As previous posts suggest, Wednesday was not a fantastic day for me.
I can't help but to wonder if I brought some of the misery upon myself by "overdoing" the weekend (gasp! I actually attended a barbeque, helped clean the house, and hauled crap off to Goodwill!)
Tuesday was rough at work (nausuea. backaches, exhaustion) but I stuck it out like a trooper. My prize at the bottom 'o the cereal box? When I got home, I was THRILLED to see a huge diaper box waiting on the front porch for me!
My brother-in-law (Mr. Hubby's side) and sister-in-law packed it full of the most awesome hand-me-down harvest of pregnancy books, infant clothes, accessories, and toys I could imagine. I’ve had so much fun unpacking and repacking that box – I’m determined to put fresh shelf paper in “the kid’s” dresser before filling it with goodies. I presented one of the tiny onesies to Suki (my 2yo 15lb Japanese Chin/Beagle mix) for a sniff-test and she had never looked more puzzled by anything in her life. I’m hiding all the booties away ‘till there are tiny human feet to occupy them, for fear they turn into pet toys, and because I’m very very tempted to put them on Suki and watch her march around looking bewildered by her own paws. Oooooh, having typed that, I wonder if any of the baby clothes I have now would fit my cats?
Later Tuesday evening I attending a rollergirl’s 40th birthday party; her husband rented the entire rink so every person there was a birthday guest. It was very very strange for me to see how much my teammates have improved - time didn't stop without me? And even stranger was not skating myself - both my regular doctor and my midwife are against me rollerskating for fear I take a hard fall. . . my "but I'm trained to fall properly!" argument is received by deaf ears. I figure if I'm not going to allow myself something as probably harmelss as Diet Coke, I really should stick to the whole "no skating allowed" gig. I actually managed to not be jealous of their mobility (perhaps I was afraid I had forgotton how to skate?) and I cheered people on instead.
I had a good time catching up with many people for the first time in 10 weeks, and may let myself get roped into becoming a “volunteer coordinator” for our local bouts. I'm just afraid of succumbing to "helium hand" (over willingness to volunteer for tasks) then find that I'm too sick and tired to do a decent job. At minimum, I think my derby team needs a visibly pregnany cheerleader to waddle around for drama's sake.
The only minor bump in the evening was that out of the blue, one of my teammates said "whatever you do, if it's a girl, don't name it XXXXXXX". I was perplexed because I had no recollection of telling her that was #1 on my girl-name list. She went on to say, "My sister-in-law named her girl XXXXXXX, and since it is one of the most popular baby girl names I'm just sure she's going to be completely confused once she hits pre-school . . ." I responded by blushing and stuttering something along the lines of XXXXXXX being one of my top-five names. Just a few moments before, another rollergirl did a really bad job of hiding absolute confusion at my #1 boy-name. So I'm thinking it'd be a good idea for me to shut the hell up about what I may or may not name this spawn?
Forgetting that I am indeed quite pregnant and now a giant wuss, I made the horrific mistake of not leaving the party until 9 getting to sleep until 11 “on a school night” which surely contributed to my hideous Wednesday. Shame on me for attempting such badassitude. :)
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
in case you were wondering . . .
If you eat low-sugar apple oatmeal with plenty of milk and follow that up with a big glass of water and follow that up with a "oh Mr. Hubby, I'm so glad you take good care of me" teary fit on the couch which prompts a snotty coughing fit, which in turn, prompts gagging, you too can make a moderately gross discovery:
Apple oatmeal, bile and water kinda taste like alcoholic cider!
And that's the happy part.
I also discovered that said oatmeal concotion jammed into one's sinuses is quite difficult to remove.
Years and years from now, I'll have a sinus infection requiring an exam by a prominent ear, nose & throat specialist who will write a groundbreaking medical paper involving discovering a chunk of rehydrated apple deep in my nasal cavity. Or perhaps said apple chunk will be as useful as penicillin, and I'll startle the medical world by never enduring another head cold in my entire life.
Having left you with that gem o' information, I'm off to bed.
Apple oatmeal, bile and water kinda taste like alcoholic cider!
And that's the happy part.
