Updates

I apologize for the delay in between posts....work has been keeping me busy and I've been spending a lot of time trying to ebay everything we own in order to save money for the cord blood storage. On one hand I feel like I'm trying to save money to buy magic beans, but on the other I would hate myself if something were to go wrong down the road with the baby or either of us and I hadn't forked over what is essentially the cost of a mid-priced flat screen television to ensure a chance of our survival. I mean can you imagine that conversation,

"Mom, can't we use the cord blood to cure dad's liver disease?"
"Honey, I'm sorry we didn't store the cord blood, it was too expensive"
"But didn't we have 4 televisions, a laptop and a brand new dishwasher in the house when I was born....???"
"Well, they weren't flat screens"

So, like I said, I've been ebaying away for the past month - racking up some decent coin in an effort to avoid that future conversation.

On to recent pregnancy happenings:

I have two pair of maternity blue jeans. A few weeks ago I apparently sat in something that resembles a crap stain right on my butt. Chris pointed out the stain to me initially- after I'd been out and about shopping all day in pants that looked like I had pooped myself. Since, I have tried all the stain removers and just decided that I'm not going to buy new pants, I try to wear long shirts, and so what if someone thinks I crapped myself...I'm pregnant (P.S.- that excuse is becoming way too easy to toss around for almost anything - like using the C word at work or burping/farting loudly in public). So yesterday I have on the crap pants, and while I'm cooking dinner (whoa! for the second time this month) Chris says, "I can't believe you're still wearing those shit stained pants." To which I unleashed a series of "I can't believe" isms about him that had nothing to do with my pants, but made it clear that will not tolerate unsolicited fashion advice at this point in my pregnancy. I then demanded that he promptly go to the mall and purchase a new pair of pants for me, since they are so cheap and maternity pants with 36" inseams are super easy to come by. Poor guy didn't know what hit him, but hey, I'm pregnant.

I have pretty much been in a no photo zone for the past 6 months - but the other day at my friend Rikki's house I decided I wanted a picture with some of my friends. I'm not going to show the whole picture, but I will show a portion of my shirt:



What the hell is that? I walked around all day with whatever this is on my shirt, and no one said a word to me. Not my husband when I walked out the door, not my friends who spent all day with me...later they said they thought my shirt was wet...Yes, I was going for the wet tshirt look.

This just reaffirms my commitment to be in a no photo zone for the next month. If this is what happens when I'm actually trying to look nice and allowing myself to be photographed, dear god I wonder what kind of a hot mess I look like right now.

Ongoing:

I heart caffeine. I've been drinking it - much less than I was before I got pregnant, but more than "they" say you're supposed to. Since going cold turkey on alcohol and cigs, my initial ban on coffee only lasted through my first trimester. I figure a little coffee isn't going to be the death of me or babe, but no coffee could lead to the death of those around me. My darling husband, while drinking his 5th beer a few weekends ago and coming in from a smoke break, asked me if my diet coke was caffeine free...I'm wondering how much longer I can take it until I snap. I mean it is surely only a matter of another situation or two before I go full on banana sandwiches crazy. No longer a matter of if, but rather when, a vehicle shows up to take one of us to either jail, the morgue or the loony bin.

One more thing:

Today we had our departmental holiday party here at work. We do a pollyanna/white elephant gift exchange. This year all gifts had to begin with the letter "O" I was able to trade my "Oceans Eleven" DVD for a bottle of Orange Smirnoff...I then glared icily at anyone who even considered trying to swipe it from me. They all knew better, so now I have some booze to sit on my kitchen counter and serve as a beacon of hope for the home stretch.

BITE ME (said the cookie, I complied)

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish...Green Eggs and Ham - what do these things have in common?

If you answered "Dr. Seuss books" you would be WRONG. If you answered a small portion of the list of things I have eaten in the past 24 hours, sadly you would be right. I went to bed hungry, I woke up hungry.

I will not count them when I sleep, I'd rather EAT those yummy sheep.

My baby is hungry. Why else would I eat a bagel for breakfast, two bagels for lunch, followed by half a muffin and two pastries? She clearly needs to carb load for the energy she will need come late January to withstand the delivery process.

I do not want that cream cheese pat, I'd rather scoop it from the vat.

I've been hungry before, but this is my first experience with insatiable hunger. Generally, my pre pregnancy modus operandi was to eat myself sick - usually incapable of stopping myself at full and opting to continue until a staggering discomfort level was reached that could only be relieved by a smoke or two and black coffee (or hard liquor). Because this was my standard, I did not eat three square meals a day, but usually just a late lunch or an early dinner. However, with the exception of the candy addiction, I've been pretty happy with my eating habits and weight gain...until about two weeks ago. That's when the bottom fell out...literally.

I was standing in front of the pantry, leaning on the door, with my hand on my hip gazing at my options for dinner one night. That's when I realized, my hand wasn't on my hip, and it wasn't on my waist, it wasn't my stomach either - it was some new shelf that had developed...was that my ass? Was my butt reaching around the side of my body and was I really currently using it as a means of supporting myself? OMG.

In the past, my ass was last, but now the view is something new

I do not like to see my butt, I do not like it in the front.

Given the newest addition to my body, I was rightfully distraught at Thanksgiving dinner last week. You see, my in-laws eat a formal Thanksgiving dinner - it is delicious and it's always so nice to sit around the dining room table and visit. The problem is, the chair I was designated to sit in was the extra dining room chair, not the chair that matched the table - I had the chair with arms. My husbands family are all tiny (well, in comparison to me), very thin, healthy and basically a 180 from my body type. Before sitting down I mumbled to my husband "switch chairs with me" to which he replied "WHAT??? I CAN'T HEAR YOU." So of course I said never mind and wedged my new front butt into the chair. Dinner was wonderful, and I ate enough for 12, all the while mindful of how I was going to remove myself from the seat when it was time to get up. Luckily the fit wasn't too tight and I was able to hold the chair down while I lifted myself out of it - of course no one else noticed - thank god (well, Chris did eventually and then said "you should have told me to switch...").

I ate so much I did not fit, I did not fit where I should sit.

Birthing Babies 102

I will keep this short and sweet, kind of like part two of our childbirth class which was supposed to go from 9-12, but ended at 10:20.

Yes, I want an epidural. No, I did not need to see the needle. How horrific, why in the hell would you show us that? Has anyone ever said, "Yes, I'm aware you're going to jab what I've heard is a giant needle into my spine...before you do so can I please examine it to guarantee that it is in fact a giant ass needle? Oh good, it's bigger than I thought, that's what I was hoping for." Seriously, I could have done without seeing it.

All of the fathers in the room were given a handout of what they can expect
after the baby arrives. Like all of the other handouts that we had received from this particular class, this was a vintage version - reminding fathers to be patient with new moms as they may not have hot dinner on the table everynight for a few weeks. The nurse giving the class also took a moment to tell all of us ladies to be to sure make dad feel special those first few weeks, take the time to coddle him and maybe do something nice for him like buy tickets to the ball game for him and his buddies....Poor Nurse, she never saw it coming, death by epidural needle. Hence, the early conclusion of class that day.

