A conversation I just had with my husband:
Me: “I want turkey burgers tonight… can you pick up some buns on the way home from work?”
Him: “Okay, I’ll get some bread for sandwiches too. Anything else?”
Me: “Maybe a tomato?”
Him: “You should have gotten tomatoes at the farmer’s market.”
Me: “Okay, but I didn’t, so can you get me one?”
Him: “Yeah, okay. What else do we need?”
Me: “For dinner? Nothing.”
Him: “In general.”
Me: “Are you doing a full grocery shopping trip without me?” (This has never happened, in five years of living together.)
Me: “Um, okay, I’ll take a look around and call you back.”
Him: “Well don’t give me a big list, I’m only picking up a few things.”
Me: “You just said you were doing a full shopping trip.”
Him: “No, I didn’t.”
Me: “Yes, you did.”
Him: “Why would I do that without you? I never do that without you…”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU MEN LATELY I SWEAR TO GOD I CAN’T EVEN TALK TO YOU WITHOUT WANTING TO POKE PENCILS IN YOUR EYES!!
PS: Also, Canadian government? You’re not escaping my wrath today either. All the tax money you get, and you can’t even let me get on your goddamned Do Not Call List website because it’s overwhelmed today? UPGRADE YOUR SHIT PLEASE (oh, and give me health insurance before I have to give birth okay?)
For about a month now, I’ve been making a pointed effort to sleep on my side as opposed to my back. My husband woke me up one night to tell me roll onto my side; usually, I wake up on my back. It’s difficult for me, so far — which is funny, since I fall asleep more easily when lying on my side and even have a big, firm, fluffy pillow designed since side-sleepers.
But it might just get easier, because I learned exactly why I need to avoid sleeping on my back.
I dreamt that I walked down a street in Connecticut — the street my paternal grandmother used to live on. It was fall, and the trees were just starting to turn. I held my daughter’s hand (she looked exactly like me when I was a kid), but I was in a lot of pain. A bandage was wrapped around my mid-section, stained with blood on the right side, and I could feel a sharp, stabbing ache in my back. Still, she was holding my hand, so happy to be with me, and there was no way I was going to let something as pansy as a little bit of pain interrupt my time with my girl.
Still, it hurt; we were going into a building, and I barely managed to make it through the doorway because my steps were slowing as the pain grew. Finally, I woke up…
… from sleeping on my back.
You know how sometimes you sleep on your arm funny, and it cramps up? I guess that is what happened to me — I slept on my back, my uterus crushed some vein, and my back cramped up. You know, exactly what the books warn you will happen. Of course, they’re all followed by dire warnings about how you can cause brain damage to your child because their blood supply is cut off, and so I laid there (on my side), paranoid to the point of tears, until I felt her move. Phew.
I need one of those cool little wedgie pillows to keep myself propped up on my side!
PS: Holy geez, September is almost over already…
Everything this week has left me in a state of fuzzy joy.
We are having a daughter. Her picture is taped to my computer monitor; she is perfect, and her little nose is just waiting to be smooched. At the ultrasound, our technician was laughing about how much our girl was moving — we saw her little fists and toes wiggling. The next day, our midwife listened to our daughter’s heartbeat; it was a bit fast, but explained by the sound of it: thumpthumpthumpthump WHOOOOOSH thumpthumpthumpthump! Again, our baby girl was active, her arms and legs sweeping around. I couldn’t stop laughing delightedly at the sound of her. Seeing Chris grinning, uncontrolled, while watching or hearing our baby just pulled at my heartstrings.
So, too, did this afternoon. We were sitting on the floor in the “nursery” (which is at the moment really more like a storage room) as he flipped through the instruction manual for our new stroller, with our new carseat set in the corner behind him. Something about seeing my husband preparing for the baby, watching him concentrate so intently on putting this together so it would be perfect and safe for her, just made me melt. I dunno. It’s seeing him preparing for the job of “daddy”, I think.
