Okay, so I don’t know if I told you guys or not. But I’m pregnant. I know. It is shocking. Don’t worry though, internet, this pregnancy isn’t nearly as bad as my last one. When I was pregnant with Baby L, my world was a pretty dismal place. It was a world where people, including MB, could NOT POSSIBLY have understood how uncomfortable I was. Or how much peeing I was doing on a daily basis. Or how painful getting up to make it to the bathroom to DO all this peeing had become. With the back pain and the hip pain and the headaches and the giant belly, my life was hell. And I was SURE that if I left the house, some stranger would tell me how fat and hideous I looked and that I would either burst into tears and vow never to leave home again or punch them square in the neck…Or both. Because I was a total lunatic. And I make no bones about saying it. But I was miserable. And I needed a drink.

This time around, I have experienced heartburn and back pain and headaches. And I have avoided mirrors on certain days for fear of slitting my wrists at the sight of myself in this state. But I have fared pretty well here. I mean, I have been violently and deathly ill on FOUR occasions and have thought that I might never be able to eat anything again. (These illnesses weren’t your run-of-the-mill, pregnant lady morning sickness illnesses either. They were BRUTAL and lasted DAYS.) But once these days passed, I was able to go back to semi-normal, feeling like a regular lady instead of one who is baking a baby. You know, because if you avoid the mirror and there are no real pregnancy symptoms, it is really easy to pretend that none of it is happening at all. And I was blissful in those moments.

Over the past few weeks, my belly has started to take over my house. It has grown quickly and with a fury that I could not have expected. And I can no longer ignore it. I am the size now (at least, in my head) that I was when I delivered Baby L who was full-term. (I don’t really know for SURE that I am the same size, just that I FEEL it.) I can’t see my feet anymore. And those lovely comments I got during my last pregnancy about how I looked 5 months along the whole time…well…those aren’t coming this time. So, I have accepted that I look like a pregnant lady. And today, internet, I tried on clothes. Like, in a store. Under terrible lighting. And a few days shy of 8 months along. And to top it off, these were NOT maternity clothes. AND I HAD TO TAKE PICTURES OF THIS EXPERIENCE. (That’s really another thing altogether but the long and the short of it is, I did a “Sample and Share” Market Research study, wherein I had to try on some clothes, take pictures and have a friend do the same, and then we got the clothes for free…but maternity clothes were not an option.)

I don’t know when this happened, internet, but I am GIGANTIC. And now there is photographic evidence. TWICE IN THE SAME WEEK. (you know people didn’t even refrain from photos at my SPRINKLE?! THE NERVE!) And now, here I am, wondering if I could make it the next two months without actually ever leaving the house in order to spare myself the shame of possibly not fitting inside my Volvo. (Yes, I drive a Volvo. And this should give you an idea of how large I am. Or at least how large I feel. Because I drive a tank.)

What’s a girl to DO?

(Interested in getting some free “Sample and Share” goodies? You can sign up here! It’s free…and sort of awesome!


Waiting for the Wine

So, I don’t know if I told you, internet, but I went ahead and took your advice and we are having a baby shower for Baby O after all. Okay, not really a shower. More like a sprinkle. Or, like, a small get together at our new place wherein people will eat sandwiches and drink beers (they will, obviously have to bring their own beers though, because lets face it, if I’m not drinking, I’m not paying. But you go right on ahead, have yourself a beer or 7.) I didn’t register or anything all “baby shower formal”, we just invited some people over. And we hope that they will bring diapers or gift cards. Or lots of wine for my post-delivery celebration. (Because you know that is really where MY head is. Because you guys have met me…you know I’m just waiting for the wine.) So, that will take place this Saturday.

And I can’t believe I am doing this again.

I feel like we JUST got done having Baby L’s baby shower. (Probably because it was exactly thirteen months ago.) And now, here we are, having another one. And Baby L will be scooting around all OUTSIDE of my body and stuff and we will be surrounded by dinosaur party favors and baby boy onesies. And OH. MY. GOD. In less then three months I am going to have another meatloaf.