Register This.

Last week I went to Rite Aid to fill my prescription on my pre natal vitamins. First, I never knew that you needed a prescription for vitamins. Second, my CO-PAY on my pre natal vitamins is $40. FORTY DOLLARS for the co-pay...for vitamins. Last time I was at my Dr. I asked her to write me a script for a generic vitamin, which I could fill at Walmart for $4. Truth, I don't even take the vitamin everyday - I'm not too good at remembering to take pills (obviously); however, I can't make myself buy the generic version. I feel as if surely there is some reason that accounts for that $36 difference and well, I'd be a pretty big ass if I sacrificed the health of my child for $36 (times 9 months, that's $324 - but who's counting)...PAIN AT THE REGISTER

Two weekends ago Chris and I ventured out to the dreaded Babies R Us to create the list of things that we would like to have for the baby. After signing up with the lady at the customer service counter, being given the "gun" and some simple instructions, we were let loose in the great unknown. Where to start? What to get? How much to get? I will spare you the details, but the highlight reel includes me sitting on the floor in the stroller section near tears and unable to get the thing back in the thing that goes on the thing...THE PAIN OF REGISTERING.

I've heard rumors that the health insurance at my company will be changing starting on Feb. 1st 2010. My due date is the very end of January. The new plan will be substantially worse than my current coverage; we're talking thousands of dollars for the hospital bill different. My Dr. has already told me that she won't induce. THE IMPORTANCE OF THE HEALTH CARE DEBATE IS BEGINNING TO REGISTER...

So clearly I've noticed a theme of whether it is the CHA-CHING of the cash register, the laser lights of the registry gun, or the A-HA moments registering in my now half dead brain....I bet this is just the beginning of "REGISTER" pains, isn't it? Daily it's beginning to register that I will probably spend the rest of my life cursing the register.

So...to get back at Rite Aid for their flamboyant prescription costs (hey, I've gotta blame someone, might as well start with them) I decided to take matters into my own hands to get some restitution in this register madness. Some of you may be familiar with Rite Aids rebate program and you may also know that while I like to clip coupons, I rarely ever take the time to plan out my shopping to optimize my cost savings. Well, take the time I did - a few days ago I purchased $34 dollars worth of essentials, armed with my coupons I got the bill down to $14 (Oh yes I did), on top of that I can expect a $5 rebate check in the mail. The lady stared at my incredulously. I told her to suck on it. REGISTER THAT.

Birthin' babies 101

On Saturday morning, Chris and I grabbed two pillows and donned comfy clothes and shoes as instructed by the RN who took our information over the phone when we registered for our two part child birth class. We headed off to the hospital; I was looking forward to getting medical insight as to what I could expect during childbirth, hopefully some pointers on how I could prepare my body physically for the big show, and seeing “THE VIDEO.”

Our comfy clothes consisted of blue jeans, casual shoes and long sleeve knit shirts. There were five other couples in the class, their comfy clothes consisted of jogging pants, hoodies, yoga gear, etc…. I wondered what in the hell we were going to be doing that required workout gear and pillows. Color me intrigued.

After about 30 minutes into the class, we figured out that we were not going to be recieving any kind of meaningful insight into the childbirth process…for instance, the RN showed us a dialation chart – then to really drive the point home about how a cervix dialates, she had us all suck on lifesavers to see how the center gets bigger and the outside gets thinner. Ew. The video that was shown was not the full on camera shot of a live birth, but rather “Childbirth for Dummies” (no joke!) – it used cartoon characters, corny jokes and interviews with couples in an attempt to make the subject matter light hearted. One of the couples in the video, Jeff and Suzy, were really annoying – Jeff discussed in detail when Suzy lost her mucus plug and how they were examining it together to determine if they should go to the hospital. If I ever heard Chris even say the words “mucus plug,” much less request to examine mine, I think I would die. The handouts we were given with lists of what we should pack for the hospital had been photocopied so much over the years, they were barely legible. They were so old that near the top of the list was “sanitary belts.” A baby doll with a make shift umbilical cord and placenta was passed around. The RN asked how many of the men in the room would be cutting the umbilical cord; Chris did not raise his hand. I also noticed that while the video wasn’t showing anything graphic, he didn’t look when Suzy got her epidural, or when she received the incision for her c-section. Are you kidding me? I have to go through the whole process of incubating, growing and delivering a live person and he can’t even look at a video – and he isn’t sure if he would cut the umbilical cord?!! Oh he’ll cut that cord or he’ll leave the hospital room with it wrapped around his neck like a noose. His choice.

So of course being the mature couple that we are – we were probably the oldest couple in the room – we began to act like bored 5th graders in science class. The workbook we had to complete had a question, “please list the discomforts you have experienced during pregnancy:” I wrote “I have this GIANT pain in my ass” with an arrow pointing to Chris. When asked to list what we learned in the class, Chris wrote “Jeff and Suzy are nerds.” And people wonder why I’m so nervous about bringing a child into the world – the two of us are so juvenile ourselves!

Finally, in the last hour of the class, the pillows and comfy clothes were about to be put to use. We were asked to sit on the floor with the pillows propped up behind me. I was told to bend my knees, breathe in and breath out, then breathe in and hold my breath while Chris was told to pinch me on my arm for twenty seconds, then to pinch me harder for an additional ten seconds. This, the RN informed us, was to simulate a contraction. At this point I took a pillow from behind my back, stood up, and whacked the RN upside her head. Ok, so I only imagined that part, but seriously – a pinch to simulate contractions? A lifesaver to demonstrate dialation? (although I did appreciate the candy)

I can’t wait to see what part 2 of this class, scheduled for 11/21, has in store for us. Maybe we’ll spit watermelon seeds across the room to simulate the ease of a baby coming out of my lady parts.

As I'm writing this entry, I'm waiting to get my glucose test at the hospital. Everyone has warned me how horrible the glucose juice is...I liked it! Tasted like liquid candy corn. Some waiting room observations:

There was "that guy" who wanted to chat me up about my pregnancy, and tell me his own personal TLC Baby Story and the “ten pound beast” that got stuck in his wife during labor. SHUT UP YOU FREAK.

There is a baby sitting next to me that looks exactly like a munchichi – from what I can understand she is only a week old! Super cute and weird. I opted against telling the woman how her adorable baby could pass for a munchichi.

Hippy Chicks

I played division 1 college volleyball...I'm not saying this to brag (although I think the years spent doing nothing but running, jumping and otherwise tearing apart my body limb by limb warrant the right to brag should I choose to do so)...I'm mentioning it because there was a lot of damage done to my body during those years. I've been putting off surguries for years, and have learned to live with the chronic pain in my shoulders, knees and hips.

