We had a new receptionist start and I’m technically her supervisor but not because I’m going on mat leave and what’s the point, right? So even though I’m kind of her supervisor and she’s never heard me complain about anything on her second day she still asked how I was feeling. Tired, like a whale, and a little hormonal, how about you? Or how about, like there’s a bag of rice sitting on my bladder at all times so can we keep this conversation short? Oh wait, the bag of rice is kicking my delicate bits and if you don’t move I might pee on you. I’m also gassy, so don’t breathe too deeply. But my hair is super thick and shiny, just don’t mind the GRAY I pulled out of there yesterday morning. It’s still sitting on the bathroom counter awaiting further inspection. And don’t look too closely at my eyebrows because now I no longer have just one light coloured hair in there, but about eight. And I’m too afraid to rip them out to see whether they’re blonde or white or grey because I’ve done the over plucking thing before and never fully recovered, physically or emotionally. Just thinking about it makes me queasy.
And don’t come too close because baby muffin top is a real thing and nothing makes me feel more like trailer trash. As much as I appreciate the one person who said, via Skype, that “it’s all baby!” it’s so totally not. It’s every bad food choice I ever have or ever will make in my lifetime. And there’s a little boy in there somewhere, too, playing patty cake with my insides, but he’s the least of my worries.
The baby usually moves around like crazy at bed time when I’m just laying down to read. The other day he was kind of lazy so Karl thought it would be great to poke him and wake him up. The kid sure showed us and moved preeeetty much all night long. Every time I rolled (which is becoming more and more now that I’m bigger and bigger) he rolled, too. And our bed squeaked its new squeak. And I slowly lost my mind.
When we moved into our house our bed frame picked up a creak. It drove me nuts at first but I eventually got used to it when I realized there was nothing I could do. Well now it has a metal squeak. All I can say is, I haven’t gained THAT much weight that our stupid IKEA bed shouldn’t be able to maintain our girth. If I didn’t have this bowling ball attached to my abdomen I would totally tear that bed apart, throwing the mattress against the wall, beating the frame with a screwdriver and swearing at it until it caved into silent submission. But I do and tying my shoes is getting harder so my mattress throwing days are probably over for now.
I had an intern at my doctor’s appointment the other day. She was very nice, but very thorough. I probably should have showered beforehand. I’m now worried that there will be a doctor, an intern, and however many nurses and what have yous delivering my baby when the time comes. And maybe their intern friends. Maybe they’ll have their cell phones out, too. And then… Oh, no, the possibilities are just too traumatic to go into.
I always said that I wouldn’t let myself become a teaching opportunity. Sorry guys, go learn on someone who’s done this a couple times. Now, though, I just know that if Dr. Intern wants to see how it’s done and/or deliver my kid I’ll probably let her. Because I’m too frigging nice. And I liked her well enough. And did you catch it? She’s a her. I didn’t even know women wanted to deliver babies in this day and age.
I have a craving for Fruit Loops. I had a lot of cookies this weekend, but some Fruit Loops with unsweetened almond milk sounds like nectar from the gods rights about now. Some smell in the parking lot made me think of them and now I’m flashing back to summer vacations watching Grey’s Anatomy and eating dry Fruit Loops alone on my mom’s living room floor. Except now I’ll be watching Friday Night Lights with my husband and my unborn child auditioning for Stomp and there will be almond milk in there to cut back on the SUGAR. Which, let’s be honest, I don’t really need any more of. I got weighed on Monday. I’ve gained 23 pounds. And that’s not counting the extra 5-10 lbs of holiday weight I was packing right before my birth control stopped working. Thus the unsweetened almond milk. Also, sweet almond milk is vile, except for maybe in a latte or something.
So, in case you’re wondering, I’m kind of hoping this little boy weighs about 30 lbs when he comes out at this point in time. Probably by c-section if that’s the case. Then with all the extra birth stuff that comes out I can finally get started on my six pack. Hey, a girl can dream. Or maybe he’ll weigh seven lbs and my placenta will make up the difference. I still want him to be snuggly, after all. Yeah, I’m going to go with that. Or maybe my leg will just fall off and I can be all, baby weight? What baby weight? I woke up like this!
I had my first fender bender on Tuesday. Well, the first one in traffic where it wasn’t just me versus a parked Mercedes. It was stressful. I’m stressful. What was even more stressful was the fact that I wore a dress to work. Why is that stressful? Because I went to the doctor yesterday afternoon just in case. When you’re growing a baby the doctor always checks the heartbeat at every appointment. That means that pants are a good option. Well, it’s not like the guy isn’t going to deliver my baby or anything, but does he really need to see me in my maternity tights? The answer is no, nobody does.
Thankfully the damage to my car is minor, and the fellow that hit me seemed okay if a little stressed himself. I was a stress case all day, though, and of course I almost got rear ended again this morning by some goon. I would have had a full on melt down and refused to get back in my car until Karl came and picked me up. But I swear I’m not the problem. Regina drivers are the worst. And my doctor telling me that typically car accidents mean you go to the hospital (even if you’re feeling fine?) and that my baby is – and this is a direct quote – “still alive” didn’t help me feel much better about things.
In case you’re still worried, I’m fine and baby’s fine. The guy that hit me was going sideways when it happened so he was clearly attempting to at least stop. My neck was a little stiff yesterday, but that might have had to do with my ridiculously high level of Tuesday-related stress. I got paper cut from a file when I got to work. Then the screen protector started to come off my phone. I so should have stayed in bed yesterday.
