My lack of creativity means all I can manage is a pile of random crap.  Sorry, that's just how it goes.

I like to watch TV while I eat breakfast.  Before I was "in the family way", I would alternate between news programs.  I have now discovered that reruns of Saved by the Bell are on.  I prefer to watch this.  I think it's an appropriate amount of entertainment for my smaller brain. (You can't really expect me to consume and retain all the fancy informations on BBC World News?)

Speaking of Saved by the Bell...Mark-Paul Gosselaar. New series this fall.  Seriously, I can't be expected to not watch courtroom dramas.  In fact, there are quite a few garbage series this fall that yours truly will be adding to the DVR.  Hello? Christian Slater playing a psychotic - love it. It's sort of like a schizophrenic Dexter.  And a shameful admission - Debra Messing in the Starter Wife series.  Yes, I watched the mini series - shut up.

To take a step lower (and you thought it wasn't possible), I actually went out to YouTube to listen to Miley Cyrus music.  How on earth did I end up at that point you ask?  It all started innocently enough.  I was reading a blog by this psychiatrist who was all worked up over Katy Perry and I thought to myself - "who the hell is Katy Perry?".  (I also thought "Oh dear god, I'm getting old. Why don't I know about this person??")  I read, I listened and I purchased on iTunes. What can I say, it's a catchy little tune.  I still can't understand why everyone is worked up over this chick - didn't Jill Sobule sing about being bi-curious in the 90's?  

Then I started following links to other crap and I ended up wondering what Miley Cyrus actually sounded like. I've heard her speak and she sounds like she lives under a rock somewhere in the deep south. I had high hopes for her music.  (As I mentioned, I am capable of deep thought these days) As it turns out, she kinds of sounds like a man and not in a good way.  If you dare - it may make your ears bleed.

Then I noticed that that the crappy trio known as the Jonas Brothers are the #1 song on iTunes.  Who is out there buying this crap? 12 year olds?  Do they have credit cards? 

I have to go clean my house now.  Thankfully my boss gave me a half day the other day so I'm halfway there.  It's curious, my best hours are between 9-5 these days.  That doesn't bode well for my domestic duties.  So the house is a bon-a-fide disaster and I can't seem to give a crap.  Lucky for me the other half wouldn't notice if he was standing in 3 feet of garbage anyway.  

I Think My Kid May Be Mean

I've been trying not to be an alarmist about this whole pregnancy thing so I haven't called my OB's emergency line yet.  Yesterday I caved and called because I was having these weird pains. Now I know weird pains come with the territory, but these were new weird pains and they sort of hurt so I thought perhaps that was bad.  My husband told of course told me all the bad things it could be and ended with, "It's probably none of those but you should call Dave anyway".

So Dave called me back.

Dave: So all those things I told you that would happen are happening huh?

Me: I don't think you ever mentioned this one.

Dave: What's going on?

Me: I feel like someone is stabbing me in the cervix.

Dave: Yea, that's your baby.

Me: Oh

I can tell this is going to be fun already.

One Crazy Old White Dude and some Big Ass Turbines

I love it when strange things happen.  Maybe I only think strange things are happening and there's really some ulterior motive behind it all.  Anyway I'm cracking up about this nutty old man T. Boone Pickens.  As you may know he's old, rich, white, Republican and really into wind power and natural gas.  So much so that you may have seen his latest commercials on the "Pickens Plan".  I would love to hail this as an example of  innovation coming from the private sector. Finally capitalism finds a way to make money on something that is also environmentally friendly.  However because this guy is old, rich, white and Republican I have to also assume he's a wackadoo.  I mean c'mon, he supported George W through multiple elections - he can't be that smart.

I guess we wait and see.  

I would also like to offer a big thanks to Chicago for making Philly look safe.  That is one hellacious place to live right now.  They've had a child shot almost every day since the end of June. At least in Philly we just shoot adults.  This may also explain why our Governor isn't bringing in National Guard helicopters just yet.  

