Shower

I had my first shower on Sunday. It was perfect. The food was fantastic and the tea was delicious. We did a Brunch/Tea Party shower. It was fun. Bree, Rigel, and my mom spent the night so we could all get to work in the morning. Everyone was baking and prepping and cleaning. When we got to the point of feeling like we wanted to put our feet up, people started to arrive. It was crazy. EVERYONE was so punctual! As everyone started to roll in, coffee was brewing, food was being put out, tea cups were put out, and the tea was steeping. About 20 minutes into it, we had people start digging in. Everyone spread throughout the main floor to eat and mingle. My girlfriends helped me move some furniture around in the basement to make room for everyone. Periodically, people would make their way upstairs to see the nursery that Mike worked so hard on. Everyone loved it. Almost all of them were saying they'd never seen a round crib before or even knew they existed. Our friend Gavin painted the Cinderella castle, Tinkerbell, Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, and of course my favorite, Ugly Dolls throughout the room. It's so sweet. I loved having it at my house so everyone could see what Mike did. I also have to mention that Mike had installed chair molding around the room. It's so pretty.

It's hard for me to have that much attention on me. I don't particularly like being the center of attention. I felt like I wasn't opening the gifts fast enough and I didn't want anyone to get bored. However, no matter how fast I was going, it was going to take a while. The gifts went on forever. We received so many great things from everyone. I got a big lump in my throat when I opened up the blanket my Grandma made. My daughter will have her blankie like I did. My cousin, Bre, put together a scrapbook for me. It's all set up and just needs me to add pictures and little comments. Finally, the gift that got me to actually cry...The quilt. My sister-in-law worked her ass off and put together a gift so thoughtful and precious I have no idea how to even thank her. Bree sent out a letter to several of my friends and family members stating that she was putting together a Wish Quilt for Farrah. What was involved was having people pick out a piece of fabric that best described them and write on a piece of paper a blessing, a quote, a wish, or simple words of encouragement in life. They were to then send it to her or give it to Mike to give to her later and she would put it all together. The quilt is about 4' x 4' with all these small pieces of fabric stitched together. It also came with a book. In the book were the matching pieces of fabric that were on the quilt with the wishes from all of our friends and family members. I sat with Mike and flipped through the pages and would see the fabric and read the comments from everyone. Everyone worked so hard on this. It was the "perfect" gift.

I hate to cry in front of people. Hate it. I held on as long as I could as I read the letter that Bree put together for me to share what it was and what was involved. My face got hot and I could tell it was turning bright red. I was like a volcano. I even scrunched my face and turned away and it looked like I was going to sneeze. No, just cry. Drop, drop, drop went the tears. Couldn't help it. I think if I didn't cry, it would just have been proof that I have no heart or soul.

To everyone who had a chance to be involved in the making of that quilt, I thank you. The love and support that went into such an amazing gift will never be forgotten. My little girl will learn at a very young age the beauty and value of friendship and family.

Reality Check

It is about 2:30 AM and I have a million thoughts going through my head. I've decided to use this blog entry as a journal entry so I apologize if it gets too weird. This evening, Mike unveiled the nursery. It's amazing. It's so beautiful and he put so much time, energy, and thought into it. I can't get over how perfect it is. My problem is that I feel like I'm not showing enough emotion about what is inevitably going to be my new life. This whole experience is so incredibly surreal to me, that I don't know how I'm supposed to feel or act. I have my first baby shower on Sunday. A baby shower. For me and my daughter. I'm pregnant? I'm going to have to have these supplies in my home all the time? I'm so used to being a "part-time" parent, the concept of having a little person here 24-7 is freaking me out. I had a great conversation with Evie Thursday night and she had asked if I was experiencing any anxiety about my upcoming delivery. Amazingly, no. Not at all as a matter of fact. I view it as something that will be painful, but it will come to an end. My anxiety rests with the vision of walking out of the hospital with my daughter in her car seat, being placed in our car, driving home with her, and finally arriving and not quite sure knowing what to do next. I know that everything will fall into place and happen very naturally and I'm blessed to have a husband with some background in this department. I just can't help being a little freaked out. So much, that I am sitting at a computer typing about it while the rest of the world sleeps.