I also discovered that said oatmeal concotion jammed into one's sinuses is quite difficult to remove.
Years and years from now, I'll have a sinus infection requiring an exam by a prominent ear, nose & throat specialist who will write a groundbreaking medical paper involving discovering a chunk of rehydrated apple deep in my nasal cavity. Or perhaps said apple chunk will be as useful as penicillin, and I'll startle the medical world by never enduring another head cold in my entire life.
Having left you with that gem o' information, I'm off to bed.
some days, it's a challange to take care of myself
Today I have vacillated between feeling totally inept and like my own (baffled) commentator. These elements of emotion are not polar opposities, but do make for an interesting jumble.
For instance:
INEPT - This morning I was apparently mistaken to think I could get away with eating cold cereal with 2% milk (instead of protein-heavy eggs and cheddar cheese) before taking a hot shower. I was (of course) all shampooed up when I realized that (1) I felt like I was going to faint and (2) no one was home to hear me fall in the tub.
COMMENTATOR - The best I could think to do was to order myself around in the hopes I'd annoy myself into not fainting: "Alrighty, feeling faint? Best to make that water cooler and get the soap off, then you grab a towel and lay down in front of a fan, yep, she's just overheated".
INEPT - My pets have gotten really good at swooping in and taking care of me (as much as they are able). I sort of came back to reality laying on my bed with sopping wet hair and my cat Michael loudly pestering me for cuddles/ shouting in my ear. It seems that he's absolutely desperate for my attention/affection whenever I feel like hell, I don't know how many times in the past few months I thought I might accidently throw up on him. If he were a person, he might be an EMT, a crisis counselor, or one of those people who specialize on getting suicidal people off building tops.
COMMENTATOR - "okay, the cat is telling you to wake the hell up, perhaps you should try to get your ass to work".
So I got myself to work, physically clean and mostly presentable, and sat behind my desk looking not-TOO-miserable for three hours before deciding that
(SILENT) COMMENTATOR - going back to bed is not a luxury, it was what the baby wants me to do
INEPT - yes, budget be damned, I was going to allow myself to be bossed around by my fetus, buh-bye office.
I scooted home in my 1990 boatmobile,
INEPT - someone remind me to buy some gas and have the transmission looked at,
COMMENTATOR - giving myself distance-to-bed milage reports all the way.
After feeding my pets their lunch I was faced with a now-common problem;
INEPT- I knew I was hungry but absolutely nothing sounded good and I sure as hell didn't have the energy to cook anything.
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find" 'Cause yes, I do become (perhaps inappropiately religious when I'm frazzled).
And behold, frozen Jimmy Dean sausage sandwiches were delivered upto me. I added sharp cheddar and brown mustard, and was quite pleased with
myself.
- Lots of pet-assisted napping -
Time to feed the animals again and
INEPT - "oh Lord, no one is here to feed ME, and I feel like crap again"
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find . . . instant oatmeal"
Then a gently fantastic thing happened: as I was sitting in my sunroom eating my oatmeal, waiting on Suki to finish her buisiness in the dogrun, I heard I little girl singing her little lungs out. She was so unashamed and her voice so high-pitched that she couldn't have been older than 8. I couldn't judge how far away she was, and couldn't see her anywhere, but must assume that she was belting out at top volume. Although I didn't recognize most of the many songs she sang, I admired that she just kept plowing through song after song with varying ability to stay in tune. Finally I recogized "The Star Spangled Banner" and had to stop myself from roaring laughing when the lyrics turned to "Blah blah blah blah blah" and abruptly ended at "for the laaaaaand of the" because she had musicially cornered herself; only a mosquito could hope to hit the "free" note.
Perhaps second-trimester nasuea/exhaustion has caused me to go overly introspective, but I was reminded that sometimes when things get stumby, "blah blah blah" will sufflce.
For instance:
INEPT - This morning I was apparently mistaken to think I could get away with eating cold cereal with 2% milk (instead of protein-heavy eggs and cheddar cheese) before taking a hot shower. I was (of course) all shampooed up when I realized that (1) I felt like I was going to faint and (2) no one was home to hear me fall in the tub.
