Uh oh

I've had too much caffeine. In fact, I've had so much that it just took me like 30 seconds to type that first sentence. For the life of me I couldn't get caffeine typed out right. The backspace is being abused today, folks.

Now I know some of you are anti-caffeine during pregnancy. Obviously, I am not one of those people. I partake daily in a caffeinated drink, usually a Diet Coke or a glass of iced tea. But, today I went all out and "purchased" myself a buttload of sugar and caffeine from the local Starbucks. It was free because they just opened the store, which is located about 1/2 mile from the other Starbucks, and that one is within view of the Starbucks located in the Safeway. They're taking over the world people. Anyway, where was this rambling going? Oh yes. I'm a bad pregnant person.

Not only do I drink caffeine, I eat deli meat and exotic cheeses too. I eat shrimp (can't remember if that's bad or not. My husband thinks so, I say whatever). I even took advil (that was an accident). I did this all last pregnancy (except for the accidental taking of advil) and as far as I can tell, my daughter isn't suffering due to my neglect.

I hate how certain groups, usually of women, bombard pregnant women with a huge list of DO NOT DO THESE THINGS. They make pregnancy seem like a scary, I don't know how anyone could survive, kind of epidemic. I know there are women out there where pregnancy is dangerous and a delicate matter, but not all of us are like that. I think I can puch/pull a couch 15 feet without killing myself or my child. I know my body and I know how to listen to it. So back off.

I have this friend that I am now afraid to talk to. Everything I tell her I've done on a certain day or occasion calls for her to gasp and/or sigh loudly, then proceed to lecture me on how much harm I may or may not be causing Monkey. It always ends with my rudely asking her how many kids she has had (none), how many times has she been pregnant (none) and then hanging up on her. Bitch. Blah. Yet, I call her everyday. Because I'm a glutton for punishment and secretly I enjoy pissing her off and hanging up on her. So, maybe I'm the bitch. Yay! Being pregnant really brings out the charm.

And I'm still alive

The lines have been drawn firmly in the sand. The future of our family get-together's looks bleak. I should have stayed true to my word and killed her when I had the chance.

Christmas dinner went well. I brought a delicious salad, just as I was asked too, and managed to avoid any contact with MIL until well after dinner. That's when the gifts came out. My baby received two Baby Einstein DVD's. Very cool. Baby Dominic (her daughter's son, who is 2 weeks old) also received 3 Baby Einstein Videos and about $300 more in clothes and toys. I wasn't minding too much (I was expecting some sort of favoritism to get played out), but when her husband, my father-in-law and father to my husband exclaimed, loudly "What the hell is all this? He's only 2 weeks old. And why didn't you buy more for Christina's baby?"

A hush fell upon the room as we held our breath waiting for her answer. And she didn't fail to live up to her Bitch title. "Well, this is my first grandchild first Christmas. I had to spoil him."

I honestly think she doesn't get it. At all. I mean, does she not realize that my baby is her husband's blood grandchild, but her daughter's son is not? Oh well, I knew it was coming, but I have to be honest about the hurt still being there. Bitch!

Otherwise, the holidays went well. My step-mom and dad had already given us our present (Hawaii...Only 15 day!), yet they still bought us some cool flip-flops to wear on the beach and a kick-ass photo album to store the soon-to-be taken pics of the Island. My family rocks.

Pictures of her first Christmas coming soon. Also, pictures of the toy we got her to torture her with. I know, we should be ashamed of making her cry, but it's so funny!

Merry F*cking Christmas

Oh yeah, I'm in a great mood. Holiday's tend to make me cranky. Especially now that I have Satan's spawn for a mother-in-law. You all know that story.

So, her daughter had her baby 2 weeks ago. He's a cutie, though I haven't been to see him yet. MIL is pissed because of that, thinking I don't care about her daughter, etc... Actually, it's because I had a nasty head cold which I'm finally over, husband is over and same with baby. You don't go see a newborn when germs are visiting your home, everyone knows that except bitch, er I mean MIL.

I got a call from her at 7:30(!!!) this morning to tell me I need to bring a salad to her house for dinner tonight. WTF?!?!? I asked her two freakin' days ago if she needed us to bring anything. She of course said no, and now she's calling me at that god-awful hour to tell me to bring a salad. I told my husband that I can't promise not to kill her. I can blame it on hormones (evil laughter inserted here).

Other than that, this should be a great Christmas. I mean, it's my angel's first! We, of course, spent too much on presents that she'll pay no attention to. But, they all come in cool boxes that I know she'll adore. Pictures promised.

I'm 15 weeks along now. Wow, time is flying this pregnancy. I actually forget that I'm knocked up sometimes. Until, late at night, when I google everything that could go wrong. Then I'm up half the night crying about something(s) which probably will never happen. Good grief!