I was explaining to Mike this evening that none if it seems real to me still and it's bothering me. When I go places, I don't feel like I'm pregnant until someone asks me how far along I am. Although, I can't see my feet, for some reason I still visualize myself as being tiny and fitting in my old clothes. It's not until I get a subtle reminder of my condition from Farrah with a jab to the rib cage, a push against my bladder, a case of the hiccups, or her simply stretching as much as she can in the little room I've given her. That's when I know I'm pregnant.

I'm scared that every single emotion that I think I should be experiencing now is going to hit me all at once when my water breaks and I'm on my way to the hospital. Could I handle that? I am 7 months pregnant and I've cried once, maybe twice about the thrill of getting to have a child. Shouldn't I be wearing my emotions on my sleeve and expressing to the world how thrilled I am about my upcoming event? I feel like I seem cold about it. I can't get the emotions out. I suppose the time will be right for them to show themselves eventually. I'm just scared that if it all hits me at once, will I be this crazy blubbering basket case after she arrives? I do know myself well enough to know that when she is placed on my chest and I have my husband by my side, the flood gates will release. I just want to know that they'll stop since they haven't even really been cracked lately.

Well, there it is. I'm not bitching, complaining, or whining, just sharing. I'm hoping after the showers and seeing her room over and over for a while and allowing reality to sink in, all of this will fall into place as I'm sure it will. Honestly, I think I'm just ready to be done with this pregnancy and meet my little girl so my family can begin to grow.

Barack Obama for 2008!

Make sure you and others you know are registered to vote! You know what to do.

Ass Breath Part Deux

Yeah. So, my office smells like ass...again. WHY?!!! Why, God, why do these men insist on coming in here without making themselves somewhat clean first? C'mon. When you get up in the morning, please take an extra 10-15 minutes in the morning to hop in the shower and use that white cube that's called "SOAP". Lather it up real good and scrub yourself down with a steel wool pad. From the smell of things, that's what it will take to peel the crud from your skin. Also, take another 2-3 minutes to brush those grimy teeth of yours. Don't forget to use tooth paste! Constant circular motions. Better yet, go buy yourself a sonicare. It will aide in your lack of enthusiasm to brush at all. Luckily, it sends off about 200 strokes per second. That's a good thing. However, don't forget to brush your tongue. All the food and drinks that you've consumed since the last time you took the time to put a tooth brush in your mouth have grouped onto your tongue which is acting as a little Petri dish. That causes a lot of bad smells to leak out of your face which in turn, causes me to want to vomit. Instead of taking your dirty clothes and hanging them back up in your closet, you may want to consider throwing them in the laundry. Be sure to toss in some laundry detergent. When you go to dry your clothes, throw in a dryer sheet. That always seems to add a little extra smell swell to the clothing. It will help in masking the rest of you that just can't be helped. Finally, quitting smoking will help significantly! Don't smoke and then blow that last puff out as you're walking into my office. This makes me actually want to kill you. If you wish to continue living, for the obvious short time that you have left to live, put the cigarette out and pop in a piece of gum. Those are all the suggestions I have to give to these smelly people at this time. I hope that they will at some point, attempt to correct these problems that they have. I don't know if I can handle breathing in their stench anymore without saying something and then being out of a job. Please, gentlemen, for the sake of my nose and my job, clean yourselves up.

Rib Cage Fighter

Farrah has found a comfy spot for her foot under my right rib cage. She likes to dig it in there real good and tight and then try to pop her foot up. When she does this, it is usually followed by a squeal or a loud "Ouch!" from me. Sometimes when she does that, I'm so focused on the right rib that I'm thrown off when she kicks me in the left rib. She's a little over 3 pounds right now. It's going to hurt even more when she has her next growth spurt. Please be careful in there, Farrah!

What Birthdays are REALLY For

Okay, before I begin I want to express that should my wonderful friend Jen read this, that she should not take offense and rather should smile at what I'm going to write about.

I went to Jen's daughter's 1st Birthday party on Saturday. Kids' birthdays are fun and cute, but there is a lot of pressure put on the adults that are invited. What type of pressure could possibly be bestowed upon the adults at a one-year-old's birthday party? Well, the gift of course! There is a lot of anxiety for the adult picking out the present, buying the present, and wrapping the present. It's awful when your present is being opened and the adults and older children in the room make the customary comment of "Oh, that's cute". Although polite, you know it wasn't that impressive and you have now failed as a gift giver in the eyes of the older people in the room. You don't want to be the person who shows up with "The Lame Gift" and have the child look at the present and make a sour face, or worse, not pay attention to it at all. That simply shows that you decided to quickly run in to toys r us and pick up a coloring book with crayons for a kid that can't even clutch a crayon yet, let alone make any comprehendible image on the paper. You haven't stimulated the child. Mind you, the uncomprehendible images are always fun to put on your refrigerator. They're cute and decorative.