Speaking of, when I woke up this morning to Chris sitting on the edge of the bed and the dogs bouncing around the side, the first thing I thought was I can’t believe I found someone to share my genes with. I mean, that’s pretty intimate. That’s a pretty big leap in life.
In less emotional but still awesome things that made my week so far so great, we renewed our World of Warcraft accounts. I got a library card, and we went to the farmer’s market where I picked up some phenomenal “first of the season” Macintosh apples, and some gorgeous, tasty local honey. I have a serious love of honey. And I cooked dinner every night — there is something really wonderful about sharing a home-made meal, with fresh local ingredients, with someone you love. Even if I did forget to make cornbread >:[
I apologize to those of you whose blogs I usually follow & comment on more closely; we’ve been so busy this week that finding a solid hour to sit, read, digest, and respond has been difficult. Next week!
Sadly I have no way to share the ultrasound pictures yet, but…
Our baby is a girl!
Today at 1pm. Please cooperate, baby, so I can start planning your nursery instead of fretting over it.
This week, I’m linking everyone over to SuZ at Not Your Typical Mommy. I love this blog! Not only the layout & background, but the sense of humour in every post is engaging. SuZ’s super cute 18 month old daughter, Roo, steals every post that she’s featured in, and it makes me think they’d probably be a really delightful family to hang around :] Drop by and say hello!
It’s the first day of Fall! This could be any road where I grew up… gorgeous!
So I’m lounging around yesterday afternoon in my undies at my computer, talking to my mom online, a glass of Nestea at my side (I love this stuff… I drink it all the time, then tell my trainer I’m drinking “water with lemon”. What? I squeeze fresh lemon into it, and it’s made with WATERandpowder, so technically I’m just omitting that it’s full of sugar), and my dogs being perfectly quiet on their loveseat. Is that sad, that we’ve basically let the dogs take over the loveseat? They have their own down comforter and wool sweater. We actually bought the sweater for Chris and he, being the way he is, tossed it on top of the couch when we got it home — then as soon as we turned our backs, Buffy pulled it off the couch and made it HER SWEATER WHICH NO ONE CAN TOUCH.
That reminds me of this cute video I took of Buffy & Joss fighting when Buffy got her head stuck in a hole in her sweater (sorry about the crappy lighting):
ANYHOW, I’m sitting at my computer. The phone rings. It’s not a long-distance ring, which means it isn’t Chris; the name on Caller ID is “Janet” something. I answer, and turns out this Janet is a member of my city’s Welcome Wagon — she’s in the area, she heard I just moved in (who told her?), and would I like her to stop by? I’m hesitant; then she mentions that she has free stuff from local businesses, and I tell her SURE! COME SEE ME!
The next ten minutes are filled with frantic straightening up (thank goodness I swept & mopped yesterday) and a distraught stare at my sink full of dirty dishes. Usually I do the dishes before I go to bed, but yesterday I cut the pad of my thumb on the lid of bottle of olive oil (no, seriously… second time I’ve done this) and it stung too damned much for me to fuck with hot soapy water.
But check it out, I got some sweet stuff from this lady:
– 2 toothbrushes from local dentists; the third gave me some floss
– a free haircut at a local stylist (score! remember how I was telling you I wanted to get bangs, mom?)
– $15 gift certificate to a spa, which I will totally put towards that pedicure I’ve been wanting
– free appetizer at one restaurant, free lunch at another
– free oil change & a keychain from a Ford dealership
– pampering session (aka sales pitch) from a Mary Kay dealer
– 2 pens from various financial firms
– notepad from a private school (or I guess an “independent school”) where tuition is $12000 a year
But most pleasing to me was the tidbit of information that there is a farmer’s market at one of the local malls three days a week. Sadly, it only runs through the end of September, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make out like a bandit this coming week when my darling husband and I get there FIRST THING IN THE MORNING to pick out all the good stuff. And, I got a map of all the “pick your own produce” farms in the county, which I am totally thrilled about (although I will point out that http://www.pickyourown.org is an excellent resource for this as well).
