Tuesday, December 30, 2008


Alright. I'll admit we already have a name picked out for the darling little one. It's a name we agreed upon before we got pregnant and we're not to be swayed.

However, that doesn't mean I'm not still interested in your suggestions (especially Michael's). In fact, I was prepared to lie to you all about our naming status just to get them. But I couldn't do that to you, dear interwebs, because we have history. And I have standards. Sub-par standards but my point is they EXIST. So I'm proposing a compromise. I want to hear the wicked, awful things you wish for us to name our preshus, widdle babe and I will pick my favorite to be her bloggy name up until she decides to forcefully and painfully makes her entrance into this world and I then decide to tell you her real name.

I may also reward you with cookies. Maybe.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008


(After watching a Kay diamond commercial)

"Did you realize that you can't be 'The One' unless you buy expensive and fancy gems and baubles?"

"That is what the diamond companies would love for you to believe but don't you fret. I'm a rebel so you don't have to worry about any of that."


Sunday, December 21, 2008


"You know, you really should talk to the baby so she learns to recognize your voice. That way she'll find you comforting."

"She can't hear me over all your crazy loud gastrointestinal noises."

"Yes, she can! Shut up."

"Well, then what should I say to her?"

"Whatever you want."

"Fine. Hi, Baby! We're going to play broomball except your mommy can't play because you came along and ruined her season."

"Oh, you are just so (CENSORED) endearing."

Saturday, December 20, 2008


"I've got bills! And I've got the skills to pay the bills. Booty bounce!" (Complete with real-life kung fu butt jiggle)

"You call those skills?"

(Pointed glare)

"I guess I'm just a hater."

"THAT'S RIGHT! Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"...You're weird."

"It's all a part of my charm."

Monday, December 15, 2008

BABY v. 1.0.5

Alright. I'll admit it. There are some amazingly wonderful side effects to being pregnant. I mean, for one, people are extra special nice to you. They carry things for you, to the extent you aren't required to life a danty, delicate finger to move your stuff into your baby daddy's house (now conveniently known as "your" house). They go get burn cream for you at 10 o'clock at night after you set your palm on a hot burner. They even give you not one but two homemade chocolate chip cookies at 8:30 in the morning because there were extra and they wanted to make sure you got some.

And, as if that were not enough, let us all not forget The Boobs. Oh sweet god, The Boobs. The voluptuous, undeniable swelling. The subtly heaving mass that makes men fall to their knees in a quivering pile. Not only are The Boobs memorizing to behold, they are a force to be reckoned with. An entity all their own that DEMANDS respect and immediate action and gets it.

I really like The Boobs. Like, really really.

But, despite all that, despite the glory and the power, all in all, I don't like being pregnant.

Tsk tsk me all you want. It's the truth.

I don't know if you've been told, but this gig can be miserable and I will freely admit that I am not the sort who finds any sort of enjoyment, miracle of life bullshit or no, in feeling like warmed over ass for three plus months. Warmed over ass that is still hungry but can't eat because.. um, yeah. Definitely going to throw up dinner but don't want to throw up dinner but knows resistance is futile and don't you tell me what calmed your stomach because I'll just throw that up too. Or worse, being far enough past dinner that when the incessant need to vomit does strike, I'm forced to drink just enough water so there is something in my stomach to vomit SO IT WON'T HURT AS BADLY.

And you want to know what else? The only way I sleep comfortably and, most importantly, SOUNDLY through the night is ON MY STOMACH. I don't do my side.

Guess who doesn't have any other option?

Guess who also hasn't slept the entire way through the night in four months? Same person who has to get up to pee at least once every night. Same person who has to suffer through throat clogging coughs and colds because I CAN'T TAKE ANY DAMN MEDICINE. I hate feeling enormous. I hate feeling that I'm just days away from the patented pregnancy waddle. I hate stretch marks and my achy back in the morning FROM SLEEPING ON MY SIDE, and I'll tell you what. I was never a big drinker but I'd kill for a beer.

And you know what? I know I'm not alone. I know I am not the only woman to ever suffer during pregnancy but I'm not going to tell you all I enjoy this time when I don't. About the only thing left for me then to look forward to are those pregnancy milestones, each of which I've yearned for in anticipation. Milestones like hearing the heartbeat for the very first time, like feeling the baby kick and then feeling the almost daily tap, tap, tap and then the complex acrobatic performances on the car ride home. Even more special to me was when I finally got to share the experience with Adam and he felt the light drumming of little hands and feet on his fingers.

And then. The coolest deal. The milestone I've been anxiously waiting for since I found out I was pregnant. The milestone that made a lot of the suffering worth while. Friday I finally got to see Lemon Baby (who is now roughly 10.5 inches long) for the first time. And, even more exciting, I got to see Baby v. 1.0.5's cash and prizes flashed across a screen for all the see.

Proportionate eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks crowned with a gigantic forehead.

Tummy and chest and head featuring a teensy nub of a nose and the outline of an ear. Also a disembodied hand.

Enormous kangaroo feet that like to press painfully into vital organs.

Grainy, blurry, female baby bits. (Also referred to as her first nudey picture because I'm nothing if not grossly inappropriate.)

Yes, Dear Interweb. Baby v. 1.0.5 is a girl.

I am currently preparing to lose my shit in a most indelicate and unattractive way.