Guys used to come to our games, because lets face it most volleyball players at that level are in really good shape and the uniforms are spandex, but I think they were always surprised with how physically demanding volleyball is. I mean you are throwing yourself full speed onto a hardwood floor, repeatedly, for the duration of 2 hour match. It's basically like football in terms of the full body contact, but instead of diving into a soft pile of a 250lb person filled with water and fat, you're diving into solid wood or in some cases a concrete slab covered with 1 inch of rubber, and oh yeah, you're not wearing pads.

I've run a timed mile in waist deep water in the ocean, because my shin splints were so bad I could barely walk on the pavement, and my coach was that big of an ass.

I did so much jump training that I used to be able to leap jump 4 stairs at a time, the entire height of a stadium, not easy for someone my height with little natural jumping ability. At one point I could do 100+ double jumps with a rope. This required a tremendous amount of physical conditioning.

My nose has been operated on because I have been hit so many times and so hard square in the face.

During halftime at a TU mens basketball game, I had a mini surgury by a doctor in the back of a training room. My leg was drained by giant ass needles due to severe swelling/bruising - I still have permanent indentations on my leg from the needles. They wanted to make sure it was taken care of before the next days practice.

My first year of college, we spent about a half hour everyday diving onto the floor, jumping back up on our feet, saying something sadistic like "no pain, no mercy," then diving again, over and over and over and over and over...lots of puking and bleeding that year.

By the time I finished up at Temple, I was working out for over 4 hours a day, everyday - I could do things I never thought possible. In many ways I am very thankful to have been shown what I am capable of accomplishing when I am pushed to my absolute physical limits (although I now have zero desire to step foot into any type of a gym).

My point in telling you all this, because I do have one, is that I can take pain. Never once did I quit, cry (except maybe at night to my mom) or so much as show any sign of weakness. That was for over four years, over four hours a day, probably somewhere around 320 days a year. We're talking over 5,000 hours of hard core punishment and pain. Knowing that I accomplished those physical feats, provides no comfort for childbirth portion of this nine month ride that will conclude shortly. I am terrified, the thought of what that will be like makes me woozy.

I can feel my hips starting to shift, pulling apart and getting ready for the inevitable, with every little twinge of my hips now, I want to cry, and I think I'm showing more weakness now than I ever have in my entire life. At this very moment, as my hands are typing, my palms are sweating just thinking about it.

We have our first childbirth class this Saturday, they told me to bring two pillows - because, you know, I'm sure pillows make all the f*cking difference in the world in terms of preparing you to push a watermelon out of your body.

We Love you Ms. Hannigan

Little cheeks
Little teeth
Everything around me is little
If I wring little necks
Surely I will get an acquittal

Some women are dripping with diamonds
Some women are dripping with pearls
Lucky me! Lucky me!
Look at what I'm dripping with
LITTLE GIRLS

A little unknown piece of trivia about me is that I LOVE Annie (the original Annie, not the Disney remake that doesn't include Punjab). I can sing every song frontward, backwards and sideways - and if you catch me when I don't know you're looking, you would notice that I also dabble in the choreography.

Lately I've been cleaning, A LOT. All the books (truth, the one book I skimmed) mention this "nesting" behavior, but I thought it wasn't supposed to take hold until right at the very end. At the rate I'm going, I'll have singlehandedly built a new house and installed a swimming pool by the time this babe gets here. Yesterday I spent over 8 hours cleaning without even realizing it. At one point I nearly tripped over a dog because I was shuffling my feet around, too tired to even pick them up anymore. When I looked at the clock wondering why in the world I was so exhausted, I shocked to see it was 9PM - I had been in some type of trance since noon. I had reorganized our entire kitchen, cleaned every dish, stored things we don't use anymore, organized our pantry by the time of day you would eat that particular food, and - here's the kicker - made homemade mashed potatos somewhere in the middle of doing all this. I don't cook, nor do I "homemake" anything besides cocktails, and I have little recollection of doing any of these things.

In another one of these recent cleaning trances, I was going through some drawers and found the VHS of Annie. It was the first time I looked at something and thought, "I can't wait to watch this with my little girl." That was quite a relief to me, as most of my thoughts up until that moment had been a bit more selfish, along the lines of "well, theres one more thing I'll probably never get to do again..." I thought it the opportune time to begin thinking about all the things I am looking forward to doing with my little girl, that wouldn't be quite the same with a little boy, to begin a post natal bucket list if you will...

-Watching, singing and acting out Annie, I will play Ms. Hannigan of course - complete with gin bath. I'm not sure if she will get the lead role of Annie right away, that will have to be earned, she'll start out with a small role like Pepper, Molly or Duffy.

-Craft projects, sewing - my basement sweatshop could use some more labor, the neighborhood kids are getting too old and starting to complain too loudly! (I'll send pics soon of my most recent creations)

-Getting dressed up and going to Bloomingdales or Neiman Marcus and strolling around, trying on clothes and shoes that aren't on sale, asking the sales people to show us jewelry out of the cases, like we have enough money to shop there. This is fun enough by myself, I can't imagine the reaction when I tell the sales associate my baby wants to see the diamond brooch. Then of course getting a cinnabon as we exit the mall with our JC Penney purchases.

-When I was little and my parents used to have parties, I remember me and my girl cousins putting on "shows" of lip syncing... I'm sure Chris will enjoy baby Morganti helping me relive my youth with our duet of "Let's Hear it for the Boy."

-Reading Ramona the Brave!

I think those sound like some pretty good times....I'm sure I'll think of more things as I progress, but I thought I'd share those with you since it probably seems to most readers like I've been a bit pessimistic about this whole process.

Have a good week, remember: You're never fully dressed without a smile...

Heaven

My husband had these as a welcome home present for me.
http://www.candywarehouse.com/candycornkiss.html

I forgot to bring them to work today, but I'm sitting here dreaming about them. So much so that I thought I would look them up online just so I could see them...thought I'd share them with you. If anyone likes candy corn half as much as I do, then you should try these.

Home is where the help is

I recently got back to Philadelphia after spending almost a week at home visiting my family. One thing that has amazed me as I'm getting more accustomed to the idea of being pregnant is how homesick I have become. While I've always missed my family, and talked about moving home, I've never necessarily felt homesick. I feel sorry for my husband because my feelings about our too small, too old, too fixer upper house have changed drastically from "we can make it work" to me crying when I walk in the front door on some days. I was in desperate need of some mommy TLC and I got it in the form of homemade ice tea, sleeping all day, shopping and my favorite green bean casserole.

Some other highlights of my trip:

-Reconnecting with an old friend Mandy that I haven't seen or spoken to in 13 years...we picked up right where we left off and laughed for hours. I've come to realize that the people you can laugh with for hours (especially without alcohol) are few and far between, I'm glad to have Mandy back in my life!

-Eating at Chuys with my little bro and his super cute gal pal Jessica - how did I live in Houston until I was 18 and not know about this place?! Or am I so old that this "Houston tradition" didn't open until I had left?