COMMENTATOR - The best I could think to do was to order myself around in the hopes I'd annoy myself into not fainting: "Alrighty, feeling faint? Best to make that water cooler and get the soap off, then you grab a towel and lay down in front of a fan, yep, she's just overheated".
INEPT - My pets have gotten really good at swooping in and taking care of me (as much as they are able). I sort of came back to reality laying on my bed with sopping wet hair and my cat Michael loudly pestering me for cuddles/ shouting in my ear. It seems that he's absolutely desperate for my attention/affection whenever I feel like hell, I don't know how many times in the past few months I thought I might accidently throw up on him. If he were a person, he might be an EMT, a crisis counselor, or one of those people who specialize on getting suicidal people off building tops.
COMMENTATOR - "okay, the cat is telling you to wake the hell up, perhaps you should try to get your ass to work".
So I got myself to work, physically clean and mostly presentable, and sat behind my desk looking not-TOO-miserable for three hours before deciding that
(SILENT) COMMENTATOR - going back to bed is not a luxury, it was what the baby wants me to do
INEPT - yes, budget be damned, I was going to allow myself to be bossed around by my fetus, buh-bye office.
I scooted home in my 1990 boatmobile,
INEPT - someone remind me to buy some gas and have the transmission looked at,
COMMENTATOR - giving myself distance-to-bed milage reports all the way.
After feeding my pets their lunch I was faced with a now-common problem;
INEPT- I knew I was hungry but absolutely nothing sounded good and I sure as hell didn't have the energy to cook anything.
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find" 'Cause yes, I do become (perhaps inappropiately religious when I'm frazzled).
And behold, frozen Jimmy Dean sausage sandwiches were delivered upto me. I added sharp cheddar and brown mustard, and was quite pleased with
myself.
- Lots of pet-assisted napping -
Time to feed the animals again and
INEPT - "oh Lord, no one is here to feed ME, and I feel like crap again"
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find . . . instant oatmeal"
Then a gently fantastic thing happened: as I was sitting in my sunroom eating my oatmeal, waiting on Suki to finish her buisiness in the dogrun, I heard I little girl singing her little lungs out. She was so unashamed and her voice so high-pitched that she couldn't have been older than 8. I couldn't judge how far away she was, and couldn't see her anywhere, but must assume that she was belting out at top volume. Although I didn't recognize most of the many songs she sang, I admired that she just kept plowing through song after song with varying ability to stay in tune. Finally I recogized "The Star Spangled Banner" and had to stop myself from roaring laughing when the lyrics turned to "Blah blah blah blah blah" and abruptly ended at "for the laaaaaand of the" because she had musicially cornered herself; only a mosquito could hope to hit the "free" note.
Perhaps second-trimester nasuea/exhaustion has caused me to go overly introspective, but I was reminded that sometimes when things get stumby, "blah blah blah" will sufflce.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
stumbling out of the first trimester. . .
Now that I'm safely out of my first trimester I look back at it with a sneer. So long, sucker!
There were many moments of happiness;
hearing the kid's heartbeat,
LizTheBabycatcher said "It's officially not the Flu!" I nearly cried with relief, then immediately thought of my MaineCoon cat, Zachary, when he marched into my life like a stubborn beam of sunshine: parasite-riddled, weighing in at a whopping 10 ounces, and purring like a lawnmower. Before you judge my sanity, I must point out that Zach was/is extremely cute, and I got to bottlefeed him for two weeks, waking every three hours during the night to be sure he didn't become dehydrated.
bonding with Mr. Hubby even more deeply than before,
good griefy, we've been through alot together, but never anything like this . . . I'll spare you the rest of the "how do I love Mr. Hubby, let me count the ways"
realizing that I genuinely like my midwife,
LizTheBabycatcher gave me a short bout of hell for consistantly loosing weight. It took some convincing from both Mr. Hubby (who is brave enough to attend pre-natal appointments) and I that indeed I have been eating as much as I can, and no I'm not afraid of gaining weight. I was nasueated at least 70% of the time, not setting the stage for snack cravings . . . I didn't mention it, but the absence of drinkie-poos probably changed my usual caloric input significantly; ya don't get chubby drinking water non-stop.