When I went shopping for Addisen's birthday present, I was completely stressed. I didn't want to be the person who picked the "wrong" gift. Jen's kids are smart, but I didn't think I should be buying the Leap Frog Globe that tells the history of the geography of the piece of land the child has picked out on this big blue and green ball. Although I wanted to and thought the one-year-old would surprise us all with her knowledge of Denmark, I figured she has plenty of time for schooling later. I'm so used to looking at toys that are for ages 4 and up. I was really struggling. Also, what if someone was of the same mind set as me and bought the same gift? Dammit! Look harder, Kathy! DON'T BLOW THIS!!! I finally came across a toy section specifically for very young children. I found a barn yard toy that had animals that would make noises. Fabulous. It's cute, it makes noises, and it's stimulating. Great, I'll get it. Addisen's reaction to her birthday present? Fantastic. Not only did she look at it, but she kept looking at it and reaching for the toys that were protected behind the plastic window. Score.

I have to pat myself on the back for that. I will also give myself kudos for Lauren's first birthday. Since her birthday is towards the end of Spring, I decided to get her a bathing suite, hat, sandals, and a little blow up swimming pool. Although, she didn't fully grasp the coolness of her present at the moment it was opened for her, the adults in the room did. And after all, it's about impressing them, too. I did get a phone call from Jen sometime later when the weather was nice, that Lauren had been swimming in her pool and loved it. Score, again. Oh, don't think that I'm shallow for writing this. We all know these pressures exist but no one wants to talk about it. The fun thing is when the kids get a little older and you buy them a present, they will actually squeal with excitement when you get the right gift for them. At that point, it doesn't matter what the adults think. As long as that child has a smile from ear to ear because you took the time to think about what they would love to play with even if it is for just 15 minutes and never to be seen again, you've done a good job.

Prego

Okay, all. Here is a photo that my wonderful husband took of me. For some reason, whenever he's taken them, I'm always in sweats and a t-shirt and wearing super cool slippers. You know you're jealous and wish you had some. They're from Mike's Grandma and Aunt Sally. Thanks, Ladies, I love them!

Shit Sandwich

As some may know, I work in a small office. There also isn't a whole lot of ventilation in here. So, when one of my co-workers brings her lunch from home, it can be quite the strain on my sense of smell. First, may I point out that I absolutely love this person. We get along wonderfully and laugh together a lot. Especially about her lunches. Infact, she knows I'm writing about this and has encouraged me to do so. Nancy likes to eat in the office and therefore packs her lunch everyday. For a while, it started off quite innocently with frozen lunches from the grocery store. She'd heat it in the microwave and there would be a lingering smell of sodium in the air for a good 10 minutes. It wasn't too awful because I could see the box and know what she was eating. There were no surprizes. After some time, she started bringing in other items. She started packing a salad. Seems like that would be quite benign, right? No. Nancy likes red onions. Strong smelly red onions. Sliced or diced, she loves them. I, on the other hand, do not. The second she removes the celephane from her bowl, the strong stench of onion floats from her desk to my nostrils. I, of course, have to make a comment to her everytime she does this. Sometimes when I've come in in the morning, I've seen a hard boiled egg sitting by the sink in the kitchen. "Please, Nancy, No!" Now we're going to add the smell of sulfer and farts to onion. Finally, she decided to start bringing in leftovers from the night before. "Oh, my husband made a wonderful pot roast last night." she exclaims with such pride. However, in my mind I'm picturing a big slab of fatty meat covered in shit sauce. Why? Because the second she takes it out of the microwave, that's exactly what it smells like. I've asked her if she accidently brought in Georgie's poop from the back yard instead of last nights dinner, because the whole office smells like cooked poo. Shit with green peppers and carrots. Yesterday, she heated up her meal and began to eat it when we were all suddenly asked to join the rest of the office for lunch. Thank god, because it smelled like Alpo in the office. Well, she didn't eat her leftovers yesterday because she decided to save it for breakfast this morning. I actually didn't realize she was eating when I announced that it smelt like canned dog food. She started laughing and said it was yesterday's lunch. I think she does this on purpose. I don't even think I've seen her eat this food of hers before. I'm going to guess that she seriously brings her dog's shit into the office and microwaves it just to get a reaction from me. If it looks and smells like shit, what is the likeliness that it is shit? Pretty good. Nancy, please stop torturing me with this on going smelly harrassment. I think we could be life long friends if you change your diet to water, crackers and peanut butter, raw carrots, and maybe even some cereal (cold, of course). Nothing that requires cooking and nothing that has any kind of smell whatsoever. Thanks!