It’s been a weird up and down and down then up kind of week. Part of that is 110% the fault of the baby hormones. Monday was good, Tuesday was just terrible, and today started off with me thinking that I seriously should have considered calling in sick because the terrible Tuesday feelings hadn’t really dissipated. Then things started to pick up a little, I got my hands on some dark chocolate peanut butter cups and an iced Americano, finally made it to the post office, and all was well. Plus, my huge stress cloud started to disperse. That thing was no joke. It made me want to crawl under my duvet and cry for four hours. That’s baby hormones for you, making you feel like an irrational teenager all over again.
I have no idea how pregnant teenagers do it. I have a lot more empathy towards them now. I mean, I think I’ve done pretty well with the crazy hormones but when I get stressed, especially where the baby‘s wellbeing is potentially concerned, things can go sideways pretty quickly. Which clearly doesn’t help anything ever but that’s the way it is.
I also think that my stress level has a negative impact on how much the baby moves. It’s like he’s already learning to stay out of my way when I’m in a bad mood, but it kind of has the opposite effect. What I really want when I’m losing my mind is to feel the little sea monster tell me that he’s okay. I mean, I’d rather it come with a jab in my abdomen than my lower regions, but I’m not going to fault the little guy for at least trying.
I want an ice cream maker. And a bigger crock pot. And better food processor. These should be my 2015 goals. My current food processor was a hand-me-down from my mother in law. It works well enough, but it’s got a crack in the bowl and it’s only a matter of time until it doesn’t do its thing anymore. I also feel like I could get something that works better.
My crock pot and I are really working on our relationship. When we moved to Regina I tried using it again for the first time since we were newlyweds. I mastered one recipe. I’m trying to branch out a bit but I lack a lot of motivation. I made beef dip this week for the first time ever, though, and it was life altering. And there were leftovers. Crock pot meals that come with leftovers are like heaven smiling down on me. So easy! Anyway, our crock pot isn’t very big and I want to be able to start freezing some leftovers. Thus the need for a bigger crock pot. I need to be a super mom, after all.
And an ice cream maker. I hear there’s an attachment you can get for your KitchenAid. How amazing would that be? I really like ice cream (because I’m a human with a heartbeat) but I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t as sweet as it always it and maybe had more stuff in it. Like muffins, I don’t need my ice cream to bring all the sweet. I’m happy to just eat coconut whipped cream plain or with a little vanilla. Make it a little colder, and add some fudgy or doughy bits in there? Sorry, my rumbling tummy just woke up the baby. With some beef dip beforehand? If I got hit by a meteor after eating that I would die happy and accomplished. Some sort of ice cream making tool would really make my life better. Just saying.
I should mention that when I have a baby shower. Sure, baby stuff is all well and good, but I would definitely be a better mother if I had an ice cream maker, bigger crock pot, and superior food processor. The crock pot could even double as a baby bath. Minimalism at its finest.
In other news, I want to be a hat person. I think I pull of a toque reasonably well, but I really want to be able to pull off those straw fedoras that are like what Bruno Mars wears. At least, I think he might wear hats like that. I want to be that cool. I keep trying, too, but every time I try one on either my mom or husband laughs at me. And then I get offended, look at myself in the mirror, and realize they’re right and that I do look absurd. Then I pout about it because why can’t I wear cool hats like that?
Karl and I are going to look at a glider tomorrow night and I think it might be “the one”. Most gliders are micro suede, which we hate, and cost as much as a small car. They may or may not come with the coveted foot stools. This one isn’t micro suede, doesn’t come with a foot rest, and costs less than a bicycle. Initially we wanted it all, and I was willing to recover/replace cushions if possible. But then I had a reality check and decided that it’s okay to settle sometimes. The thing is, I don’t sew. At all, really. I would attempt a no-sew cushion cover if I had to, but in my perfect world I could just bust out the staple gun and have my way with things. I still could, I guess, but the results would likely vary. This glider we’re looking at is dark wood, so it’s going to get painted an actual colour, but the cushions are oatmeal and they look like they’re in good shape, plus they don’t really clash with the whole ambience of the room. They’re also the kind of thing that could be easily replaced or (maybe) recovered the no-sew way. So probably just replaced. And foot rests aren’t really that hard to figure out or critical.
This is my life. Trying to figure out baby room furniture, art, what not. We need to pull the room’s closet door out of the garage and paint it white, make sure it has knobs, etc. I also need to find some baskets and itty bitty coat hangers for the closet so I have something new to cry over. Aaaand I need to look at all the clothes we were given and figure out what else we’re going to need. We have some big decisions ahead. Stroller brand? Baby wrap brand? Bottle brand? Do we have any blankets for him? Mesh bumpers for the crib? A mobile? Am I the worst mother in the world that the blinds we’re hanging aren’t anywhere close to blackout and I refuse to use a sound machine? What about a video baby monitor? I know it’s like spying on your kids, but he’s so young he won’t even know. He’ll grow up in a world where he has a cell phone by the time he’s three (JUST KIDDING) and 20,000 Facebook friends so being on camera 24/7 will totally be normal. Besides, I don’t want to be the mom that goes into her kid’s room twenty times a night to make sure he’s still there. I’ll just check my video monitor even more. We’re also not planning on keeping him in our room for long because we want him to get used to neglect at an early age. Also, our bedroom is small and whatever he sleeps in (crap… something else to figure out) will probably be right in the way. So I feel like getting our kid used to constant scrutiny is the best choice for us. Although have you seen how much those things cost? Might as well just get him an iPhone and be done with it.
FYI, this post took three days to write. I bet you’d never guess that by the paltry 2,500+ word count but I totally tricked you. Is it Friday yet?