Also, she's given me no flack for not wanting the "ohmygawdwhatdiseasedoesbabyhave" test that is famous for both false positives and false negatives, the follow-up test involving a giant needle sucking fluid out of my uterus - NO THANK YOU VERY MUCH, I'd be happy to give birth to a frog at this point.
figuring out how to swoop my uterus from left to right by contorting my belly,
"Lump baby to the left, lump baby to the right, lump baby to the left . . ." until Mr. Hubby accuses me of teasing the poor child in utero.
disowning myself of my breasts
They don't look like the boobies I was issued by the boob-fairy, therefore they are not my boobies, therefore I don't forsee any shame in swinging those suckers out to feed a hungry child. "Oh, mine were much better looking, I'm just borrowing these 'till the kid is done with them . . . I imagine there's a booby-claim-hotline or something that will help reunite me with the boobs I had pre-pregnancy"
etc. etc. etc.
What I find easier to remember about the first trimester is feeling worse than the worst hangover I've ever had in my entire life, and said hangover lasting for approximately two months straight with the longest stretch of "I feel normal" lasting approximately 3 hours. Added bonus of extreme isolation, because feeling 15 seconds from either falling asleep or puking does not make for a fun play date (I had to stay home if I wasn't being paid to be someplace). Added bonus of occasional mild panic attacks, weepy fits, angry fits, ohgawdmyboobieshurt, and marveling in horror that anyone ever have a second child - who can chase a toddler when it's damn near impossible to take care of yourself?
So there. Nyeeeeh.
My very unpopular attitude towards early pregnancy.
APPARENTLY, pregnant women aren't allowed to bitch about being pregnant; I received more scorn than sympathy whenever I was honest about not enjoying myself.
To those individuals:
I'd invite you to bite my left tit, but it seems to have been replaced with someone else's leftie . . .
There were many moments of happiness;
hearing the kid's heartbeat,
LizTheBabycatcher said "It's officially not the Flu!" I nearly cried with relief, then immediately thought of my MaineCoon cat, Zachary, when he marched into my life like a stubborn beam of sunshine: parasite-riddled, weighing in at a whopping 10 ounces, and purring like a lawnmower. Before you judge my sanity, I must point out that Zach was/is extremely cute, and I got to bottlefeed him for two weeks, waking every three hours during the night to be sure he didn't become dehydrated.
bonding with Mr. Hubby even more deeply than before,
good griefy, we've been through alot together, but never anything like this . . . I'll spare you the rest of the "how do I love Mr. Hubby, let me count the ways"
realizing that I genuinely like my midwife,
LizTheBabycatcher gave me a short bout of hell for consistantly loosing weight. It took some convincing from both Mr. Hubby (who is brave enough to attend pre-natal appointments) and I that indeed I have been eating as much as I can, and no I'm not afraid of gaining weight. I was nasueated at least 70% of the time, not setting the stage for snack cravings . . . I didn't mention it, but the absence of drinkie-poos probably changed my usual caloric input significantly; ya don't get chubby drinking water non-stop.
Also, she's given me no flack for not wanting the "ohmygawdwhatdiseasedoesbabyhave" test that is famous for both false positives and false negatives, the follow-up test involving a giant needle sucking fluid out of my uterus - NO THANK YOU VERY MUCH, I'd be happy to give birth to a frog at this point.
figuring out how to swoop my uterus from left to right by contorting my belly,
"Lump baby to the left, lump baby to the right, lump baby to the left . . ." until Mr. Hubby accuses me of teasing the poor child in utero.
disowning myself of my breasts
They don't look like the boobies I was issued by the boob-fairy, therefore they are not my boobies, therefore I don't forsee any shame in swinging those suckers out to feed a hungry child. "Oh, mine were much better looking, I'm just borrowing these 'till the kid is done with them . . . I imagine there's a booby-claim-hotline or something that will help reunite me with the boobs I had pre-pregnancy"
etc. etc. etc.
