Let the games begin!

This is it.
This is my life.

I looked around my living room yesterday and I couldn’t believe what it had become in just three short weeks. Car seat tucked by Larry the Leather Chair. Swing in the middle of the floor. Bouncy seat in the kitchen. Pacifier, tiny socks, burp cloth, and a rattle on the coffee table along with last weeks mail and the grocery store ads I have yet to go through. There’s a basket of clean baby clothes stuffed under the coffee table (out of sight out of mind? I’m going to need the onsies sooner rather than later). Half empty diet Pepsi can on the end table next to a completely empty bottle. Boppy and baby blanket on the sofa. TV muted to the news. And my cell phone half stuffed between the couch cushions next to the indentation of my butt because I have been either sitting or laying on that damn couch in that same spot for 80% of the last 3 weeks.

I used to be so organized. I used to be tidy. On the weekends I would clean my house – the tub and toilet, the dusting, the kitchen counters, the floors. On Tuesdays I would do laundry – I sort whites, darks, colors and pinks. I wash a separate load of towels. I used to bleach on the whites. My plants were watered regularly and my kitchen floor used to be swept clean. I used to have a menu planned for the week – usually 2 weeks in advance – and the ingredients to make those meals! Now I have random things on the counter buried under clean dishes that didn’t get put away and dirty dishes waiting to go into the dishwasher. I have baby diapers in a Diaper Genie that need to go out to the trash and I definitely need to change the sheets on my bed. I need to try on my “old” clothes – the ones that I wore a long time ago when I could see my feet. I can see my feet again, I’m just not sure I can see them diving into a pair of black dress pants and being able to button the top closed. I’m a little gun shy about trying on those clothes, to be quite honest, because I’m afraid they won’t fit and I’ll be disappointed. I have a box of shoes that I haven’t even looked at since we moved because I couldn’t fit in them and God knows that trying to balance in a cute pair of red heels is out of the question when you’re preggo and your feet have swollen to the size of small elephants. I think I’m a little gun shy about trying those shoes on, too, because I’m afraid they still won’t fit and I’ll be really disappointed. But, oh, I long to wear heels again!

So this is the picture of my life these days. It is messy and cluttered and still a little pudgy around the middle. The routine is shot to shit; I’m lucky if I can pull together spaghetti for dinner and sometimes I’ll admit I’ve resorted to cereal for lunch. I haven’t been to the grocery store in over a month. I haven’t dusted in nearly that long. The last time my floor got swept my mom was visiting. And that, too, was nearly a month ago.

But I’ve got a beautiful baby boy who is the spitting image of his Daddy. A boy who loves to be snuggled and looks at me with unabashed love because he knows that I am the keeper of the bottles, the one who changes him when he’s wet and rocks him and sings nonsense songs to him. I am the one who picks him up when he’s sad and comes to him at night when he wakes up. I am the one who smoothes his wild hair and rubs his back and bounces him when he’s bored. I am the one who puts lotion on his skin after a baby bath and kisses his head a billion times a day. He doesn’t care about the floors or the dust or the piles of unopened mail. He doesn’t care that I’ve been wearing the same yoga pants for three days now or that my hair is in a ponytail because I can’t be bothered to take a shower.

All he cares about is me; and I, him. And that, my friends, is enough.

This is it.
This is my life.

I looked around my living room yesterday and I couldn’t believe what it had become in just three short weeks. Car seat tucked by Larry the Leather Chair. Swing in the middle of the floor. Bouncy seat in the kitchen. Pacifier, tiny socks, burp cloth, and a rattle on the coffee table along with last weeks mail and the grocery store ads I have yet to go through. There’s a basket of clean baby clothes stuffed under the coffee table (out of sight out of mind? I’m going to need the onsies sooner rather than later). Half empty diet Pepsi can on the end table next to a completely empty bottle. Boppy and baby blanket on the sofa. TV muted to the news. And my cell phone half stuffed between the couch cushions next to the indentation of my butt because I have been either sitting or laying on that damn couch in that same spot for 80% of the last 3 weeks.

