Category Archives: Uncategorized

For Those Mommies Out There

You might not have guessed this about me but I love coupons and I LOVE freebies. So today, I came across this http://bit.ly/v0mamK for free formula samples and I thought that some of you ladies might be interested. Enjoy!
Also, if you also like freebies, I have found a TON here!

Just a Little Fun

This is not really going to be a post, sorry to disappoint. However, I just remembered a website that is a major time sucker and also, well, it is fun…and sort of makes me feel like a little kid!

Need a Snow Day?

Enjoy!

Also, don’t judge me, I live in Florida. There is no real snow here. Sheesh.

Breaking the News

I think that one of the most daunting things about this whole, growing  a human-being thing, is that I will eventually, (not yet, because I am a chicken shit and am only 11 weeks after all) have to tell people that it is happening. I have told a few friends and some family and they have all been very supportive (some, ecstatic and have already started the buying of the baby things) but I am not looking forward to telling everyone else. I have a fair amount of anxiety about doing this for several reasons.

 

1. I am a very private person and have a general distaste for most people. This sounds cold, but I have my close friends and family and I love them, but do I want everyone else touching my belly? No. The idea of having to waddle around my office (full of 23 ladies) and talk constantly about diaper genies, makes me want to stick my head in an oven.  There are a couple of people in my office, in particular, that I would like to avoid talking to about my pregnancy. One of whom is a 31-year-old Mormon who has, by her own admission, never kissed a guy and talks to everyone as though we are heathens and, therefore inferior. (I have nothing against Mormons. I have a lot against really nosy, know-it-all people who are in my business all the time and will inevitably make a huge deal about how I am very vocal about not wanting kids in the first place and GASP! I am not MARRIED! Whatever.  Besides, I have someone who liked me enough to get me pregnant, who’s inferior NOW? Huh?)  I wish there were some way I could turn the baby bump off when I am around people whom I will potentially want to choke. If any of you ladies knows how to do this, please hit me up. I am getting desperate.

 

2. I am not a “kid person”. This is not a secret. I don’t understand people who, as soon as they get pregnant and/or have a baby, instantly forget how to be an actual person. It is like the baby has snatched any ounce of personality and likeability they have ever posessed and they become a walking, talking baby-obsessed freak. I am not afraid I will become that person, but I am worried that people will expect me to. Gross. (I understand that having a baby is a big deal and I don’t take it lightly, but I would like to, at least sometimes, give the illusion that I can still have an adult conversation that has nothing to do with the price of formula.)

 

3. I would like to avoid people, other than the child, calling me ‘mama’. For some reason, the instant you start showing, ‘mama’ becomes your name. Old ladies will call you ‘mama’. I am not above choking old ladies. Just sayin’.

 

I am sure that, if I thought about it more, I could come up with about 3 billion more things that will inevitably annoy the bejesus out of me once everyone knows my little secret, but I will stop here and just be glad in the fact that, currently, my secret is still just that. My tummy, however a little bigger and more annoying, is still just a tummy from what everyone else can see.

I really don’t care that you’ve just broken your leg and a bone is actually protruding through your skin, I SAID I wanted a sandwich!

So, this pregnancy thing sort of turns a lady into another person, doesn’t it? I am fairly certain that, on an average day, I shift back and forth between 47 different personalities. This doesn’t bother me so much, because I rarely notice that it has happened. Except when I catch my head spinning around in circles and projectile pea soup flowing from my face (obviously this is a slight exaggeration but, the pea soup thing? Not so far from what is actually happening once or twice a day…) And I wouldn’t feel so bad about the personality shifting at all, except that My Beloved often gets caught in the crossfire. And, you know, seeing as there is no definitive way to tell when a “shift” will occur, I find that most often he is cowering in a corner trying to escape my wrath. And, of course, that would be the exact moment that I need a hug. And then I am hurt that he doesn’t use his spidey-sense to know that I need a hug and climb out of the fetal position and give me one. And then I start to cry because, “OH.MY.GOD. He doesn’t even love me!” and “Why am I going through all this horrible hostile body take-over madness for someone who is OBVIOUSLY going to leave me? Probably tonight! Where is the suitcase?” Meanwhile, my poor beloved has no idea what has happened. Have I told him that I wanted a hug? No. And now I am hysterically crying and packing the suitcase full of his things and incoherently insisting that “he just leave me. I am a big, pregnant ball of hideousness and he deserves better.” Has he any idea what has just happened? No. He was thinking about playing, “Gears of War” and now  he is, evidently, moving out.

 

And it isn’t just the intense irrational sadness. There is also irrational anger. It is quick and fierce and likens me to Hitler. Because as soon as the hysterical crying has stopped, I am, naturally, hungry. Because being crazy and irrational works up an appetite.  And then I want there to be something very specific and delicious to eat and I need it to be AT. MY. FINGERTIPS. And I need it to be there right now. RIGHT NOW. And MB should know what that something specific is and should have it piping hot and ready to eat at the instant my little, insane heart desires it. And then the conversation goes like this:

 

“I really need a barbequed turkey sandwich and french fries. And macaroni and cheese.”

 

“Okay, I will run out in a just a minute and get you all of that.”

 

“Okay, but I have really bad heartburn and I really need to eat.”

 

“You know, I have had really bad heartburn for the last couple of hours, it is really weird.”