I have so many questions about raising two tiny nuggets so close together. Like, will I ever sleep again? Is it worse having TWO tiny ones than one? Will I stop being such a crazy, anal-retentive freak about things being disinfected? Will I stop being so intensely worried about Baby L hurting herself? (I swear to Cheesus, I would have padded this whole house already if I weren’t afraid that MB would then promptly have me committed because he is of this mindset that kids sometimes hurt themselves. WHAT?! MY baby?! No.)  Will I ever get a pedicure or go out to dinner with my husband again? I mean, these things are already issues for us! (Especially my lack of pedicures. I mean, my toes are scary, you guys. And, OBVIOUSLY MB is totally concerned about the state of my toes, above all else.)

As you may be able to tell, the worry is finally starting to kick in a little. I mean, I am still mostly calm. Mostly. I only start really freaking out, like, in the middle of the night when I am awoken because I have to pee for the 750th time during the night and then I start realizing that I have to pee because there is a WHOLE NEW BABY residing in my PELVIS and soon I am going to have to EXPEL him and then he will be on the OUTSIDE and I will have TWO BABIES and then I will go completely INSANE because MB will be at work and OH MY GOD, I thought one was hard, how the hell am I going to have TWO?!

Yeah, I told you guys before, my head is a totally fun place to live. Especially at two in the morning.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am not the first person in the world to ever have two babies so close together. And that people have TWINS every day. And holy SHIT, how do people have twins? And is that worse? And what about triplets? And Octomom? (Not that I consider her a real person. She exists in my mind as some sort of cartoon character or something. It might be her lips.) What the hell do these people do? How do they not accidentally put the roast in the bassinet and the baby in the crock pot? How?! I need to KNOW, internet!

(Deep breath…)

Okay, this was obviously supposed to be a post about how we are having a Baby Sprinkle, not a literary panic attack. Sorry about that, you guys. You know how it is. Being knocked up makes you a little nuts.


Octomom: Or maybe THIS is why I can’t take her seriously?

Land of the Pressed and Devil Tots

English: These are what tater tots look like.

Devil Tots: Delicious, but potentially deadly.

Many of you might have seen that I was (finally) Freshly Pressed last Saturday! I have to say, I was pretty sure that the Land of the Pressed was somewhere far, far away and somewhere that I would likely never be invited to, but then, there it was in my email! “Congratulations!” And then I peed my pants. (I don’t remember if I ACTUALLY peed my pants, but I am currently 30 weeks pregnant and never really redeveloped any pelvic floor muscles after Baby L so it is safe to assume that I probably did.) Anyway, it was super exciting and WOW! What a ride.

I want to first thank all of the newbies who stopped by and/or started following! I have to apologize in advance for my foul language, probable impropriety, and, last but not least, my tendency to talk about my bodily functions with way too much detail (please see pelvic floor muscle comment above). Chances are, you may have already witnessed some of this, if you looked around a bit, and maybe aren’t offended or scared off, but if this is the first you’ve heard of it, don’t say I didn’t warn you guys. I’m most likely gonna tell y’all ALL about the state of my vagina on more than one occasion.

Moving on…

So, to celebrate/commemorate my invitation into The Land of the Pressed, I got the stomach bug from hell and dropped my iPhone into the toilet while simultaneously vomiting. Because, you know, if you’re gonna do something, you gotta really DO it. I’m not going to get into all the nasty I endured during this time (you’re welcome), but I will tell you that OH. MY. GOD, internet, I have never been so sick in my entire life. I may or may not have vomited into Baby L’s toy drum (a bath toy) because I have (evidently) lost my ability to vomit WITHOUT SIMULTANEOUSLY PEEING. (See pelvic floor comment above. Again, don’t say I didn’t warn you.) Because I have had four (FOUR!) of these “stomach bugs” since I became pregnant with Baby O, I am starting to suspect that this is his way of telling me that he hates tater tots. I know, that sounds weird. But literally, EVERY time I have gotten violently ill like this in the last several months, tater tots were involved. They will be called “Devil Tots” from here on out. So, I have, between trying to be a mom and a pregnant lady and trying to recover from this horrible illness (“Devil Tot Syndrome”), I have been out of commission. I haven’t responded to all of your lovely comments or had time to give them all of the attention that they deserve. So, I’m sorry. And I’m on it.