-A surprise dinner from all my aunts and cousins! Lots of super cute baby presents and even better was the chance to visit with my family, whom I don't see often enough. My family is hilarious, here are some funny excepts... Aunt Cathy making fun of new moms that justify putting their babies on the floor as "tummy time" and reminding us that the vintage version of the boppy is ARMS...Uncle Jim, the expert on diaper rash, recommending butt paste as a registry must have...Aunt Geraldine reminding my mom that she will need to learn the art of smiling and saying nothing (ha ha, good luck!) - as a side note my mom said "whatever floats your boat" to me the other day and I about DIED - we agreed that what she meant was "whatever floats your boat, but I will create enough waves to push said boat in the direction of my choice..." LOVE YOU MOM...My cousin in-law (?) Dee Dee and her daughter Molly recommending a video baby monitor and us all joking about the range of the monitor (I'll be at the bar)...My Aunt Carol, Aunt Susan and Aunt Cecilia telling me I looked LITTLE, you made my decade, as no one has ever referred to me as little! For once in my life, I'm below average size! My cousin Sarah laughing with me at the fact that I have no idea what I'm going to do when this baby gets here and gently reminding that she herself was a ballerina so I should shut my fat mouth about not wanting a ballerina princess type daughter, cousin Jennifer giving me swaddle blankets and me saying "oh such pretty burb cloths..." and cousin Jill knowing me too well and recommending that booze is the one thing I won't be able to live without when baby gets here...

Which reminds me, I thought of an idea while I was home that I was certain would make me millions, I was all prepared to start my own business during my three month "vacation" starting in January - I mean, I won't be that busy, right?! I was so confident in my genius idea that I had my retirement plans already made. Regrettably, someone has beaten me to the punch:
http://www.milkscreen-moms.com/

Thanks again to everyone for making my trip home perfect. Love you!

Baby needs this, baby needs that...what about my needs?!

In the past few months I've had several baby showers to attend, which has been good preparation for getting familiar with the things that apparently we as new parents will need to purchase for our home. For instance, had I not made recent trips to Babies R Us, I would have never known such a horror of a place existed and would have foolishly limited myself to the paltry selection of baby items at Target for our own registry.

In all honestly, I thought babies only needed something to catch the pee/poop, something to sleep in, something to catch the throw up, something to eat and perhaps something to wear. I did not know that there were 5000 varieties of each of these essentials, not to mention the complimentary items that accompany each of them.

Until recently, I naively believed that when the time comes, we'll just buy a bottle or two (or how ever many you're supposed to have on hand). After a trip to Babies R Us, so many questions that I never previously consider start popping up. What type of nipple thingy goes on the bottle? How will I warm the bottle? If I'm breast feeding (don't even get me started on this dilemma), I'll need a different type of bottle. There are also 200 ways you can wash the bottle, I must choose my preferred method. Is it a comfort grip bottle? Is the bottle toxin free? Will the baby be able to suckle comfortably with the tilt of the bottle, will this type of bottle cause more burping, is the bottle environmentally friendly, will my friends/family/parents judge me on the ultimate bottle choices I make? Will the bottle I chose define my child? AAAAGGGHHH!

And what's up with the "BPA Free" section? I mean I know what BPA free means - but are they really still selling "BPA Laden, Full of BPA, or Xtra Toxic" bottles and pacifiers? It was my understanding that all baby products (particularly those sold at Babies R Us) would be BPA Free...and if they're not - isn't that something we as a society should be concerned about? Who is going to Babies R Us requesting the products with BPA? Why is "BPA Free" even a valid marketing/selling point for manufacturers? I probably still don't know enough about all of this stuff (since I've made no effort to know more), but it still doesn't make sense to me.

Next it was the car seat aisles...this is really an unfair section of the store. The price of car seats range from $89 to $400. What in the hell can account for that huge variance of something that serves one purpose - to protect your child in the car? I would assume both car seats meet the same safety requirements AND that the safety requirements are the absolute saftest way possible to protect a baby in a car. Are my assumptions wrong here? Am I really supposed to want to go and research all of this crap? I mean I've spent some time researching the really important things: names, how to hold baby, how to introduce baby to dogs, how to administer the right amount of nyquil to sedate but not harm baby.... I have no interest in reading about consumer ratings for car seats, strollers, swings, bouncies, bungies.... I just want someone to tell me what to buy.

So friends and family with children, this is where you come in...I need everyone to send me their one recommendation of the product that I cannot live without. Whether you had a kid 20 years ago, or have one fresh out of the oven, what's the one thing you used/needed/relied on most?

And please no smart asses, I know some of you who couldn't live without your au pair or housekeeper - I'm talking reasonable suggestions only please.

Picture perfect

I'm starting to get all kinds of things in the mail about my pregnancy- advertisements, magazines, coupons, etc... Also my friends are giving me info and I usually pick up all the literature at my Dr office. Why, oh WHY, are all the pregnant women portrayed in commercial pictures like this lady?? In everything I read that is related to my pregnancy, whether they are trying to sell me something, or just provide useful information, the pregnant women look nothing like me (or any of my pregnant friends for that matter).

You want to know where this picture is from? A friend at work had to visit her lady Dr yesterday and picked up some literature for me on "A Simple Guide to Understanding Glucose Testing" and this was the picture included in the pamphlet. We won't even get into the not so subtle implications of receiving something like this from a co-worker. Good thing she is a friend of mine and not a skinny mini herself, or we would have taken it outside this AM.

This picture makes me MAD. Bitch looks better than I did pre-preggers. She is probably a size 2 even with her little poochie of a tummy, and she is wearing a WHITE HALTER TOP WITH NO BRA , delicately nibbling fruit while she stares lovingly at her bountiful plate of nutrition. I hate her and the ViaCord Company that created the "helpful" handout.

The top alone with no bra is so unrealistic - my boobs hurt so bad I've considered duct taping a permanent bra on myself for the amount of support I need. And I don't need to tell any pregnant woman that wearing a fitted white shirt without a bra is impossible unless you want the world to see your now nearly black and saucer sized nips. (yeah, they change colors & sizes, who knew??) It's not sexy. I understand that in general the media and fashion industry have unrealistic expectations for non-pregnant women...and I'm not really all that up in arms with that issue. However, this is a medical pamphlet from a Dr. office for pregnant women - WTF?? I haven't seen one person in the waiting room at my Dr. office that looks anything remotely close to this woman. I already feel bad enough about myself, and I think I'm doing about average in regards to weight gain (touch wood) - to me this picture is just another piece of propaganda in what I consider to be one of the most undiscussed but blatantly obvious conspiracy's of all time: to hide the real stories, the real pictures, the real emotions of pregnancy.

So of course I was compelled to take a quick picture of myself and what I've been eating all day. That's candy corn in case you can't read the label. Notice the deathlike grip on the nearly empty package. I don't know why my co-worker would worry about gestational diabetes.

We are living in a material world (sing it!)

I love me some Kenny Loggins, particularly Danny's Song - you know, "even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey, blah blah blah..." I used to think it was so romantical, and it's how I would feel if I were having a child. Wow, what a crock, huh? I think if I was having a kid 5- 7 years ago, still in my 20's and earlier in my career, I could get by on the power of hugs and kisses.