 

“Look. There is an alien growing in my abdomen and I have had heartburn for six WEEKS, and I really need to eat food.  I am sorry that I don’t seem sympathetic about your heartburn but I think I have trumped you. Sandwich!”

 

“…”

 

Naturally, the conversation ends, sandwich is delivered and half of it is eaten (because you know, once I got that specific thing, I realized that what I really wanted was fried chicken) and then I need a hug. But MB has taken his place, cowering in a corner.

 

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

And So It Is…

pregnancy test - negative

pregnancy test - negative (Photo credit: slayerphoto)

I’m the type of girl who, for the last, oh…about the last 31 years of my life, have maintained that children are not for me. They drool and they cry and they shit on themselves regularly and therefore? What use are they to me? I prefer to fill my time by having conversations about hot bartenders at cute little martini bars across the street from the ocean. Or sipping wine on my screened in porch listening to the marsh sounds at sunset. Or, at the very least talking to people who can form words or…you know…syllables. So, you can imagine my chagrin when a few weeks ago, I woke up anticipating my trusty period…and she never came. And then the next week. Still no period. I wouldn’t have started to panic at all except for my undeniable urge to inhale disgustingly greasy cheeseburgers from various fast-food establishments several times a day. I didn’t need any convincing. I was knocked up. And with knocked -up and knowing I couldn’t keep it from my lovely boyfriend (and domestic partner) J for very long, comes a myriad of wildly inappropriate and irrational thinking. You know, things like, “I wonder how many margaritas I can drink in the four hours before I have to go to bed in order to get up for work tomorrow. Surely 17 margaritas tonight and none for the next seven months can affect this baby.” and “If I put off taking the test for another week, I can smoke double the cigarettes until then to get my fill in.” or, “From what height building can I jump and successfully make this all end, but maintain the use of all of my appendages?”. It’s no joke, internet, this is what goes through a girl’s head when faced with the prospect of being ripped out of normal early-thirty-hood where the wine flows like water and where a mimosa is a totally acceptable morning beverage to a world where sore boobs and heartburn reign triumphant. And let’s not forget that you can kiss your mimosas goodbye. 

(Sidenote/Rant:  Okay, internet, have you ever been pregnant? Wouldn’t it make more sense if the two most gloriously relaxing things in the universe, alcohol and cigarettes, were encouraged during pregnancy? Wouldn’t all the fat preggo ladies be much calmer and pleasant to be around? They would be slightly buzzed and mellow, but they would most likely not be biting your head off because you didn’t put the lid on the toothpaste and now there is a tiny speck of sticky mess on the freshly cleaned counter. Right? See? GIVE US THE BOOZE, UNIVERSE! If ANYONE deserves it, IT. IS. US. End sidenote/rant.)  

When J brought home the test and handed me my last pack of cigarettes EVER, I really didn’t even need to take it. But I also knew that, if I didn’t, I would continue to drink and smoke just like normal. Which, honestly, to me, didn’t sound so bad but J preached about the dangers of smoking and fetal alcohol syndrome and all those bullshit reasons the media has created to make pregnant women MORE miserable. Eventually, I bought into the hype, drank the last of the pinot grigio in the fridge and chain-smoked until my lungs felt like they were filled with sandpaper and I sounded like an 80-year-old man. Because this, ladies and gentleman, is how I felt it was necessary to react on the day that I found out that my life was over.

Some of you might think, “Wow, she’s dramatic! Life over? No! It is just beginning!” and to those of you, I say this. You are delusional. Because I know that for the next 7 months, I will be confined to places like Babies ‘R’ Us and support groups for women who have recently decided that they are suicidal (read: expecting). Because that’s where they banish pregnant ladies to. Don’t act like you don’t know.

I’m not sure I can do it. Onesies and tiny shoes don’t do it for me, people.

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Lessons

I thought that after a little time since finding out about this whole pregnancy thing, I would be a little more used to it. You know, able to accept that in a few short months, I would be popping out a screaming, shitting little monster and then nurturing and raising it for the next 18 years, but it really hasn’t sunken in yet. But I have definitely recognized its presence in my life. Behold:

 

Things I have experienced and/or learned since becoming pregnant:

 

1. Spontaneous vomiting is a real thing. You don’t know when or where it might occur but it does. And there you are trying desperately not to puke on your boss. (And not necessarily because you haven’t ever wanted to puke on your boss, but because actually doing these things could be considered rude and/or give away the fact that you are growing a kid.)

 

2. No amount of cheeseburgers is ever sufficient. Ever.

 

3. I sometimes hate my beloved because:

                a) His penis is the reason I am in this mess in the first place.

                b) I have suddenly realized that men fart a lot. And they smell. Which can bring about spontaneous vomiting as mentioned above.

                c) He eats sour cream or A1 sauce on everything. That is just nasty.

                d) He doesn’t understand that, even though I have not touched the ice cream in the freezer, I may someday want to eat it and that it is OFF LIMITS to him unless, he too, is growing something alien in his uterus.

 

4. To save time, I have learned to vomit IN the shower, to avoid being late to work. My genius amazes even me.

 

5. The size of my boobs will soon exceed the size of my head.

 

If nothing else, I am finding that this whole thing has become quite a learning experience. Although, like Algebra, I am not sure this knowledge will be useful for anything in the future.