I used to be so organized. I used to be tidy. On the weekends I would clean my house – the tub and toilet, the dusting, the kitchen counters, the floors. On Tuesdays I would do laundry – I sort whites, darks, colors and pinks. I wash a separate load of towels. I used to bleach on the whites. My plants were watered regularly and my kitchen floor used to be swept clean. I used to have a menu planned for the week – usually 2 weeks in advance – and the ingredients to make those meals! Now I have random things on the counter buried under clean dishes that didn’t get put away and dirty dishes waiting to go into the dishwasher. I have baby diapers in a Diaper Genie that need to go out to the trash and I definitely need to change the sheets on my bed. I need to try on my “old” clothes – the ones that I wore a long time ago when I could see my feet. I can see my feet again, I’m just not sure I can see them diving into a pair of black dress pants and being able to button the top closed. I’m a little gun shy about trying on those clothes, to be quite honest, because I’m afraid they won’t fit and I’ll be disappointed. I have a box of shoes that I haven’t even looked at since we moved because I couldn’t fit in them and God knows that trying to balance in a cute pair of red heels is out of the question when you’re preggo and your feet have swollen to the size of small elephants. I think I’m a little gun shy about trying those shoes on, too, because I’m afraid they still won’t fit and I’ll be really disappointed. But, oh, I long to wear heels again!

So this is the picture of my life these days. It is messy and cluttered and still a little pudgy around the middle. The routine is shot to shit; I’m lucky if I can pull together spaghetti for dinner and sometimes I’ll admit I’ve resorted to cereal for lunch. I haven’t been to the grocery store in over a month. I haven’t dusted in nearly that long. The last time my floor got swept my mom was visiting. And that, too, was nearly a month ago.

But I’ve got a beautiful baby boy who is the spitting image of his Daddy. A boy who loves to be snuggled and looks at me with unabashed love because he knows that I am the keeper of the bottles, the one who changes him when he’s wet and rocks him and sings nonsense songs to him. I am the one who picks him up when he’s sad and comes to him at night when he wakes up. I am the one who smoothes his wild hair and rubs his back and bounces him when he’s bored. I am the one who puts lotion on his skin after a baby bath and kisses his head a billion times a day. He doesn’t care about the floors or the dust or the piles of unopened mail. He doesn’t care that I’ve been wearing the same yoga pants for three days now or that my hair is in a ponytail because I can’t be bothered to take a shower.

All he cares about is me; and I, him. And that, my friends, is enough.

Oh, Baby!

Sometime between late Sunday night and early Monday morning, Wee-Me decided to drop into the "go-position."

I swear it was the wierdest thing...I got up a billion times to pee on Sunday night/Monday morning and Wee-Me was always in the same spot, tucked up under my right rib with a little butt sticking out; then there was lots of wiggling early in the morning. When I finally sat up in bed to get up for the day, I could breathe easier, it wasn't such a chore to stand up and when I did stand up and looked down there was space between my boobs and my belly. I did a lot of internet research yesterday morning and most sites said around two weeks now. I have a drs apt on Thursday so I suppose I'll have a better idea after that. I have asked Wee-Me to mind the Mama and wait at least until Monday to make a grand debut since Emily and Jerad's wedding is on Saturday. We'll see...


On a side note, I talked to my own Mama yesterday and she told me that she and Sarah had gone to visit my Grandma. Mind you, I haven't seen my Grandma since November when I told her that I was pregnant and she told me, "It's about time." This from a 90-year old woman who has had a couple of minor strokes, broken a hip and wrist, has some dementia and really doesn't say that much. But she told my Mama during their visit that I was having a girl.

To say Uriah was over the moon would be an understatement. He has been convinced from the beginning that this is a girl baby and I have been just as convinced that it's a boy. He now thinks that his opinion has been confirmed and there's no reason for us to even think about boy names (we still haven't agreed on one).

Sometime between late Sunday night and early Monday morning, Wee-Me decided to drop into the "go-position."

I swear it was the wierdest thing...I got up a billion times to pee on Sunday night/Monday morning and Wee-Me was always in the same spot, tucked up under my right rib with a little butt sticking out; then there was lots of wiggling early in the morning. When I finally sat up in bed to get up for the day, I could breathe easier, it wasn't such a chore to stand up and when I did stand up and looked down there was space between my boobs and my belly. I did a lot of internet research yesterday morning and most sites said around two weeks now. I have a drs apt on Thursday so I suppose I'll have a better idea after that. I have asked Wee-Me to mind the Mama and wait at least until Monday to make a grand debut since Emily and Jerad's wedding is on Saturday. We'll see...


On a side note, I talked to my own Mama yesterday and she told me that she and Sarah had gone to visit my Grandma. Mind you, I haven't seen my Grandma since November when I told her that I was pregnant and she told me, "It's about time." This from a 90-year old woman who has had a couple of minor strokes, broken a hip and wrist, has some dementia and really doesn't say that much. But she told my Mama during their visit that I was having a girl.