Bear with me, newbies, and don’t think I don’t appreciate you. I’ve just been busy trying not to pee on myself.


Getting our Shit Together

When the urge to nest hits you, it is difficult to think of much else. Over the last few weeks, I have had an increasingly strong urge to clean all things. Up high, down low. Pretty much everywhere. The problem with this nesting urge is that it comes at a time in my pregnancy where I am pretty much unable to maneuver my gigantic ass in order to clean these things. I can start a project, work at it for ten minutes or so, but then have to sit down and regain my breath and/or overall body function.

Yesterday, however, solely because MB is now aware that he is on “my fiance is pregnant and overly emotional house arrest”, we got a lot accomplished (read: HE got a lot accomplished, I dusted things that I didn’t have to squat to get to).  We were able to put together our adorable swing, the play yard and the stroller and clean the entire basic living area of the house from top to bottom. I feel relieved. Of course, there is still a lot to do, but progress is progress.

Now the dilemma for me is that we have this play yard just sitting in the middle of the living room as a constant reminder that I AM STILL PREGNANT. We don’t even have a BABY to put in this thing yet. And it makes me more impatient than I already was! (If that is possible.) It is hard enough not to be impatient when something is constantly kicking you in your bladder and reminding you of the days when you were empty and peed like normal people with normal sized bladders.

The next stop on the mother of all to-do lists is to pack my hospital bag. I am super ignorant as to what this bag should contain, however, and am worried that I will either forget something super important or pack like I am going on a vacation somewhere. I know that I don’t need to bring 32 pairs of shoes and I am in no danger of packing a bikini (because I cringe at the thought of THIS body in a bikini), but I am pretty sure I will pack like I always do. Like a crazy person. Because you never know how many sundresses you will need after giving birth. You know…necessities. A friend suggested that I check out a website that has a check list for this type of thing, so I guess that will my plan for tomorrow. I will have to try and work it in between my bouts of intense anxiety.

My mood is, however, improving. I didn’t even burst into tears yesterday. Not even once! And today, when I woke up to find that bees had invaded one of our bathrooms, I did not panic and did not become a profanity-screaming lunatic. I calmly explained to MB that, the buzzing sound I thought was the result of a common house fly stuck between the blinds and the window pane was actually about ten bees which had taken over the bathroom. Then I called my landlord, who is on vacation and probably doing Easter things with his grandchildren and calmly explained that this is not cool at all and that I am terrified of bees and chemicals used to kill bees and that exterminators are busy eating ham and searching for Easter eggs and cannot be bothered, but kindly asked that he have someone fix this tomorrow morning (or I will surely go insane). In the meantime, MB attacked the bathroom armed with some sort of spray and a shoe and all seems to be good for the time being. (And he only got stung one time!) Phew.

God, I am exhausted.




Oddly, the transition from Week 31 to Week 32 was really emotional for me. I had sort of been waiting for the moment that I would start the nesting phase of this whole thing. And the point where I started attempting to rearrange furniture and start cooking ridiculous amounts of food to store for the future when I have no time/patience/energy/brain power to cook. But the whole thing had been slow-going, it seemed. I was beginning to think that I might not start to “nest” and that I would be the first woman in the history of the whole Universe who was content to take it all in stride and not feel crazy stressed by the dust on the ceiling fan. Well, internet, I would like to announce that I have arrived in the nesting phase and no speck of dust is safe. I am a dust vigilante.