Their Governor is on a tear.  Not only is he turning Chicago into a police state (which btw, I'm a big fan of) he also passed a gun law that holds adults who give guns to minors to the same prosecution as the minor. That kid kills someone, you're going away for 25-life too.  Awesome. Within reason, guns aren't really the problem, it's the idiots handling the guns.  Perhaps increased penalty will encourage responsibility.

Then there's Mayor Nutter.  He signed five laws into effect back in April with the support of no one (except of course the city residents themselves  but who cares about us) and took a ton of flack for it. You gotta love a guy with a rhyming slogan - "If you're missing your piece, call the Police".  Catchy. What's even funnier was his response to those who criticized his defiance of state law.   

"If we all sat around bemoaning what the law was on a regular basis I'd probably still be picking cotton somewhere as opposed to being mayor of the city of Philadelphia."

Amen Nutter.  

The larger problem is Pennsylvania.  Why can't Pennsylvania be a real Blue State instead of a place that just masquerades as a Blue State when it's really just two big blue cities with a whole lotta hick between?  Damn those fools in Pennsyl-tucky who marry their cousins and have three teeth. Couldn't they have moved just a bit further West or South?   

Heartburn & Burn Notice - Very Bad & Very Good

My original hypothesis was that when I felt better I would feel like writing.  This hasn't quite happened.  Perhaps there's not enough alcohol in my life anymore. Perhaps I'm asleep too many hours a night to experience anything to complain about - it's really hard to complain about getting 10 hours of sleep a night.  I don't know what it is, but I do know that I am frighteningly boring.

I think I blame the really delightful heartburn. I have never before experienced anything like the pain of this heartburn.  It sort of feels like there's a burning in my chest that will soon make my head explode. After sucking down a bottle of Zantac I have found that controlled deep breathing helps.  So I sat down on the bed and started breathing.  My husband took one look at me and said, "Who are you, Fiona? (our friend's cat) It reminds me of what she does right before she pukes."

Thanks honey. That's special.

It sort of looks like this.

I'm also really snotty. According to the books people have given me, I may soon start hacking and choking on the snot in my sleep.  (My husband told me that I can go sleep in the other room when that happens. He's so compassionate.)

There's also the issue of problems to come.  Someone gave me a book about breastfeeding.  It has pictures. It is totally creepy.  Lots of huge saggy boobs with baby heads near them. Big nipples, up close...really close and all the pictures look like they're from the 70's.  I am now officially scared.

And of course, I've also been charmed by the stories from my co-workers.  One of them described the first few months of their child's life as "slug mode".  He said it's not that fun. Great.

On the up side, a new season of Burn Notice started.  That guy is hot.  I suspect this show might be stupid but I don't care...he's pretty.

Little People Turn You into Large Farm Animals

While my nausea seems to be subsiding, my kind husband compared me to a horse today.  Not because I am large like a horse or because I pee like a horse (although perhaps both are true) but because I have an obsession with salt.  I can't get enough salt. I do not care what he says, I do not hear him...la, la, la. la, la, la.

Hugging at Work is Weird

I had an incredibly awkward moment at work today.  It involved "the work hug".  I was so disturbed that I obsessed about it for hours after the fact.  In the hopes of educating others, and spare others the trauma, I have included some Q&A below to elaborate on the ground rules.

Q: What is your attitude toward hugging in general?

A: By nature I am not a hugger - I do not hug random people - I value my personal space.

Q: So, when do you think hugging at work is ok?

A:  Hugging at work is reserved for very specific situations that fall within the following guidelines: The hugger and I worked together at one point in time, I don't hate them and enough time has elapsed since we last saw each other that it's not creepy and weird and all....huggy. 

Q: Are there any other circumstances that would allow for hugging at work?

A: Yes - The hugger and I work/worked together, I don't hate them and something hug worthy happened in their life (baby on the way, engagement, significant lottery win, etc).