To say Uriah was over the moon would be an understatement. He has been convinced from the beginning that this is a girl baby and I have been just as convinced that it's a boy. He now thinks that his opinion has been confirmed and there's no reason for us to even think about boy names (we still haven't agreed on one).

These are the things they don't tell you...

Let me preface this by announcing that I am extremely jealous of all of the women who tell me that pregnancy was the best they'd ever felt in their lives, that they glowed the entire 9 months and it was a magical and glorious and giving birth was equally as wonderful, magical, glorious.

I. Hate. These. Women.

So, since I'm not going to give birth to a teeny tiny angel baby made of cotton and marshmallow fluff, here's what I've found out:

1. My feet grew. Shoes that I thought I'd be able to wear for at least the first few months (read: cute red heels) do not fit, nor will they be comfortable if I squish my fat feet into them. I wear flip-flops.
   
2. My skin is so dry. And it itches and no amount of lotion will help. Maybe a lotion bath...
3. My eyes are dry. After about 3 hours in contacts I feel the urge to tear my eyes out of my head.
   
4. Food does not taste good. I let Uriah make dinner and not tell me what he's making because if it sounds good one minute, no doubt I'll want something else by the time I get home.
   
5. I sneeze. A lot. And randomly.
6. My back hurts for no apparent reason - well there is a reason (small human being growing), but sometimes it takes my breath away. A couple of times when Uriah has rubbed it, it hurt worse, bit I will not tell him that or he may never rub my back again. I just thank him for his time, then went down the hall to quietly weep.
7. I am so tired. Bone weary and achingly tired. And I wake up tired. My eye lids are be tired. So is my hair and my elbow and my little toe. Everything is tired.
   
8. I have dreamed very weird and vivid dreams and I feel like they probably have some sort of meaning - water dreams signify the baby floating around and all that New Age hokey. I have decided to disregard any dreams about old boyfriends or the sex of your baby. Neither means anything...especially since I've dreamed that the baby is both a boy and a girl (and once even twins). I am not having twins and I would like either a boy or a girl.
   
9. Obviously I have gained weight. I have very good intentions of going to the gym to fight the flab, bit since I'm so dang tired, it's hit or miss. Usually miss.
   
10. I crave fruit. However, going to the grocery store is like a drunk going into a bar. Last week I turned in slow circles in the produce section as I was being assaulted by the most wonderful smells and was not quite sure where to start. I wanted one of everything, but bringing home an entire pineapple would probably be a waste.
    
11. I have had some of the worst headaches. Allegedly this is from the influx of blood in my bod. I've tried to work through the pain, but I'm a pansy, and I really just wish I could take a bunch of aleve and snooze it away. Not acceptable to drug the baby, though, so I consider it pre-training for giving birth. I've heard that hurts a hell of a lot worse.

I've gotten some good advice, though...like, enjoy the quiet moments imagining what the baby will look like and act like and think and say and do; sleep when I can; buy diapers in bulk; eat bananas for cramps; borrow whatever I can from friends and family who already have kids. Mostly, though, people love to tel me that I will forget all the hard and painful aspects of pregnancy (and childbirth) when I meet my mini-me for the first time. I'm trying to write things down, though, because I don't want to forget anything about this time. In spite of the headaches and the body aches and the lack of interest in food...this is the most exciting and amazing thing I think I've ever done in my whole entire life.

Let me preface this by announcing that I am extremely jealous of all of the women who tell me that pregnancy was the best they'd ever felt in their lives, that they glowed the entire 9 months and it was a magical and glorious and giving birth was equally as wonderful, magical, glorious.

I. Hate. These. Women.

So, since I'm not going to give birth to a teeny tiny angel baby made of cotton and marshmallow fluff, here's what I've found out:

1. My feet grew. Shoes that I thought I'd be able to wear for at least the first few months (read: cute red heels) do not fit, nor will they be comfortable if I squish my fat feet into them. I wear flip-flops.
   
2. My skin is so dry. And it itches and no amount of lotion will help. Maybe a lotion bath...
3. My eyes are dry. After about 3 hours in contacts I feel the urge to tear my eyes out of my head.
   
4. Food does not taste good. I let Uriah make dinner and not tell me what he's making because if it sounds good one minute, no doubt I'll want something else by the time I get home.
   
5. I sneeze. A lot. And randomly.
6. My back hurts for no apparent reason - well there is a reason (small human being growing), but sometimes it takes my breath away. A couple of times when Uriah has rubbed it, it hurt worse, bit I will not tell him that or he may never rub my back again. I just thank him for his time, then went down the hall to quietly weep.
7. I am so tired. Bone weary and achingly tired. And I wake up tired. My eye lids are be tired. So is my hair and my elbow and my little toe. Everything is tired.
   