I feel that, even though my journey into manic cleaning mode was a little slow, I have made significant emotional progress (Read: had plenty of mini-breakdowns) during the last 32 weeks.

I think I have been weathering the emotional shit storm pretty well, considering that I can’t have a glass bottle of wine to calm my nerves. In fact, I am surprised at the amount of composure I have maintained through some of this insanity.

The first few months of pregnancy were sort of a mourning period for me. That sounds bad, I know, but I honestly felt that my life would never be a) the same or b) as good and fun as it was before learning that I was going to be a mom. Because my attitude was, “Who the hell wants to be a mom? Like, for the rest of their life?!” Immature? Maybe. But totally how I felt and I won’t apologize.

After that, the transformation really started. I stopped wanting to punch people when they asked me questions about breastfeeding or when they had a Rum and Coke in my presence. I started feeling the baby move and that, somehow, became more important than celebrating my birthday in a crowded, smoky bar.  (Even though I was still a little bitter about having to break tradition.) I started liking the way it felt to have something moving around in my belly. It felt like my little secret and I felt special to have been chosen to keep it. And I started not to mind the constant peeing and pain in my hips.

As I have inched into the third trimester, I have noticed the biggest of changes yet.

1. At the start of this whole thing, I felt abandoned by some of the people I considered to be friends. Some of them, good friends, even. Probably because I believe that people are inherently good and that when you are good to people, they will be good to you. I’ve learned that this is not necessarily true. And I am totally okay with it. I have taken an introspective look around and taken stock of the people in my life and have realized that the ones who are worth being there, are not going anywhere. And the ones who haven’t been there? Well, they never really meant anything to me to begin with. It was a shocking realization for me. But bringing a person into the world makes a girl pretty insightful, I think. Who knew?

2. I’ve realized that I can’t change the world. I can’t change that people are horrible to each other. But I can do my damndest to make sure that I raise a child who can be proud of herself. I can teach her to love people despite of their differences. I can teach her to be kind to people and to respect people and mostly, to stand up for herself and not let anyone beat her down. I can teach her to be an honorable, kind, strong and humane person. And that might not stop all the violence that happens every day, but I think, in a small way, it definitely, most definitely, will change the world.

3. I’ve begun to learn that nothing will ever be the same.  And, despite what I thought at the beginning, that’s not so scary. Of course, the prospect of bringing a child into the world is terrifying and of course I sometimes see kids walking home from the high school bus stops dressed like New Jersey prostitutes and I weep for the state of humanity. And sure, I don’t really believe that young girls have any positive role models to look up to these days. And yeah, that is all really disturbing. But I know I can do this. I know that I will, for the rest of my life, put her needs, safety and security above that of my own. And I know that this, RIGHT HERE, is the most important thing that I will ever do in my life and I know that I want, more than anything to keep her safe. And that it will be my job to show her positivity and teach her how to be a woman, not Snooki‘s.  I am totally up for that challenge. Because while I have made my share of bad decisions, that part of my life is over and I can recognize that I have made a hell of a lot of good decisions too. One of the best decisions I ever made is currently kicking me right in the bladder.

I’m still sorting through a lot at this point. I’m constantly in a tizzy, trying to rearrange things or clean out a closet. And I am, surely, driving MB to an early grave. I have been trying to explain this period of pregnancy to him in terms of what is going on in my head right now. And it is really difficult to put into words. I want a perfect environment to introduce Baby L into the world with. I want her to be happy. And I am aware that she won’t know if there are dirty dishes in the sink or if her closet isn’t strategically organized, but for some reason, I need all that stuff to be taken care of, so I can devote every solitary second to making her happy. Sure, right now she is content to do flips at night when I am trying to sleep or punch me in the ribs, but when she is here, man, things are going to be a whole lot different. And I really don’t want to have to worry about dirty dishes.  You know?