So, to all of my readers (or is it reader, heh) Merry Christmas. May you kill no one and may you not piss anyone off.

For the love of all that is holy

I really hate computers. Really. Hate. Them. Especially when the only one you've got is infected with a nasty virus that causes your husband to turn all sorts of red and mutter under his breath words you didn't think he actually knew.

It's been a fun couple of days. I didn't realize how addicted I was to the internet until it was taken away from me. By day two, you would have thought my best buddy had died. In a sense, he had. Mr. Internet has kept me sane and in touch with several sane people for several years now (I'm going out on a limb here thinking you all are sane, right?). The pain I felt when I passed by the dark screen of the monitor was real and heartwrenching. Even Golden Girl's reruns couldn't bring me out of my funk. I was forced to clean the house, oh the horror.

But, last night, after many hours of cursing and many shades of red later, my hero, that man I love, fixed it. He tracked that virus down and sent it to virus heaven...er, hell. I knew I was doing right when I said "I do." Now, things will finally get back to normal around here. You know, clothes piled up everywhere, dishes posing as Petri dishes in the kitchen and baby toys covering every space of the carpet, which will need vacuuming. Home, sweet home.

All is good

Had my second OB appointment today. I didn't have to get naked, or half-naked, so that was good. Couldn't hear Monkey with the doppler, but got to see her/him/it? on the u/s machine.

I also got a prescription for the headaches I've been suffering from every night for about a month. I really hope they work. Headaches have got to be the worst thing ever. I used to suffer from frequent migraines in high school and wouldn't wish that on anyone. Well, maybe my evil mother-in-law, but that's a different story.

Christmas is coming along here. We bought our fake tree, I decorated it all by myself (puffs chest out proudly), now we just need the husband to hang from the gutters and put up the lights. I don't see this happening any time soon, and you know I'm not going to do it.

So, that's how thing are here in Casa De Loca. More later...

Wistful Thinking

wishing she was big enough to play outside (please ignore how dirty the window is).

Random Brain Droppings

Do babies have some sort of homing device for danger intalled in their wee little brains? I swear, my daughter can find the lone leaf missed by the vaccum or the one outlet I forgot to plug up in a room filled with toys, dolls, and other baby-friendly gear.

Watching a rerun right now of America's Funniest Videos (I know, I know I have to get a life), who told Daisy Fuentes she had talent? Seriously.

Has anyone really ever figured out how many licks it is to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? I have tried, but am far to impatient and after 3 licks I chomp into that sucker, only wanting the chewy center anyway.

Did anyone really think Twila would win Survivor? I mean, she pretty much burned every jury member. I'm glad Chris won. And again, this is further proof of how sad my life is. Can you say couch potato?

How come East Coaster's say "standing on line" and West Coaster's (like myself) say "standing in line?"

Fa La La La La La La La La

Well, another cold bites the dust. I swear I'm a magnet for the suckers.

Things are progressing nicely here. Baby girl is growing like a weed and I can assume Baby Monkey is too. I'm sorry for the delay in posting the u/s pics...I have no life outside this house, so that makes contact with a scanner next to impossible. Will work on remedying that.

Tonight is hubbies work holiday party. This year they have chosen an Italian restaurant located in the ghetto. I shit you not. It's in a city called Pittsberg, near a suburb called Bay Point. Everyone calls it Gun Point. If you need more explanation than that, I am jealous of your small view of the world and how it works. The party should be fun. He works for a mom and pop company owned by a loud Irish-Catholic family. Heavy on the Irish. As in, gulp gulp. The liquor will be flowing tonight. And for the second year in a row, I get none. Being pregnant is so much fun.

The holidays are almost here. Meaning it's back to Top Ramen and Mac 'n' Cheese for us. We recently found out that my father is taking the whole fan damily to Hawaii next month. So, it's Mac 'n' Cheese for a while. A long while. Yum.

Sick

Once again I have been blessed with a cold. A real humdinger. I can't hear or breathe. It's a real treat. On top of feeling like shit, my baby girl has this wonderful gift as well. Her face is covered in slime. Snot sucks people.

I will write more when I am feeling better. In the meantime, curse my doctor's office for telling me I can't take any of the "good" stuff. Damn them.

A post with some pictures

The usual way for me to post pictures isn't working today, so I'll just link to them.

I'm feeling recovered from the mondo trip. Idaho was by far my favorite stop, but I learned some interesting things on the way there. For instance, in Montana they really take their beer seriously, and Grandpa Stan takes his dog's home seriously (yes, it is a two-story doghouse). My angel loves car trips and slept most of the way. And in Southern Idaho, they really want you to buy soda (or as they annoyingly call it: pop).