But now I'm jaded enough to know that Kenny Loggins didn't consider the incredible inflation of education and health care costs coupled with the sharp decline in access to retirement funds. Nor could he have predicted the current state of our economy and job market. Kenny also clearly never worked an office job, where after you've done it for a few years you begin to consider the cost benefit analysis of every hour spent, and the price of everything comes sharply into focus as you calculate how many hours you worked to make that purchase. Also, Kenny must have rented - because the maintenance costs of owning a home, and the repairs that are associated with replacing a roof, getting new carpet, installing a dishwasher....all things necessary to welcome baby... are not paid for with sunshine and candy canes.

No, we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl. It has been many years that I have avoided admitting that, years spent trying to convince myself that I don't care as much as other people about "things." But now, with each little kick and flutter of my baby warrior princess (yes, it's a girl for sure!), I am reminded of all the things I want to be able to give her. And all the things I want for myself. I want a nice house, in a nice neighborhood - with nice landscaping and neighbors that don't sell bootleg DVD's off their front porch at all hours of the night (even if the neighbor discount rates are commendable).

And sweetheart...now that I've come clean about my vile materialistic nature - it does matter to me if I get an anniversary present, birthday present, valentines day present (I know! Who am I?), and Christmas/holiday present(SSSssss). I do not like yellow roses, but I do like any orange or purple flower, I do not like gaudy jewelry, but I do like candy - as have previously mentioned in earlier posts. I am also particularly appreciative of handmade gifts and cards, so keep em coming.

And just who the hell are you Kenny Loggins to make me feel bad about myself for saying these things? Does it mean I love less if I want nice stuff? You sing, "In the morning when I rise, bring a tear of joy to my eyes..," about the only thing that would bring a tear of joy to my eyes would be knowing that I had enough money to quit my job. Otherwise any tears cried at the waking hour are not tears of joy. If I knew you Kenny, I'd punch you in the face myself, for all the women who have been bamboozled by you selling your unwillingness to get a decent job as some type of romantic endeavor. F U!

I don't think I should listen to the radio on my morning commute anymore...

the baby made me do it...

Chris and I just got back from a quick weekend cruise to Nassau. Again, this was another trip that was planned pre-pregnancy and I was a bit skeptical about the amount of fun I would have on a boat for four days with no alchohol. Luckily I was pleasantly surprised and for the most part it was a relaxing weekend, well - for me at least.

Chris got to listen to me bitch at him every time he glanced at a beer or gave me a concerned look as I made my third trip to the all you can eat ice cream bar. I wish I could be one of those cool wives that have no problem with their husband drinking while they are pregnant, I really do want to be that person. But alas I am not; in fact, I am about as close to being that girl as I am to being on next months cover of Sports Illustrated. It's not that I don't want to be these things, it's just that he and I must come to terms with the fact that I will never be that kind of wife. I am the kind of wife that laughs at off color jokes, can hang all night drinking beers, and that can have an intelligent debate about a variety of issues, but unfortunately I'm also the kind of wife that can hang all night drinking beers (borderline alchoholic?), laughs at off color jokes (insensitive?) and can have an intelligent debate about a variety of issues (argumentative?). So if we look at the latter - a pregnant, argumentative, insensitive, borderline alchoholic probably doesn't have sympathy for a beat down husband that just wants a few beers to relax. ("You think YOU need a drink??!!")

In an effort to keep me entertained because I couldn't do a lot of the cruise activities, Chris offered that we play mini golf on the top level of the cruise ship. It was a nice gesture and the first half of the game was fun. Right before hole 6, Chris ducks into an enclosed net area that is meant for people to practice their driving swing - he took a took a nice slow statuesque swing at the ball and I got excited to show him the swing I had learned a few months ago from a brief one time lesson I got from a golf pro. I duck into the enclosure with him, line myself up and take a whack at the ball... now I knew he was still standing behind me, it just for some reason did not cross my mind that swinging a golf club in that close proximity of another person might not be the best idea. Like I said, I was really excited to show him what I learned. Chris, I think, thought I was going to take a nice, slow, practice type swing like he did. Nope, I swung away, missed the ball but found his head. The temple and ear area to be exact. Head bleeding, yelling, crying (on my part) and medical assistance ensued. This was followed by continued head bleeding, concussion headaches and nausea, more crying (again on my part), and a lot of dead silence. While Chris knows this was an accident, a very, very stupid and easily preventable accident at that, I think he was justified to have little to say to the person that almost took his ear off for a few hours. A few inches in a different direction and we're talking gorged eyeballs and not just head trauma. The thing is, I don't know WHAT I was thinking about- seriously, those of you that know me well know that I am the biggest worry wart on the planet - if there is a way to get hurt doing something, I am the one that will be the first to identify it. I am generally not one to go swinging golf clubs willy nilly. Now I'm aware of the fact that I'm vastly lacking in the common sense arena, I don't want to misrepresent my own self knowledge- but this was still somewhat unlike me.

I feel absolutely terrible and there is little I can do to make it better. For some reason, spoken apologies just don't seem to cut it in this type of situation and Hallmark doesn't dip its toes in the waters of the things real apologies are needed for. They just say "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday," or "I'm sorry about our argument," but I've never seen an "I"m sorry I bashed your head in with a golf club for no apparent reason" card on the shelves. I am hopeful that Chris will be ok, but he might still need a cat scan to make sure there is no internal bleeding. This was a very serious accident and a seriously shitty way to spend the last night of our vacation. Any advice on what I can do to make it up to him (besides the whole pushing a living creature of my body scene that will be happening shortly) would be greatly appreciated.

Worst thing is, his head trauma card totally trumps my pregnancy card. There goes my leverage.

Victorias Secret Revealed!!!

I have always been curious as to the secret Victoria has been so good at keeping all these years...is it how to keep your man, how to wear a size XL thong with confidence, how to make cellulite sexy??? After some soul searching, or rather butt digging, I think I have it figured out.

Within a matter of a week, my underwear stopped fitting. They just stopped. Literally I was sitting down at work last Thursday, and I had the realization that the elastic on the legs of my panties was causing me pain - not discomfort, but pain. I made it 5 months wearing the same clothes (thanks belly band), and in a matter of hours I apparently gained 12 lbs - in my ass. There is nothing more exciting than knowing you have to go shopping for bigger underwear. Not sexy, but bigger.

Standing in front of the wall 'o panties at Target on Saturday, I consider my options. Of course there are the "Just my Size" varieties, which I have spent my whole life desperately avoiding by slim margins - so there is no way in hell I am voluntarily purchasing those, I would rather my thighs bleed. I have a solid philosophy in "women's" size undies - "once you go fat, you'll never go back..." meaning, if I were to put on a size 10 underwear, why would I ever want to go back to a smaller size?? Imagine that level of comfort...now imagine a thong - I just avoid the temptation altogether.