Still working on balance. And in some ways, I am ready for her to be here YESTERDAY and, in other ways, I could use a few more months to get ready. 8 weeks to go, internet! 

Updates on Week 30

Now that you all know how I did with the shower and all the belly touching, I thought I would enlighten you on how Week 30 of pregnancy was for me. Like, without all the cuteness and gratefulness of that post-shower post.

1. I’m either ravenously hungry or so full that I could vomit. The ravenously hungry thing happens several times a day and has to be remedied within minutes or I will get the torturous “heartburn of death”. The disgustingly full thing happens, usually, after I have had three bites of something that I really, really want to eat. Like ice cream. Or a cheeseburger. It is pretty frustrating, at this point. Eating has become terribly annoying.

2. My pelvis is being pulled apart by some invisible force. I feel that someone bangs on it with a hammer while I am sleeping. Or sitting. Or after I walk for more than 20 minutes straight. I am pretty sure that this is one of the most awful things I have ever experienced.

3. There is absolutely no comfortable position to sleep in. I have tried the whole body pillow thing, which did seem to relieve some of the pressure on my pelvis but it also relieved me of the ability to sleep in the same bed with MB, which is tolerable sometimes, but sometimes makes it harder to sleep just because he isn’t there. I have tried stacking pillows in ridiculous positions all around my body, which works for a period of time, until I start hurling (from what I am told) them in all different directions so that I can *get comfortable.

*A myth for pregnant women in their third trimester.

4. I have begun to waddle. I don’t think that I need to say much about this because if you have ever SEEN a really pregnant woman, then you are familiar with this.  It makes me feel like a giant penguin.

5. I am not AS obsessed with cake as I was several weeks ago. I can’t say that my cravings for it have stopped completely, and I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t drool every time I pass this place. (OMG, tiramisu cupcakes. TO. DIE. FOR.) But, for the most part, my cravings for cupcakes have been replaced with cravings for Easy Cheese and/or grapefruit juice. 

6. The peeing has become ridiculous. I feel that I cannot go 35 seconds without peeing. Usually, this pattern starts as soon as I get comfortable in my bed (comfort in bed IS a myth, unless you will be forced to get right up, then it comes quite often) or if I have gone into a store that I am sure will have the most disgusting public restroom ever (the other day, I gagged for a full five minutes after entering a public restroom and peeing at lightning speed and running out, hands still soapy). 

I had a prenatal appointment yesterday and everything appears to be going just as it should be. Glucose test results were “wonderful”, heartbeat is “perfect”, and Baby L seems to be growing at a normal rate. I, on the other hand, am slightly anemic but was assured that I am SO slightly anemic that there is nothing to worry about right now.

So, there you have it.  Now, bring on Week 31!


I did, however, forget #7 wherein I mention the fatigue. Oh, holy Jeebus, the fatigue. I could probably sleep for 16 hours per day if that were acceptable (or if I could do it without anyone knowing what a slack ass I would be). Even though I am almost never comfortable, I can usually sleep about 9-10 hours per night (or at least mostly sleep) and still feel like I could wake up, eat breakfast, and then promptly take a nap. I am starting to develop a desire to start this nesting thing I hear so much again, but I don’t have the energy to move off of the couch. What is a girl to do?

Moving Along…A Rant About Becoming a Parent

I am a little over 18 weeks pregnant now and, in just a few short months, My Beloved and I will be welcoming our child into the world. This ilicits a lot of responses from me. It varies from minute to minute from panic, to pure joy and pride, to total depression and despair for the state of humanity.