All in all, it was a great trip. Thanksgiving was a blast, mostly due to this...How could anyone resist cuteness like that?

Well, if they're tapered, they must be pleated too.

Hayden, Idaho is a small suburb of Cour d'alene, just a small blip on any map, yet comfy in it's own way. It is also the final resting place for all of those hideous tapered and pleated women's slacks the late eighties and early nineties brought us. If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'.

Wednesday evening I attended a worship service for the holiday at my mother's quaint little church. There was singing, worship, and an actually interesting service on the history of Thanksgiving in the church. It was during the singing that I noticed the epidemic. Up on risers, in front of everyone, was the church choir. And I kid you not, every woman over thirty was wearing pleated slacks. That were tapered. Good grief. So, I looked around and noticed that almost every woman in the congregation was wearing them too. There were blue, green, red, black, and one pair of some gross shade of brown. Then I noticed that a lot of these women were also wearing the old favorite, turtleneck/vest combo. Hideous.

I tried pointing it out to my mother, but she just gave me that glazed over look I know all to well. The look that means she hasn't the foggiest. And that's when I looked down. I looked down to see that my mother, my own flesh and blood, was wearing...Pleated pants. Tapered.

I don't encourage crazy

Well, we're back and alive and all that good stuff. Trip was fantastic.

Montana is a cold barren wasteland of a state. But, now with a casino on every corner. Fantastic. We were there to visit husband's paternal grandparents. His grandpa is a sweetie, who insisted on calling me Chrissy, which hasn't happened since I was six and oh-so-cute. His grandma is a hoot. She suffered a stroke a couple of years ago. It was a light one (is there really such a thing?), and the only after-effects seems to be her ability to be incredibly rude. She gave us the third degree for traveling, by car, this time of year. Nevermind that there wasn't a flake of snow to be seen...

Her: I just don't see how you lucked out. This time of year is horrible for travel.
Me: Well, I guess we're just lucky.
Her: Well, you have to understand when your husband called us, I just couldn't encourage him about the trip. I don't encourage crazy.

And that line became our motto for the trip.

I will post again on the many other stops on our two-week Western state tour later. Right now, there is a mountain of laundry staring me down.

*sidenote: first OB appointment was the day before we left. Baby is where it's supposed to be and looking fine. As soon as I get near a scanner I will share with you the first of many photos of, what has now been dubbed, Monkey (when you see the u/s picture, you'll see why).

Turkey and stuffing

Well, I'm about to take off for my fabulous road trip. I will miss you all so much. I promise to update more when I get back.

Thanksgiving is going to be very special for me this year. Not only is it my child's first, but we'll be celebrating with my mother, step-dad, and all three of my sisters. This hasn't taken place in 10 years. Long story behind that, I'll tell it later.

So, to all my readers...Or is it my reader? Happy Turkey Day.

Grrrr

Dearest Blogger,

Why must you persecute me so? Have I done something to offend thee? Is is because I haven't been on in almost a week? Trust me, it's not my fault.

Why do you feel the need to take so long in considering publishing my posts, that time runs out and I am forced to start all over again. I keep trying to explain to you why I have been absent (bone-tired, sick hubby, fast-crawling baby), yet you seem uninterested. It's like you don't even care anymore.

And why is it I can't comment on any of the other blogs? I think you want them to hate me, as you do, and make them think I don't care anymore, that I'm not reading. But, I am! I am! Believe me, my life still consists only of reading blogs and watching reruns of Golden Girls. Nothing has changed here. Please, let my sign on, or at least post anonymously.

I'm done pleading. I'm done begging. I just pray you let these words get through. And, I will be back in 3 weeks time after a looong road trip (as long as I don't kill myself of my hubby during said trip). Don't abandon me now!

Sincerely,
Your loyal poster.

Like a chicken with no head

I've been running around this past week, trying to get everything squared away for the big road trip.

That's right. My morning sick ass, husband recently diagnosed with depression, and whinny 8 month old baby are venturing on a road trip. Starting in Northern California, stopping in Montana, Idaho, Washington and finally Oregon. I'm nuts. We're nuts. God be with us.

It all started with me wanting to go to my mom's for Thanksgiving. She's the stop in Idaho. My husband figured since Montana is kinda on the way, we should stop and see his grandparents, he hasn't seen them since he was 16. So how could I say no? Then we decided to cut over to Western Washington to see my best friend from high school and just follow I-5 down, stopping at whoever's houses we know on the way. All of this in 11 days. Whoohoo.

Normally, I love traveling, especially by car. But, when I'm pregnant, I become very motion sick if I don't drive. And my husband is newly on anti-depressants and they dosage is still up the air. Which means, he's as moody as a PMS'ing me. If you know me at all, you know this is bad. I'm not worried about the little one so much, since she did so well during the road trip to Hell. I'm just worried about her whining getting on me and hubbies last nerve. I can't promise not to drive over a cliff, Thelma and Louise style. I guess we can be happy that Montana is mostly flat land. Mostly.