Next, I examine the Hanes and Fruit of the Loom options....I consider myself a sporty spice type underwear wearer, meaning I like the athletic string bikini varieties. Full coverage, but not homely, comfy but cute. Too bad I currently apparently wear the biggest size they make in this style, so I have very limited options in the next size up if I'm going to avoid the Just My Size panties that are now mocking me. I settle for the classic bikini Hanes in a size up, comfort fit Fruit of the Loom in my current size and a Hanes bikini in (zoiks!), two sizes up (for my last trimester, I reason). Guess which ones I'm wearing today? They are roomy, too big, and wonderful and my ass will probably never be back in a string bikini - inadvertently proving my own theory.

So what's Vikki's Secret?

Me thinks it's birth control, or surrogacy, adoption......maybe V(a)S(estomy)?

It's a ....baby!

After waiting for what has seemed like a lifetime, we finally had our appointment for the ultrasound that would determine our "fetal anatomy." I could not wait...it's weird having something growing inside of you and not knowing what it is. I have joked for weeks that I hope it's a unicorn, but secretly have wanted it to be a boy. It may be wrong for a mother to say this, but as you have probably figured out, I think I'm saying a lot of things you're not supposed to.

The woman that administered the ultrasound was a complete bitch. She dumped warm goop all over my stomach, and then didn't talk to me for twenty minutes. If she hadn't had the ultrasound thingy in her hand, I would have felt like I'd just been taken advantage of. When I tried to ask her a question about what was on the screen, she snapped at me that she was just trying to do her job, and she had to do it as quickly as possible while the baby wasn't moving and she couldn't talk at the same time. I thought, "so it is a baby! - tough luck on it not being a unicorn, but glad to know all is normal in there."

She spent the next 5-10 minutes complaining that my baby was difficult and she couldn't get the pictures she needed. I asked her if she could at least tell us the sex, her response - "you want to know that?!" WTF - why is everyone so against us finding out the sex? I don't need the surprise on the day of, trust me. Pushing a living creature out of my body will be enough of a surprise for the day, thank you very much. She pretty much said she thought it was a girl, but couldn't be sure. I would probably have to come back if I wanted to know 100%.

I got in the car with my husband and cried. I'm not sure why I wanted a boy so badly, I think it's because I can relate more to playing baseball in the yard than I can to ballet practice. I think also because it's so hard being a girl, we have to work so much harder, and what if she ends up a giant like me? What if her favorite color is pink, she loves barbie dolls and wants an easy bake oven??? I don't even know how to use our real oven. It freaks me out.

Then of course I feel guilty for being upset, because I should just be thankful. I remind myself, that no matter what the sex of the baby is, I can make it be whatever I want it to be, and make it like whatever I want it to like ... this makes me feel better. ;)

Bacon, books and beaches

This past weekend was my first vacation while pregnant. It was a party weekend my brother and I planned with our cousins well before I knew I was pregnant. As I boarded the plane on Friday, I must admit I was a little concerned about how I would feel being the sober person amongst was was sure to be a booze infested weekend for the others. Never in my entire adult life have I experienced being in a party environment without being a partier...I am not one of those people that is just as much fun sober as I am drunk. To those of you that are, kudos - but I am skeptical of anyone that would voluntarily hang around a bunch of drunks and claim to have just as much fun as they do. It's not natural.

My cousin Matt and his fiance Stephanie were letting us crash at their place for the weekend, and on Friday night I experienced the first upside to my being pregnant (besides the whole "baby" deal) - I got a bed to myself! My brother slept on the floor, the homeowners on an air mattress and Jill in a couch/cocoon/bean bag/hot dog device that looked like a recipe for back surgery. I gave a small pat to my belly and thanked the fetus for finally being good for something. While they spent the evening outside having drinks, I coziedup in the bed and read a book. I was asleep within two minutes, at least I didn't even know the fun I was missing.

Day two started with a breakfast that consisted of BACON RICE...my first encounter with this delectable treat and the first time in months I had a homemade breakfast (I don't cook so much). This vacation was panning out to be quite the retreat. We then made our way to the beach, with four people (including me) stuffed in the back seat of a truck and my cousin and aunt as pilot/co pilot. It took us "35 minutes" to get there - my cousin Matt thought it was funny to keep saying this even though it took 1.5hrs, not realizing it's not funny to jack with a pregnant woman about the time frame in which she will get to pee. I got the last laugh though, I just peed on his back seat. They took a cooler with beer to the beach, and there was also a bar less than 100 yards from where we planted our towels. The scene looked like a community college spring break party - not the MTV type co-eds out to hook up, but the people that have night jobs, or full time day jobs, and kids at home and don't have time to f*ck around and are just looking to tie one on. Thank goodness no one was checking me out in my maternity tankini - I guess that's another plus side of pregnancy, usually I'm having to beat guys off with a stick when I go to the beach. The family proceeds to start drinking while I down virgin daiquiris - which at first where delightful and made me feel included in the group - of course the novelty of this wore off when they became drunk and I got a tummy ache from too much pina colada mix. A nice nap on the beach resolved this problem, and before I knew it I was driving everyone home. Last thing I remember from that night is watching my drunk brother and cousin Matt play "cowboy, ninja, bear," a life size version of "paper, rock, scissors," -and me commenting on how nothing is as funny as drunk people think it is, then heading off to bed. Again I read for about three minutes and was out like a light.

Day three was me accompanying them on a bar tour of the "bad part" of Tampa (I live in Philly, it looks like the worst thing that happens in the bad part of Tampa is people don't tip 20%). This actually was fun to get to visit with everyone - we found a bar with mega touch (i am a champion) that served spicy virgin bloody marys and I was a happy camper. We then went to the Hard Rock Casino where my cousin Jill made out like a bandit within 30 minutes. Again we were home early, I was in bed reading, and they had their fun without me.

All in all, this was a fantastic and much needed break. I feel like such a grown up being able to go to the beach and casino w/o drinking. I got tons of sleep and lots of reading done. Plus bacon rice. It's amazing how your perspective changes on what constitutes a good time.

Thanks fam for being so considerate of 71.... I found out this weekend that my baby will be the 71st born into that side of the family. Yet another reason to consider the name "seven" (for those of you that are seinfeld fans).

Youth in Asia

We have three dogs. My husband and I each brought our own dogs to the relationship, and have since added a third. They are all rescue dogs, and while my choice wouldn't be to ever have three dogs -our third dog was chosen for us, not necessarily by us, but has been a wonderful addition to our family.

A clean house is basically impossible with three dogs. Particularly a small house such as ours. It is a nonstop carpet cleaning, floor sweeping, dander dusting place to live. Over the past year, the oldest dog, Mini (Chris's original dog), has gotten progressively worse with her vision, hearing, and most importantly peeing. Along with all the other anxieties I have about having a baby, bringing a baby into a house with three dogs, particularly one that is pretty much a baby herself in terms of having to clean up after her, has consumed me worry and anger.