I think the panic part of this is normal and obvious. You know, because, having always acted LIKE a kid, actually HAVING one to take care of and having to be RESPONSIBLE for, is…well…it is a huge deal. And what if we do it wrong? Like, what if having a kid is not at all like having a cat? I am so good at having a cat, you guys. I have been doing it for 12 years. And I am stellar. I mean, aside from the fact that my cat is giant and overweight and still has not figured out that, not only is the litterbox for poop, it is for PEE. He prefers rugs.  Which is better than the actual carpet, but is still not ideal.  What if my kid won’t ever pee in a toilet? What if he/she prefers closets? Or the screened-in porch? Or, like, the kitchen sink? And what if, like in training (or not training, evidently) my cat, I am unable to persuade said child to pee inside the toilet?  What if I am a total failure?! Peeing in appropriate places is supremely important for most people in most situations.

(Sidenote:  Now that I am talking about this I am thinking about things I have not yet tried to show my cat how to pee INSIDE the litterbox and I am wondering why I have never tried to “lead by example” and realizing that, now that I am peeing 7 million times a day and am home with him most of the time, I may actually be able to train him correctly. Hmmm…Ponderous, no?

Side Sidenote: I want to stress here that I did say that peeing in appropriate places is supremely important for MOST people in MOST situations. Unless, MB and I decide to bring the baby up in some colony of naked rednecks or in some tribe somewhere in a desert, peeing in appropriate places will most likely be a really valuable skill. But I do understand that tribal people, naked, toothless rednecks and drunk frat boys do not live by our rules.)

I guess the joy and pride part is really very common too. I mean, who doesn’t take pride in making something special? When I make a perfectly round pancake, I sometimes feel the need to take pictures of it and post it on seven social networking sites so, you can imagine how proud I am feeling right now that a human being is currently hanging out in my womb just waiting to bust out and show everyone what REAL awesome looks like. I am sure this feeling of pride will last significantly longer than my perfectly round, Facebook pancake. I mean, I get to be proud of many things about this kid. When he/she rolls over for the first time. Or takes his/her first steps. Or starts kindergarten. Or learns the rules of appropriate peeing. Or granduates from high school. Take that, pancake!

But then the despair sets in. I wonder often, while breaking my one-woman eating contest and watching Jerry Springer (the joys of unemployment), how I can sleep at night knowing that I am bringing a child into a world where the topic of television shows is often “I Slept with My Sister’s Brother’s Cousin, Who Also May or May Not be My Real Father…Or Possibly Great-Aunt. Oh, yeah. And I’m Also A Stripper.” And where people say “irregardless” like it is a totally acceptable word. Like it isn’t at all redundant. How can I rest knowing that I will have to shelter my child from these evils? HOW?!

I am fully aware that I am not the only woman having the same dilemma and I am sure that once I hold the wee one, I will forget about all of this crazy and just be happy that I have created something so beautiful.

I am sure the kid will be fine. Irregardless.


Woohoo! (Continued…)

I know you all have been waiting with bated breath for me to post the seven little tidbits about myself and never fear, I have emerged from the pee-a-thon that has been this entire weekend thus far, and will do so now! Hooray! I had a little trouble finding things to say about myself, as I am not really sure what is noteworthy, so if this sucks, well…it is five minutes of your life you will never get back. Sorry.

1. I never wanted kids. I think you probably know, if you have been reading this blog for any length of time, that I never wanted kids. It could be a little obvious by the title and tagline of this blog. It is no joke, dear readers. I am not a huge fan of kids. I have, however, happened to find one of the best, most beautiful, kind, amazing men on the planet and he, as I am sure you can imagine, has always wanted to procreate. And I have to say, despite the fact that it has never been an ambition of mine, I am quite flattered that he thinks highly enough of me to want to make little miniatures together. As much of a blow as this pregnancy has been to me, I am comforted every day at the idea of creating someone who will be half him. I can’t think of anyone better to make a person with. So day by day, I am coming around to the idea of raising a child. And not without the help of someone who means everything to me. (I am having a really sappy day. Pardon.)

2. I have another blog. And I am cheating on it. I have had my other blog since (I think) 2004 and, really, I had a lot of fun with it for the first few years and then realizing that (gasp!) I was growing up and no longer spent most of my time playing beer pong and watching people fall down (or stealing giant, stuffed tigers and running down busy streets in the middle of the night), it became sort of just a place to go to re-read all of my past adventures. I tried to continue it, but I think we have gone our seperate ways.

