Monday, March 30, 2009


"Did you watch Joy's* video yet?"

"Yeah. You know we could do something like that when I have Punchass."

"We could."

"Would you want to?"


"... Just so you're aware, I'm not going to be nearly as nice as Joy was in her video."

"No. No, you most certainly will not."

*Joy is Adam's cousin who recently had her fourth baby.

Saturday, March 28, 2009


I threw my very first load of baby clothes and gear into the washing machine this week. And then promptly ruined a set of waterproof sheets by melting them to the dryer. It's true, I am THAT awesome.

I guess you could say I"m "officially" nesting. All I want to do is organize. So much so that I'm seriously tempted to go buy all those new organizational things I put on my registry last week because I can't seem to get past the sensation of needing them NOW. RIGHT NOW. TEN MINUTES AGO. Because god forbid her closet not be organized when she arrives. Don't you know she might JUDGE me if that were to happen? How could I possibly be a good mother if her clothes are in piles on the floor instead of carefully and lovingly folded and sorted by size and likelihood of her actually being made to wear that in tiny, yet handy dandy color coordinated bins?! HOW?!!!!

I also think I've picked out the outfit we're going to bring her home in. Maybe. I don't know. I'm sort of wishy washy on whether I believe that's actually all that important. I've yelled at the dog repeatedly for showing the slightest interest in her stuffed animals because they are not his and would become stuffing in mere moments should he believe otherwise. I have a mounting pile of trash off to the side where her dresser will (hopefully) eventually end up, and a chair I need to ask Adam to take downstairs along with his steamer because this is the BABY'S room now and nothing not baby related should EVER pass through these doors, how dare you even think that!

And then! Oh my god, what about an area rug? Rather than try to squeeze a changing table into a room that's obviously too small, I'm opting to change her on the floor. On the carpet. On the nice, light carpet. Obviously, I thought THAT through. So since babies are known to occasionally have exploding diapers of nasty colored poop, we should totally invest in an area rug. A brown rug. A brown rug like the one we already have that is currently being stored in the garage. The one that is probably coated in a fine layer of dust and bugs and mold spores. The same one I know for a fact the dog has peed on. Repeatedly. In blatant defiance WHILE LOOKING ME IN THE EYE. Maybe we could steam it?

These are honestly the things that go flying through my head. Whatever do you mean "is this what Adam has to live with?!" I'm not sure I like your tone. And you just ask him! Ask him how often I interrupt his video games to make him help me! HARDLY EVER! So shut your face. I mean I'M PREGNANT for shit's sake! Eight miserably months so. God, I want a freaking cookie.

Saturday, March 07, 2009


That there arrow would be pointing at the tip of her cute, little, button nose. And those there lips were most certainly inherited from me.

And this would be her angry face. Same angle as the previous photo, just tilted up so you can see her entire face. I think she's scowling because she is of the belief her mama should be allowed to have a donut. Either way, it's nice to see she seems to be growing into her chin.

Thursday, March 05, 2009


Because I'm sure you're all dying to know, I wanted to give you a little rundown of this pregnancy business thus far. In no particular order:

  • I am pathetically emotionally fragile. Case in point: I have cried in utter frustration while at work this week. Twice. So far.

  • My joints, particularly those in my hips and upper thighs, feel as though someone has been using them as a punching bag.

  • As a result of the above mentioned, I am now waddling. You'll shut the hell up if you know what's good for you.

  • I have been diagnosed with gestational diabetes and am now on a relatively strict diet and medication AND I get to stabby myself 4 times a day to note my blood sugar level.

  • Despite being told by my doctor and dietitian and the interwebs that it isn't my fault and there is nothing I could have done to prevent it, it still really bothers me that I'm broken, which leads me to crave comfort foods in the form of macaroni and cheese and donuts. Both of which I am not allowed to have.

  • My belly button is no longer centered on my belly, preferring to hang out off the the right.

  • I have cankles. Despite what all of you are thinking to the contrary, that is not at all funny.

  • My sinuses aren't playing nice resulting in the necessity of the very sexy, height-of-fashion bedtime accessory of a Breath-Right Strip. You know you want me.

  • I have yet to arrange a pediatrician or child care. Both of which I really should have before she's born. As in, THEY WILL NOT LET ME LEAVE THE HOSPITAL WITHOUT HAVING SCHEDULED HER FIRST DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT.

  • Her nursery is STILL not done. At best, we have a place for her to sleep and a method by which to feed her (that would be mah boobies.)

  • I have consciously made the decision to wear brown shoes with a black top because at that point I was already dressed and they were more comfortable. However, this was not before doing it unintentionally because I FORGOT WHAT I WAS WEARING.