What I find easier to remember about the first trimester is feeling worse than the worst hangover I've ever had in my entire life, and said hangover lasting for approximately two months straight with the longest stretch of "I feel normal" lasting approximately 3 hours. Added bonus of extreme isolation, because feeling 15 seconds from either falling asleep or puking does not make for a fun play date (I had to stay home if I wasn't being paid to be someplace). Added bonus of occasional mild panic attacks, weepy fits, angry fits, ohgawdmyboobieshurt, and marveling in horror that anyone ever have a second child - who can chase a toddler when it's damn near impossible to take care of yourself?
So there. Nyeeeeh.
My very unpopular attitude towards early pregnancy.
APPARENTLY, pregnant women aren't allowed to bitch about being pregnant; I received more scorn than sympathy whenever I was honest about not enjoying myself.
To those individuals:
I'd invite you to bite my left tit, but it seems to have been replaced with someone else's leftie . . .
Friday, May 25, 2007
Testing . . . Testing . . .
I've begun the process of gettingthehellaway from diaryland.com; the consant "see ___ naked", "buy cheap precriptions", "buy knockoff purses!" spam to my comments section was driving me absolutely batshit crazy. I'm a big fan of bats and the compost-enriching elements of guano, but really . . . at 15 weeks pregnant, any annoyances I can easily squish away will be squished away, and without regret.
To all of you who were kind/bored/insane enough to care about my old blog and take the time to leave me comments, THANK YOU from the depths of my over-inflated ego. In fact, I'm dragging all my old comments over here, 'cause I'm vain like that.
In other news:
I hope to have this place spiffied up soon, please excuse the "choose a template"-ness of it all.
Smooches,
Betti
To all of you who were kind/bored/insane enough to care about my old blog and take the time to leave me comments, THANK YOU from the depths of my over-inflated ego. In fact, I'm dragging all my old comments over here, 'cause I'm vain like that.
In other news:
I hope to have this place spiffied up soon, please excuse the "choose a template"-ness of it all.
Smooches,
Betti
Monday, May 14, 2007
Mother's Day - and the kid won't be here for 6 months!
Schnickies I got spoiled this weekend!
Quick(ish) rundown:Last weekend was Mr. Hubby's 39th birthday, which we spent at my parent's house and HIS parents drove nearly 4 hours to join us for dinner. Our parents haven't spent time together since October 2003 when we got married, and I think everyone was relieved with how mellow the evening was.
I felt that Mr. Hubby needed to have some sort of not-parent-related celebration of his birthday, but knew I couldn't host said celebration since I turn into a nauseated cranky bitch at approximately 9pm every night. SO, I decided to do the next best thing and made plans to go to my parent's house over the weekend, so Mr. Hubby could have people over and be as noisy as late into the evening as he liked.
As it turned out, he had three friends over and grilled out copious amounts of meat, drank beer, and played card games. Much tamer than I expected, but at least he didn't have to worry about taking care of me for over 24 hours. If you've ever taken care of a first-time first-trimester pregnant woman, you'd know that being off the hook is quite a treat.
On Saturday, my Mom took me to a FANTASTIC deli in "Capitol City" where we split the largest reuben sandwich known to man. Then we nosed around Big Lots, because regardless of income level, I love going to Big Lots - it's GhettoFantastic. Then off to WalFart to pick up a few odds and ends and to snear at their abused garden center plants. My mom bought me a very cute peasant-looking shirt and khaki shorts from the maternity section. I knew that pregnancy would change my life for ever - I didn't think that would extend to being happy to own clothes from WalFart.
A mere two hours after eating a ton of corned beef (gee - remember my nearly meat-free days?) I was ready for more food, so we headed for McDonald's for a snack. (Again, Mom paid). THEN, we went to Meijer, which is a little like a super-Target, but has better sale sections; I purchased THREE maternity tops and a pair of (ugly) maternity slacks for a total $20. Big thumbs up to the retail gal who told us about the clearance section when we asked where maternity clothes were located!! Mom bought a pair of Dr. Scholl's sandals for herself, and bought a pair for ME; the excuse being that I'll need comfortable, adjustable sandals to accommodate my swelling feet later on.
See what I mean about being spoiled?
We then went to a nursery to pick up the rest of the bedding plants mom needed for her planters. This one was well ventilated and didn't smell like fertilizer so I was a very happy camper.