3. I was once in a car accident wherein I was hit by a dead guy. True story. I didn’t know he was dead at the time, and wasn’t, I guess, at the start of the whole thing, but in the end, as it turned out, he had shot himself in the head before hitting me with his (stolen) car. I wrote about it here. And yes, it is insane. And no, I couldn’t make it up if I tried. Turns out he was a murderer who had just gotten out of jail in New York, shot someone else, stolen a vehicle, driven to Florida and hit me on my way back from Starbucks. (This may or may not be a sign that Starbucks is the devil.)

4. I am sort of a real-life Scrooge. I don’t like Christmas. Like, at all. It is also my birthday and the anniversary of my Grandmother’s death. She was my favorite person in the world. Ever. That is all.

5. I hate Phil Collins. My SERIOUSLY quirky friend told me once, about 12 years ago, that I would think of Phil Collins every day for the rest of my life. I thought that there was no way that this could be true. But it is. Phil Collins is everywhere. Sometimes, if I forget to turn the TV off before I fall asleep, I will wake up in the middle of the night to see his giant head staring at me from the screen. Pure. Hatred.

6. I once had to actually “quit” gummy bears. I am really not sure what it is with me and gummy bears. I really just effing love them. I will eat them until I vomit. Which is disgusting. I once bought a giant bag at a grocery store before going to the movies to see “American Psycho” and ate the whole bag and then puked for ten minutes in the movie theater parking lot. (I am a classy broad.) That said, there is no reason for me to explain any further why “quitting” was necessary. I think that I have this under control.

7. I really want to become and extreme couponer. Yes, I am aware that these people might be a little…wel…insane. But I am also aware that if I could learn how to be this kind of insane, I may never have to work again. And this would leave me a lot more free time for hating Phil Collins and eating gummy bears. And, oh yeah, I guess raising this kid.

There you have it, you guys. That’s me! I have a 100 Things list over here, if you want to check it out. It is a little out of date but…you know…things change daily around here!



Woohoo! (Now With Added Ooomph.)

So, my lovely sister, *Fish Head informed me the other day that I had been honored with another blog award from my bloggie friend over at The Waiting! (I can’t tell you how much I love this news!)

I am truly honored that people like this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing here! Woohoo! Non-alcoholic drinks for everyone! (Ugggggghhhh…Someday, I will no longer be pregnant and there will be champagne. And delicious beers. And maybe some vodka. Because…well…I am sure I will be ready for some vodka by that time.)

In turn, I would like to go ahead and recognize some of the bloggers I enjoy for their awesomeness and share them with you. (It is of note that I was instructed to post 15 blogs that I like, but I am only going to do ten  five because I am pregnant and peeing is going to have to happen about 37 times during the time it takes me to write this. And 37 is my limit.) Anyway, here goes (in no particular order, and please know that if you are not on this list, it is because of my bladder, not because I don’t like you.)

1.  The Bloggess. Oh my GOD, you guys. I love this blog. I love this blog so much that I read it even though it makes me have to pee more. And harder. And with more intensity. And possibly ON MYSELF. Please read this post! It makes me happy. (You may want to wear a diaper, though.)

2. Painting Chef. This is a seriously smart, witty and adorable lady who cooks and paints and is obsessed with shoes. What’s not to like? And she’s super snarky! I dig it!

3. Hyperbole and a Half. Okay, so I totally ACCIDENTALLY stumbled upon this blog a while back and I laughed so hard at this post that I cried. Because spiders are terrifying and I can totally identify.