8. I have dreamed very weird and vivid dreams and I feel like they probably have some sort of meaning - water dreams signify the baby floating around and all that New Age hokey. I have decided to disregard any dreams about old boyfriends or the sex of your baby. Neither means anything...especially since I've dreamed that the baby is both a boy and a girl (and once even twins). I am not having twins and I would like either a boy or a girl.
   
9. Obviously I have gained weight. I have very good intentions of going to the gym to fight the flab, bit since I'm so dang tired, it's hit or miss. Usually miss.
   
10. I crave fruit. However, going to the grocery store is like a drunk going into a bar. Last week I turned in slow circles in the produce section as I was being assaulted by the most wonderful smells and was not quite sure where to start. I wanted one of everything, but bringing home an entire pineapple would probably be a waste.
    
11. I have had some of the worst headaches. Allegedly this is from the influx of blood in my bod. I've tried to work through the pain, but I'm a pansy, and I really just wish I could take a bunch of aleve and snooze it away. Not acceptable to drug the baby, though, so I consider it pre-training for giving birth. I've heard that hurts a hell of a lot worse.

I've gotten some good advice, though...like, enjoy the quiet moments imagining what the baby will look like and act like and think and say and do; sleep when I can; buy diapers in bulk; eat bananas for cramps; borrow whatever I can from friends and family who already have kids. Mostly, though, people love to tel me that I will forget all the hard and painful aspects of pregnancy (and childbirth) when I meet my mini-me for the first time. I'm trying to write things down, though, because I don't want to forget anything about this time. In spite of the headaches and the body aches and the lack of interest in food...this is the most exciting and amazing thing I think I've ever done in my whole entire life.

Frenchy Food and Wedding Invitations

I sometimes consider myself a genius in the kitchen. Mostly because I can follow a recipe, but also because I have an ability to see a recipe and decide on the spot if the ingredients are going to come together and be something good. Now, that is not to say that I haven't made some mistakes in the past...but I can't think of one right now.

Last night was good. Amazing good. Simple good. Damn good.

I found a recipe on-line (Tastykitchen.com) for Lemon Olive Oil Tuna Pasta*, and I thought to myself, "Well, that looks kind of light and Frenchy." The ingredients reminded me of an easy meal I had when I spent a couple of weeks in France and Spain. Combined with a light spinach salad with a lemon, tarragon, and olive oil salad dressing and a glass of crisp white wine, I felt like I was in European Heaven last night. Next time I'm going to eat in on the patio and add some crusty French bread to the mix (which I will make myself).

All of the invitations have been mailed...kind of a debacle. Had to get inserts with directions and hotel info printed and needed a little extra help from U. We opted to hand write the envelopes, so he wrote our return address and I addressed them to the guests. It took a whole evening. And then my tongue almost fell off from licking and sticking the envelopes, but I graciously handed the whole stack to the mailman on Tuesday and now it's just a waiting game to see who's going to be coming to the big soiree. I'm getting ridiculously excited. I can't wait to get the mail, bills be damned!


*Found a low-carb pasta so that's what I used for this dinner. My little family doesn't even notice the difference.

I sometimes consider myself a genius in the kitchen. Mostly because I can follow a recipe, but also because I have an ability to see a recipe and decide on the spot if the ingredients are going to come together and be something good. Now, that is not to say that I haven't made some mistakes in the past...but I can't think of one right now.

Last night was good. Amazing good. Simple good. Damn good.

I found a recipe on-line (Tastykitchen.com) for Lemon Olive Oil Tuna Pasta*, and I thought to myself, "Well, that looks kind of light and Frenchy." The ingredients reminded me of an easy meal I had when I spent a couple of weeks in France and Spain. Combined with a light spinach salad with a lemon, tarragon, and olive oil salad dressing and a glass of crisp white wine, I felt like I was in European Heaven last night. Next time I'm going to eat in on the patio and add some crusty French bread to the mix (which I will make myself).

All of the invitations have been mailed...kind of a debacle. Had to get inserts with directions and hotel info printed and needed a little extra help from U. We opted to hand write the envelopes, so he wrote our return address and I addressed them to the guests. It took a whole evening. And then my tongue almost fell off from licking and sticking the envelopes, but I graciously handed the whole stack to the mailman on Tuesday and now it's just a waiting game to see who's going to be coming to the big soiree. I'm getting ridiculously excited. I can't wait to get the mail, bills be damned!


*Found a low-carb pasta so that's what I used for this dinner. My little family doesn't even notice the difference.