Unfortunately, I have a hard time separating the dog from the owner and as demonstrated yesterday and this morning, I can sometimes treat Chris as if he is personally unzipping his pants and pissing all over the carpet. I swear if I could rub his nose in it I would. However, me sending Mini death threats and offering the other dogs reward money for offing her probably isn't the nicest way to discuss this issue. At this point in my pregnancy, I find being nice a foreign concept, and I find it impossible to discuss things that make me mad without screaming, crying and saying things like "how could you do this to me and your unborn child?!" While Chris didn't actually "do" anything - he did say that he spends half his life listening to me bitch at him..... Honey, I'm sure everyone that has been in contact with me for the past 5 months feels the same way, the only difference is they didn't knock me up, so you're just going to have to deal with it, and try to accommodate me. The more you remind me that I'm a bitch, I promise the more of a bitch I"m going to be.

However, in retrospect, although it is so uncharacteristic of me - I might have overreacted. You do not have to kill your dog for me. This is my public apology - which I think is a pretty big gesture seeing as how I am never wrong.

Love you. Hopefully you and the dogs can get some peace and quiet while I'm on a much needed vacation for a few days. Enjoy your pee palace.

Rail Rage

Generally speaking, riding the train to and from work is preferable to driving in rush hour traffic -both on a environmental level and a personal stress level. There are however the minor details of public transit that the car dwellers will never have to deal with and that I as a hormonal pregnant woman have come to loathe in the past few weeks. One of my other pregnant girlfriends has told me she has developed an inexplicable road rage throughout her pregnancy, I think I am beginning to develop a case of rail rage - which presents many more problems than road rage because I am not in my own isolated vehicle...I have no protection when I am compelled to give someone the finger and tell them to go f*ck themselves...such was my ride home last night.

Opening Scene: I enter the first car of the train, as I have done everyday for the past several years. This is now a quiet train, which means cell phone use is minimal, no talking, etc... This is an approx 45 min train ride, my stop is the last - so the handful of us that ride the train all the way to the end see each other everyday. While the car may start the journey with standing room only, by the time we get to my stop, there are only the same 10 or 15 of us getting off at that final stop each day.

The incident: I'm guilty, I forgot to turn my cell phone to vibrate. With about 10 minutes left on the ride, and most of the car empty, my cell phone rings 3 times before I can grab it out of my bag and talk quietly to Chris for 30 seconds. The woman in front of me turns and gives me the stink eye. As we are pulling into our final stop, literally you can see the station, my phone rings - 1/2 ring before I cut it off and apologize out loud for the mistake. The stink eye woman makes an over exaggerated sighing sound and says without looking at me, "Jesus, this is the quiet train. In case you can read, there is a sign above your head that will explain what that means." Now let me preface the rest of this story with the fact that the woman in question is probably pushing 60 and has a beehive like hairdo - just a grumpy old ninny. I should have just let it go, but...

My reaction: "WHAT DID YOU SAY? YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME LADY? I CAN READ AND I ALREADY APOLOGIZED - SO WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?INSTEAD OF MAKING PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE COMMENTS, WHY DON'T WE JUST MAKE THIS AN AGGRESSIVE CONVERSATION - YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD?" The girl sitting across the aisle gets startled and drops her cell phone. The woman gives me another stink eye, but doesn't say anything, she thinks her nasty looks are somehow going to intimidate me. At this moment we pull into the final stop. She gets out of her seat and walks past me, I grab my bags in a very dramatic fashion and stand as close to her as possible while we wait to exit the train. I am standing right behind her, making sure to be standing up straight to emphasize my 3 foot height advantage and let her know she is messing with the wrong person. As we get off the train, she tells the ticket collector to have a nice evening - the same guy I always say goodnight to - I shoot him a nasty look for being in co hoots with this bitch. I follow her, closely, all the way out of the station and to her bus, which was on the way to the parking garage I was heading to anyway. But I made her think I was going to kick her ass. I'm sitting in my car, considering following the bus to wherever it's going to give her a piece of my mind, or my fist. At this point I realize I might have been in the wrong here - whatever, I'm tired, I go home.

A few additional comments about the people I ride the train with:

"hey guy, i don't care about your wife's colonoscopy. i don't mind the hellos and small chit chat b/c we see each other everyday, but I"m not going to disclose to you the details of my last pap smear so please keep your family medical history to yourself."

"hey lady, I can smell your adult diaper. Your Avon perfume isn't helping. Unless you clean your ass with it, Jean Nate is doing you no favors"

Get out of my dreams...

Never the type to remember my dreams, I have always considered myself a rather mundane sleeper. I never had any cool stories about the weird dreams I had last night, or felt compelled to look up the meaning of my dreams. Except of course for that one time I took Tylenol PM and then dreamt my great grandmother was an evil cowgirl out to kill me....my first and only encounter with sleep aids.

I guess another little secret of pregnancy are the incredibly vivid dreams - the kind of dreams that make you wake up in a panic wondering what's wrong with you to imagine such things and make you hesitant to fall back asleep for fear someone might be able to tell what you're dreaming about. Sure, "they" (by they I mean my Dr.) say many women experience "insomnia" related to pregnancy - but I call it "wtf is going on in my head, I don't want to see it anymore, so I'll just stay awake." And I'm not talking steamy type dreams, I'm talking freak show dreams that make me wonder if my baby isn't secretly trying to lure me into parental submission already by instilling fear of everything in me.

In addition to the delightful nightmares, the AM peeing is out of control. Short of cutting off all liquids at 3:00PM, I'm not sure what I can do to prevent the 1:30, 3:00 and 4:30 AM bathroom trips. Nothing funny to add here - really any advice would be much appreciated.

I'm beginning to think the fact that my mom has a knack for calling when I'm napping or already in bed for the evening, isn't so much a coincidence but payback.

Body Rockin

Ah, the weekend. What used to be the most anticipated days of the week are now the longest two days of my life. There is only so much TV one can watch - and this is coming from a self proclaimed TV junkie, only so much I want to read, and only so much sewing I can do in my basement sweat shop. That leaves shopping, eating, sleeping, and excercise as viable options of entertainment. Given my shopping experience last weekend (see "i like candy" post), I'm sure it's no suprise to those that know me that this weekend I chose eating and sleeping.

I chose LOTS of sleeping and even more eating. Thus far in the pregnancy I have been able to control myself for the most part in regards to the food consumption. However, after my Dr. appt on Friday I needed to stop at Target to buy the biggest plastic storage bin they sell - this is to put away all of my pre pregnancy clothes that are now taunting me in my closet and causing major meltdowns almost every AM while I try to find something to wear. Instead of going straight to the storage section, I take a detour through the food aisles, nothing is especially appealing until I get to those final two aisles - the "all things chocolate" aisle and the pure sugar candy aisle. Needless to say, I check out and pay $35 - my storage bin was $14, I'll let you do the math on how much I spent on candy.