4. This Fish Needs a Bicycle. I have been reading this blog since I learned how to read blogs.

5. And Baby Makes Three. YAY! Another pregnant lady! In Germany!

Goodness. I had to cut that short because I have already peed 36 times and am dangerously close to the limit. Either way, part two of this post (wherein I will give you seven little known facts about yours truly) will follow! (Hopefully tomorrow. But this depends on whether or not I can break myself away from my bathroom for long enough to post again.)

* I call my sister Fish Head because of a little film called “Mermaids” starring Cher, Winona Ryder and Christina Ricci. And yes, she calls me Sergeant.


Just for the record, I feel bad that I did not add this blog to this list. I cannot let this slide. SHAME ON ME.  Go here. She is funnier than your grandma. I swear.


The Facebook announcement wasn’t as traumatic as I had expected. I did get a lot of support from my friends and family and it was welcomed and appreciated and I feel so much lighter. SO MUCH LIGHTER. Only one person from work, evidently, saw the post and responded and has mentioned it to me today. I am quite sure that there are others who know but have not said anything yet, which is annoying but sort of a relief. I just want to know that everyone knows and has gotten all the talk out of their systems so we can all move on. Many of my good friends (in fact, almost all of them) have kids already, so they have already proven to be a good resource for me. But I will tell you, I sort of feel, with the influx of all the advice, that my head might explode at any moment. How am I supposed to remember the names of all the contraptions that are a waste of money, or the ones that are baby must-haves? I could write these things down, I suppose, but I am so overwhelmed with the whole thing that I can’t manage to think fast enough to do that. And then, before I know it, I have forgotten and then find myself in a panic because I don’t know the name of that thing that does stuff that makes the kid sleep for HOURS and I NEED THAT THING. What IS it?!


Aside from my normal state of utter panic, I have been doing pretty well. I have managed to answer phone calls that I know will result in conversations about babies, which, two weeks ago, never would have happened. As it turns out, a good friend of mine is also pregnant right now and has not yet made the announcement, but is due two weeks after my due date. This is awesome for several reasons:

1. She will significantly reduce the amount of freaking out I have to do with regard to what to buy for this kid because she has a little one already and knows what is a necessity and what is a waste of too much money.

2. She will probably understand if I am a complete psychopath for the next few months and will probably still come with me to do a baby registry and stuff so I don’t drive my car off a bridge from the stress of it all.

3. I was really wishing that I had a pregnant friend who could hang out with me and NOT drink wine. And she loves wine as much as I do, so we can be bitter about it together. (I don’t think that she is as bitter as I am because she likes babies more than wine and I am still undecided and I believe that I will be until I hold this little alien and decide which is more rewarding: Pinot Grigio or “the baby smell”? Jury is still out.)

4. I desperately want someone to waddle with when the time comes. Waddling alone just sounds depressing.


I had been feeling little flutters from time to time, but nothing to write home about. In fact, I told My Beloved yesterday (and most days) that this baby needs to DO SOMETHING soon because I just feel fat. I feel hideous and obese and generally GROSS. I feel like all these changes are happening to my body, but so far, no real, hard evidence that it is for any good reason. And I am telling you, that is effing annoying. It has been really hard for me to accept all this extra discomfort (and belly mass) without being somehow rewarded.  But last night, or early this morning rather, I woke up for my 7th trip to the bathroom and returned to bed, half-asleep. I assumed my position, on my stomach, and started to actually feel something. And, this time, it wasn’t just that tiny little flit of something moving about, it was an honest-to-goodness, baby doing backflips kind of feeling and it went on for a good five minutes straight.


I was both excited and terrified about this. At first, I wasn’t sure that I had even felt it at all, or if I had been dreaming the whole thing.

But in the end, I guess the baby heard my request and decided to DO SOMETHING. And I am quite certain that this is an idication that he/she is both obedient and a genius. Oh, and possibly a gymnast.


Now I will await the first kicks, which I am sure will totally freak me out. I might need therapy. Or to call my fellow preggo friend (THANK HEAVENS!!!)


P.S. Speaking of kicks and whatnot, for future reading on the subject, go here!