I love this city so much more than where we used to live. I mean seriously, a Welcome Wagon? Most importantly, SHE ASKED ME if I was expecting, with an understanding gesture towards my little baby bump. I could have cried and hugged her. Then I told her yes, then she told me that they do a “Baby Shower” Welcome Wagon to welcome my baby to the community too.
How adorable is that?
On a more solemn note — I love you dearly, Nana, and I will always miss you; all of my memories of you are inspiring and warm. May you rest in peace.
I’m totally keen on this maternity/nursing wear site, Boob, that I just learned about from Momma In FlipFlops2. She’s running a giveaway for both nursing wear and maternity wear, which is sweet & you should totally drop by if you are in need for either. That shirt above is $70, so is quite unlikely to be part of my wardrobe, but it sure is cute 🙂
Caffé Demetre is like a crackhouse for people with a sweet tooth. It’s a “restaurant” that serves desserts ONLY, with fresh ice cream made daily. We’ve gone a few times with friends, but tonight, we went because I wanted something hot & sweet, Chris wanted ice cream, and since Demetre’s is right next to the gym we had been daydreaming about it. The only sweet thing in the house was a quarter of a baked acorn squash w/maple syrup & butter, or a granola bar, so we decided to spoil ourselves.
For all my waxing poetic about the virtues of exercise, I am still a pregnant woman and my husband is still a sweets freak.
I ordered a slice of apple pie, warmed up, with no ice cream; he ordered “Fridges of Madison County”, which is a warmed slice of chocolate pie served with white chocolate ice cream and covered with swirls of fudge. I probably shouldn’t have ordered what I did, since it was tasteless and warmed in a microwave which left the crust mushy and the contents spottily hovering between “refrigerated” and “superheated”. Anyhow. I ate it all, so it couldn’t have been that bad.
It’s interesting how, knowing that parenthood is heading my way, my perspective on kids has changed. I admit to being one of those women that probably annoyed you mothers so much with my barely concealed expression of distaste whenever I heard a crying baby, saw a toddler racing down the grocery aisle, or had to listen to your teenager talk. Okay, I still grimace at teenagers. We had a table of them nearby at Demetre’s and overheard a girl there ask, “So, why did you get your piercings?” — to which the reply was a disinterested male voice: “Well, uh… cuz my parents didn’t want me to.”
Chris and I locked gazes. I smirked. He exhaled, a slow and controlled motion accompanied by the drumming of his fingertips on the table. The girl giggled; Chris flicked a glance over at their table and growled, “I hope our son is not an emo boy.”
I have to agree. I guess everyone has a “stereotype” that pushes their buttons in all the wrong ways, and that’s mine. Hippy, preppy, goth, jock, slacker, overachiever, nerd, whatever… I don’t care. But emo? Fuck. (Dear unborn child: If, in fourteen years, you are indeed an emo, I will have deleted this post because I love you too much to be a judgmental bitch and I should know better than this … either that or because I’m afraid of the poems you’ll compose about how your parents must hate you, which you may be doing regardless… wow, I’m really screwed either way, aren’t I?)
ANYHOW, shortly after this conversation, a trio of women were seated beside us. I am a shy person by nature and certainly not one given to staring, so I didn’t even glance at them. One of the women giggled and said something like “Thank God, right next to the washroom!” Chris grinned and leaned forward to tell me, “They’re all pregnant.”
Sure enough, all three of them were gloriously, bowling-ball-esque pregnant. My little heart swelled with sisterhood, but of course I didn’t approach them. If I had a more noticeable baby bump, maybe; I felt like some sort of imposter for still being able to see my toes. But it felt so nice to have other pregnant women there, likely with the same dessert cravings, enjoying some bonding time together.
PS: To the waiter — sorry! Pregnant chicks get gassy sometimes. Maybe if you hadn’t ignored our table for 15 minutes, you would have walked over at a more opportune moment.