The highlight of this weekend was shoving the contents of my entire closet into the plastic bin, it wasn't just depressing for the clothes that don't currently fit, it was a whole new level of depressing to find hidden clothes that didn't fit me before I got with child. Just when I think I've exhausted all my energy at the pity party, I find my stash of "big clothes" that I kept after losing some weight a few years ago. Thinking I"ll make myself feel better by knowing that at least I still fit into these clothes - I take off my sweatpants and pull on a pair of size 4 (like I"d really tell you the real size) pants that 6 months ago would have fallen to my ankles - they won't button. Back to the couch, more candy.

Now, I know I'm supposed to gain weight with pregnancy, I'm not an idiot. But as someone that has always struggled with body image issues, not just from weight, but from height - adding extra surface area to this already quite big canvas is a bit upsetting, despite any logical reasoning. I spent my weekend working my way through my candy purchases - for those of you concerned about the health risks in doing this - don't worry I drank plenty of water. On Sunday evening, as I'm talking to my husband in the kitchen, I notice something stuck all over my pants, on the front, sides, ass...it was pop rocks. I had pop rocks stuck to my butt.

In an attempt to avoid becoming the poster girl for gestational diabetes, I guess I should find a new craving. So long candy.

White Bread

I'm so mad at my husband that I haven't spoken to him in days - which for him means i'm not screaming at him anymore, so i'm not sure who is showing who here. I think our poor dogs can sense my unbridled emotions, which have ranged in the past 24 hours from pure joy to manic depression to ravenous hatred and back to a distilled joy. All of these things bubble below the surface as I sit watching Project Runway last night. Some of this is my husbands fault, but I think it's also due to the surge of hormones that tend to make most girls weepy and needy but for some reason turn me into a superhero whose powers are spite, revenge, cold hearted comments and icy glares. Those of you who knew me in the late 90's on the birth control shot, and subsequently begged me to get off of it, I am 100 times worse during this pregnancy.

I was on such an emotional rollercoaster yesterday, that I didn't even eat dinner. Around the second commercial break of Project Runway I realize I'm starving, but have no desire to make anything. A loaf of white bread - gasp! yes, white bread - stares at me from the stovetop. I bought it earlier this week at the grocery store. We haven't had white bread in our house in years, opting usually for the wheat varieties because people tell us that 's what we should eat and who am I to make my own decisions on these things. I ate a piece yesterday and it was squishy and yummy, I questioned why I ever switched to wheat - it's not like I ever ate 10 sandwhiches a day and the bread conversion has somehow been a major life saver. Generally, I buy bread a few times a year when the mood hits me for a sandwhich, and the loaf usually goes bad before I even eat half of it - so I think on this issue I will take a stand and tell the health gurus to shove it.

I get the peanut butter out of the pantry, and the strawberry perserves out of the fridge - both also recently purchased at the grocery store along with the white bread when a good old fashioned PB & J craving hit me. Despite my sour mood, and the fact that the dogs are scared to hell of me right now, we did have fun for a fleeting moment dancing around the kitchen while I made my sandwhich singing "It's peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time." My pups, they know just how to cheer me up.

I like candy

A Sunday morning 6 months ago:

I wake up at 1PM, drink some water followed by a fast food breakfast sandwhich chased with a mimosa. Read the Sunday paper on the front porch while sipping a bloody mary and smoking cigarettes. Have an early evening BBQ with friends, drink some beers.

My Sunday morning at 17 weeks pregnant:

Wake up at 10AM, eat a peach, drink some cranberry juice. Sit on the couch and watch a little Ice Truckers followed by some "What Would Brian Boitano Make?" My sense of smell is so strong now that I can smell my dogs ass from across the room and it makes me sick to my stomach. I eventually decide I should probably eat and get an instant hankering for a Cinnabon and a Mochalotta Chill. I ask Chris to research if I can in fact even drink a Mochalotta Chill - his research is inconclusive, I decide to risk it and head for the mall. I call Court on the drive and begin to tell her my pregnancy woes and interrupt her lunch with stories of watermelon vjjs and my fears of boob feeding. I express to her that getting a cinnabon will be the highlight of my weekend.

I arrive at the mall, park at the entrance nearest to Cinnabon, get out my wallet and march with haste directly to the food court. I stand in front of Cinnabon confused as to why the lights are off , I stare blankly at the storefront for a good three minutes and I begin to get teary eyed until I realize that they must have moved locations - I immediately dash to a mall directory. A mall employee at the directory informs me that Cinnabon is closed indefinitely - I think he can sense that I'm about to cry because he quickly tells me that Auntie Anns makes a cinnamon pretzel that could be mistaken for a cinnamon roll. so I go get a stupid pretzel with cream cheese dipping sauce - it was bad but I ate it anyway because at this point I am very hungry, not the pre-pregnancy tummy growling hungry, but the kind of hungry where it feels like the baby is eating my innards. I eat my pretzel at a bench in the mall, spilling cinnamon and sugar all over me, it's in my hair, shirt, jeans - I just don't care. I disgust the people sitting across from me, they get up and leave. I stand up and shimmy and shake all the crumbs off and decide to walk around for a while...

I am grossly unsatisfied by the pretzel breakfast and longing for a Mochalotta Chill. I wander the mall aimlessly, with no desire to try on clothes or even look in any of the stores - I keep hoping I will find a secret Cinnabon location. I give nasty glares to the cute 19 year old girls in their short shorts with beautiful summer tans. I can tell they're whispering about the sugar that is still all over me. My sweet tooth still raging, I stop in the candy by the pound store and buy $7 worth of jelly bellys. I can't even remember the last time I ate pure candy, and it's pretty damn good. I pop jelly bean after jelly bean for a good half hour stroll around the mall. As I'm exiting, I see Hagan Daaz has a "Coffee Baristo" frozen beverage - I decide I can pretend it is a Mochalotta Chill and gladly pay the $6.

While waiting for them to make this drink that costs more than a $5 bill, I begin imagining how delicious it must be because it's so expensive. I suddenly start noticing how long the line is behind me. There is a woman with a little girl, she is so annoying...oh my god...that's going to be me soon. I'm going to have a stroller and a demanding little person and left over tummy fat and a soccer mom haircut. It's so overwhelming - I start feeling light headed...why is my drink taking so long - I"m now having to hold myself up on the counter and tell the register guy that I need a water stat. At this point I'm sweating and dizzy; there are at least 10 people staring at me like I am ODing on drugs. I don't really look pregnant right now, so nobody cares that I'm about to pass out, they probably think I deserve it because of the powder still all over my face (pretzel residue). I literally stumble to a chair 15 feet away, and sit down dizzy and groggy from candy, and it takes me a good 10 minutes to recover. I walk with my head down to the car and whimper the whole way home about how lame I am these days. I the immediately yell at my husband for whatever it is he is doing, because damn it, THIS IS SO UNFAIR.

Don't get me wrong, I am excited we are starting a new adventure in our lives, and I am thrilled we are having a baby - but I am not in love with being pregnant. People keep telling me to cherish and enjoy this time; some women going so far as to tell me it's their most fond memorable moments. Seriously?? Because I have been so clean for the past 4.5 months that on Sunday I GOT HIGH FROM CANDY.