Q: So what constitutes an awkward work hug?

A: I offer the following example from today - One minute I was having a conversation with a guy that I know but don't really work with often.  We went to part ways after an agreeable conversation and the awkward moment happened. We somehow managed to get too close in physical proximity which would make a hand shake uncomfortable and inconvenient. He extended a hand, I accepted and then he faked me out with the half hug with the other arm. Thus an awkward embrace after which I half walked, half ran out of his office.  I felt slightly better when I found out another co-worker had an awkward hug with this person that ended even worse - they actually managed to hurt one another by knocking their heads together.  

Q: So if someone tries to hug you and you don't want to hug them, how do you handle it?

A: There isn't a good way to handle it so suck it up, hug them and then steer clear in the future.  However, I can provide an illustrative example of how not to handle it based on a co-worker's unfortunate experience.  She was in a huggy, huggy environment (she is not a huggy hugger) and so she was forced to hug people and when she leaned in to greet a particular co-worker with a hug he jumped away like she was some kind of leper.  He then told her that he doesn't hug at work because that behavior it's not advised by HR.  She was mortified. I was mortified hearing the story.  This is why you should never be the hug initiator unless the hug recipient is a sure thing and a hug is appropriate under the "work hug" guidelines.

If you're not sure if a hug is appropriate, it probably means you're a creepy weird hugger and you should cease and desist while in the office.  Yes, people do find you to be a violator of personal space and that is why they don't invite you to lunch or happy hour.  

Feed Me, or I Will Hurt You

I will start by saying that there's a special place in hell for people who lie to hungry pregnant women.

The last 8 weeks of my life have gone something like this. I feel nauseated, I eat & feel better, I then feel nauseated again. I am essentially like a rat in a maze desperately looking for my next snack. I have no shame at work, I will stuff my face with pretzels in front of anyone. At home a piece of cheese is only steps away. The hard part is traveling. I have taken to carrying a plethora of snacks in my bag. Pretzels, dried apricots, mini Cliff bars, hard candies, apples, yogurt, basically anything that will fit in my bag and my mouth.

In the last week or two it's morphed into more of an eat or you will become horribly nauseated. This is a vast improvement over my previous situation however it has escalated my need to eat since I know what's coming. I now become angry and violent if I do not get food, immediately.

Last weekend I was on my way to my sister's house with my mother and sensing the onslaught I said "Oh, I need to eat something." to which my mother responded, "I'm sure your sister will have food". I did not believe her and so I called my sister and said, "Do you have something for me to eat or should I stop on the way to your house?". She assured me she had food.

We got there and she had nothing. Then she admitted she lied. Who does that?

The following weekend my sister had a housewarming party. The house was literally packed to the gills with food. I say to my mother on the way there (since we had to arrive 3 hours early), "Oh, I need to eat something." to which she typically tried to tell me that my sister will have something for me.

See, this is where the similarities between me and the rat end. I knew they were lying to me. So when we got there and there was no food because no one had picked anything up yet, I was not surprised. I stole a car and found the nearest fast food place and ate glorious french fries. Carbs are super awesome, especially when they're greasy and covered in salty goodness.

Later my mother told my husband that she thinks the reason why I don't feel well is because I'm not eating well. Fortunately I have a very wise husband who defended his crazy pregnant wife and told his mother-in-law that, in fact, she is eating quite well and that is not the cause of her not feeling well.

This is a strange, new and rather unpleasant phenomena in my life - my mother has turned into an expert. She has informed me that her pregnancies (30+ years ago) were wonderful and therefore there must be something wrong with me that I don't feel like dancing around in a mumu relishing in my pregnant beauty. Oh, and apparently because I am miserable this is the equivalent of "being mean to her grandchild" and I need to cut it out because the kid can sense it.

You know what I think? Not driving me to get a sandwich and giving me crap about it is much meaner.