When we finally got home I (gasp) ate a snack then fell asleep on the couch for nearly an hour. I woke to the smell of meatloaf in the oven, and I got to watch "Addams Family Values" on satellite cable - bliss.
On Sunday, I slept in a bit and attended a 10:30 church service with my parents, followed by lounging on their back deck with their/my cat Samantha.
Then we were off to my favorite buffet restaurant off in a tiny little town; they serve the best fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the planet, the salad bar is great and full of church-lady concoctions, all the other veggies and meats are great (although who has time for roast beef or ham with chicken like that around?) but perhaps my favorite part is the dessert table. I'm convinced that they have a fleet of elderly church ladies selling pies and cakes to them, the sugar-cream pie is phenomenal but the crown jewels are rhubarb pie and gooseberry pie so tangy that you need a tiny blip of vanilla ice cream on top.
Mmmmm. Can you tell I'm just a wee bit obsessed with food these days? I've had to force myself to eat so much high-protein food lately that I was in seventh heaven to treat myself to a small slice of gooseberry pie . . . I need a gooseberry bush of my own!
When we got home I gave my mom a pedicure. Sounds a little strange, but I've been giving her pedicures since I was 13; I'm good at it, and nothing gets you off the hook for past infractions like granting someone pretty, well-pampered feet. I also seem to recall phrases like "well, it'd be okay for you to _______ if you can do my toes this afternoon . . ." Besides, I remember from my childhood that my Dad isn't particularly good with nail clippers.
While I was tending toes, my Dad was busy washing the outside of my ginormous old car. I caught up with him in time to vacuum the inside of my car while he tended to all those weird vehicular details that only Dads notice.
I returned home to Mr. Hubby before dark, and he helped me with a freelance project before helping me make rice krispie treats as a thank-you for my coworker who gave me a grocery bag full of maternity clothes.
I can't and won't use this weekend as the standard for all future Mother's Day celebrations because I'm all too aware that I was spoiled absolutely rotten by both Mr. Hubby and my parents. Obvious thanks to those who actively 'poiled me, and a big smooch to "the kid" who is making all of this possible.
Perhaps we can work out some sort of arrangement that involves less nausea and exhaustion on my part and serious 'poilage on your part after you're born?
COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
nikki - 2007-05-14 15:12:09 She's alive!!!! Isn't getting spoiled the best?!?!?!??!
-------------------------------
MDB - 2007-05-15 02:11:56 Dude. I want your mom. Though, I must admit, mine's pretty awesome. And I might be getting to see her again this summer, which really WILL spoil me. Go look-I got pictures up!
-------------------------------
ursula - 2007-05-15 21:31:58 I missed the "Hi, I'm pregnant," post. So, congratulations!
-------------------------------
alfredsmom - 2007-05-16 11:57:37 Glad you posted, I was getting worried about you! Sounds like an awesome weekend. Ive been to a Meijers before (in MI and OH). They are pretty cool. Come on over to typepad!
-------------------------------
Alie - 2007-05-17 23:47:02 S-P-O-I-L-E-D yeah! that's meeeee! Just kidding, really gald to hear you had a rockin day!
Quick(ish) rundown:Last weekend was Mr. Hubby's 39th birthday, which we spent at my parent's house and HIS parents drove nearly 4 hours to join us for dinner. Our parents haven't spent time together since October 2003 when we got married, and I think everyone was relieved with how mellow the evening was.
I felt that Mr. Hubby needed to have some sort of not-parent-related celebration of his birthday, but knew I couldn't host said celebration since I turn into a nauseated cranky bitch at approximately 9pm every night. SO, I decided to do the next best thing and made plans to go to my parent's house over the weekend, so Mr. Hubby could have people over and be as noisy as late into the evening as he liked.
As it turned out, he had three friends over and grilled out copious amounts of meat, drank beer, and played card games. Much tamer than I expected, but at least he didn't have to worry about taking care of me for over 24 hours. If you've ever taken care of a first-time first-trimester pregnant woman, you'd know that being off the hook is quite a treat.