So, I won't be updating much, kinda like how I haven't been these last weeks. Bear with me, I'll get back to finding humor in puke and poop soon.

Sick husbands suck

Husbands suck sometimes. Especially sick ones. I've never heard so much moaning and groaning in my life. You'd think he was dying, for heaven's sakes (with sayings like that, I morph into my grandmother a little more each day...frightening thought).

With all this commotion, you'd think he'd at least go to the doctors. I mean 4 missed days of work equal a visit to a trained professional in my book. But, no! He doesn't need a "stupid" doctor telling him what's wrong with his body. Okay then, just don't bitch to me when you die.

What I hate most about him being sick is him being home with me. All the damn day. I can't get anything done because he's lying on the couch, sighing loud enough to be heard three towns over. I ask him, "what do you want?" His answer is always long and drawn out and usually ends with a request for me to go to the store. Because we can never have what he wants here at the house, no that would be too easy.

So, if you're the praying type, pray he gets better before I kill him.

Word of the day: NO

I feel like a broken record. All day, what you hear from me most is: NO.

She is into everything. The girl has more toys than a Toys R Us store, and yet all she wants to play with is the remote control, the telephone, and the electrical outlets. I'm thinking of letting her stick her tongue in the latter, just to see if it teaches her a lesson.

This is the best excerise plan I can think of. Who knew a 20 lb, 7 month old could move so fast. The poor dog lives in terror of her. But, I do see the draw to that wagging tail. I've had to restrain myself from grabbing it and shoving it into my mouth too.

How do babies know what to go after to cause your heart to leap into your mouth?

Better

Thanks for the kind words and offers to babysit. If only you all lived closer. I'm feeling much better today, partly because I got a great night's (only woke up twice to pee!) sleep and my honey stayed home from work (playing hookey). So, I get to go grocery shopping. All. By. Myself.

It may not sound like much, but I heart grocery shopping. It relaxes me. I love budgeting and picking the best deals. I'm a little apprehensive of the meat aisle though. Chicken in any form makes me want to puke. Agh, just typing that sentence got me queazy. Must get chicken thoughts out of head. La la la la. Okay, better. So, I must be a nerd to live the grocery store so damn much. God bless me, it's true.

The one where I lose my shit

I'm having a bad day. A very bad day.

I want my baby back. Please. You can take this clingy, teary, whiney thing that looks like my sweet angel. I can't handle much more of this.

She has been crying all morning. She won't nap, won't eat much and just wants to cry. I, being the emotional pregnant woman that I am, am crying right along with her. I actually had to walk away from her to fling myself atop the bed and wail. Very dramatic. But, then again, very me.

I know this will pass and is probably some sign of teething or growing or something, but I feel like my life is over a little bit right now. I feel like shit and like a shitty mother because I can't fix what is wrong. I don't even know what is wrong and that makes me mad.

I find myself really resenting (hating) my husband right now. Like a child, I want to scream how unfair it is that I have to stay home every day and how I have to take care of this screaming mini-me every day. And, those days when he comes home and has the nerve to say "boy, what a day I had, I'm soooo tired" it's all I can do not to pack my bags and run away to...to...somewhere with no husbands and no children.

The day is half over and I'm counting the minutes to bedtime. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Random Ants

We have a problem with what I call random ants in our kitchen. Actually, they should be called random dead ants because that's what they are. Dead.

I don't know where they come from or why they are dead. Every night I wipe our counters and window sill clean, and every morning there they are. A trail of dead ants. If it had only happened once, I would find it rather amusing. Now, it's starting to piss me off.

I know we have plenty of live ants outside. Just lean against one of the posts in the backyard and you have yourself a lovely ant sweater. Stand too long in our driveway, by the huge crack in the cement, and you've got yourself some matching ant socks. I can't stand it, but what makes me happy is that I can kill these ants. I have the control of where and when they die. The ants in my kitchen are already gone. It's like ant heaven or something.

Sometimes, like this morning, I will find one lone ant stumbling among his fallen brethren.

I lean down to his level and beg him to tell me what went down in my kitchen the night before. He won't tell me, just picks up a fallen buddy and carries him about 2 inches before I squish him into oblivion.

Maybe they are southern ants, re-enacting Gettysburg nightly on my kitchen counter. Yes, that must be it. I wonder if I awoke at the right moment, would I could hear their tiny muskets sounding off and their tiny general's yelling for more fire? Then, maybe a moment of silence before their little ant voices rise up chanting about how they come marching one by one? Hurrah, hurrah.