On Saturday, my Mom took me to a FANTASTIC deli in "Capitol City" where we split the largest reuben sandwich known to man. Then we nosed around Big Lots, because regardless of income level, I love going to Big Lots - it's GhettoFantastic. Then off to WalFart to pick up a few odds and ends and to snear at their abused garden center plants. My mom bought me a very cute peasant-looking shirt and khaki shorts from the maternity section. I knew that pregnancy would change my life for ever - I didn't think that would extend to being happy to own clothes from WalFart.
A mere two hours after eating a ton of corned beef (gee - remember my nearly meat-free days?) I was ready for more food, so we headed for McDonald's for a snack. (Again, Mom paid). THEN, we went to Meijer, which is a little like a super-Target, but has better sale sections; I purchased THREE maternity tops and a pair of (ugly) maternity slacks for a total $20. Big thumbs up to the retail gal who told us about the clearance section when we asked where maternity clothes were located!! Mom bought a pair of Dr. Scholl's sandals for herself, and bought a pair for ME; the excuse being that I'll need comfortable, adjustable sandals to accommodate my swelling feet later on.
See what I mean about being spoiled?
We then went to a nursery to pick up the rest of the bedding plants mom needed for her planters. This one was well ventilated and didn't smell like fertilizer so I was a very happy camper.
When we finally got home I (gasp) ate a snack then fell asleep on the couch for nearly an hour. I woke to the smell of meatloaf in the oven, and I got to watch "Addams Family Values" on satellite cable - bliss.
On Sunday, I slept in a bit and attended a 10:30 church service with my parents, followed by lounging on their back deck with their/my cat Samantha.
Then we were off to my favorite buffet restaurant off in a tiny little town; they serve the best fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the planet, the salad bar is great and full of church-lady concoctions, all the other veggies and meats are great (although who has time for roast beef or ham with chicken like that around?) but perhaps my favorite part is the dessert table. I'm convinced that they have a fleet of elderly church ladies selling pies and cakes to them, the sugar-cream pie is phenomenal but the crown jewels are rhubarb pie and gooseberry pie so tangy that you need a tiny blip of vanilla ice cream on top.
Mmmmm. Can you tell I'm just a wee bit obsessed with food these days? I've had to force myself to eat so much high-protein food lately that I was in seventh heaven to treat myself to a small slice of gooseberry pie . . . I need a gooseberry bush of my own!
When we got home I gave my mom a pedicure. Sounds a little strange, but I've been giving her pedicures since I was 13; I'm good at it, and nothing gets you off the hook for past infractions like granting someone pretty, well-pampered feet. I also seem to recall phrases like "well, it'd be okay for you to _______ if you can do my toes this afternoon . . ." Besides, I remember from my childhood that my Dad isn't particularly good with nail clippers.
While I was tending toes, my Dad was busy washing the outside of my ginormous old car. I caught up with him in time to vacuum the inside of my car while he tended to all those weird vehicular details that only Dads notice.
I returned home to Mr. Hubby before dark, and he helped me with a freelance project before helping me make rice krispie treats as a thank-you for my coworker who gave me a grocery bag full of maternity clothes.
I can't and won't use this weekend as the standard for all future Mother's Day celebrations because I'm all too aware that I was spoiled absolutely rotten by both Mr. Hubby and my parents. Obvious thanks to those who actively 'poiled me, and a big smooch to "the kid" who is making all of this possible.
Perhaps we can work out some sort of arrangement that involves less nausea and exhaustion on my part and serious 'poilage on your part after you're born?
COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
nikki - 2007-05-14 15:12:09 She's alive!!!! Isn't getting spoiled the best?!?!?!??!
-------------------------------
MDB - 2007-05-15 02:11:56 Dude. I want your mom. Though, I must admit, mine's pretty awesome. And I might be getting to see her again this summer, which really WILL spoil me. Go look-I got pictures up!
-------------------------------
ursula - 2007-05-15 21:31:58 I missed the "Hi, I'm pregnant," post. So, congratulations!
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alfredsmom - 2007-05-16 11:57:37 Glad you posted, I was getting worried about you! Sounds like an awesome weekend. Ive been to a Meijers before (in MI and OH). They are pretty cool. Come on over to typepad!
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Alie - 2007-05-17 23:47:02 S-P-O-I-L-E-D yeah! that's meeeee! Just kidding, really gald to hear you had a rockin day!
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