Done

Ughh. I'm in a funk of a mood today. I don't think this one is hormonal as much as it is simply being fed up with other people's bullshit. I hate drama. There are a lot of people out there that claim that they hate it, but they are the same people that feel compelled to share their stupid drama with the rest of the world. I suppose since I'm writing this down, that would put me in that same category. No, I don't enjoy drama, but more importantly, I don't like other people's drama. Everyone has a lot going on in their lives. No one person truly has more or less than anyone else as far as I'm concerned. It's simply a matter of perspective. But, since we each feel like we have a lot on our plates and know that other people have a lot on their plates too, why do people feel compelled to dump more shit on other people's plates? I like to try to enjoy my life the best I know how even when there is a lot of stress. I don't like the extra stress thrown in my life when it truly doesn't concern me. I think I'm just done dealing with people and their stupid issues. Unfortunately, I know it's not over. I will get that gut wrenching phone call from someone who wants to puke all their problems all over me and I'll probably just sit there and take it. It's not in my nature to turn people away when they have a problem which eventually feels like my own. Well, now that I've got that out, I will watch for my phone to ring.

Whoa is Me

My hormones have decided to kick in. The ones that make me cry. I hate that. At least they don't make me want to kill people. Oh, wait. Yes they do. Here's a little example of my little pitty party that I've been throwing that no one wants to be invited to. The night before last, I had a dream that Mike decided to confess to me that he had fooled around with a girl from the gym at a party. No sex mind you, but everything else. That was supposed to make me feel better. All he said was her name was Sarah. Who the hell is Sarah?!!! In the dream, I kept asking him to tell me everything while at the same time not wanting to know. I was also very pregnant in the dream and had no ability to do a damn thing about it. Meaning, since I was pregnant, I did not find it appropriate to gauge anyone's eyes out with forks and bash heads in with a baseball bat. Violent, I know, but this is my love life we're talking about. In any case, this stupid dream bugged me all day. Usually, stuff like that doesn't get to me. I'm very secure in my relationship and my self esteem is pretty strong. Well, that all ran down the toilet last night. We'd been invited to a Halloween party and Mike really wants to go. So do I, but...I know what to expect there. So does he. The guys always have humorous costumes on and the girls all dress slutty. Not only do they all dress slutty, they all look great doing so. Most of these girls are girls that go to the gym, so they are all in awesome shape. At last year's party I looked sweet. I was a naughty school girl. Mike was very proud to have me on his arm. This year...yikes. Mike thought it would be hilarious if I were to wear something "dirty" but with my belly sticking out. Ummm, that might make people sick. It would be funny for about the first 10 minutes and then I'd be asked to "cover that shit up." I spent a good hour or more looking up costumes. How could I find anything that was going to be somewhat sexy and yet hide the bump? Nothing exists. The maternity costumes are built for "plus size" women. I'm pregnant in my belly, not my ass, thighs, arms, and neck. This got discouraging after a while. I decided to go upstairs and try on my little naughty school girl costume from last year. Probably not the wisest decision I've made in a while. I hollered to Mike to check it out. It wasn't as funny as he thought it would be. In fact, it was a bit depressing. As I started to pick up the room and pull the way-too-small costume off my body, I found my eyes start to weld up. I announced to Mike that my hormones have officially taken over. "What do you mean?" I walked up to him and lost it. I feel so god damn ugly right now. I'm trying so hard to keep myself cute in all the areas that I have some control over, but it feels like it is all in vain. I explained how hard it is to grasp the concept of how "fun" it will be to go to this party where all the beautiful women are going to be and I'm going to just be big. I was scared that Mike wasn't going to find me attractive and ultimately won't want to have much to do with me until well after Farrah is born and my ass is back to being it's tight cute little self again. I couldn't stop crying. I love him so much I think I would lose my mind if he lost interest. Even typing this, I get a lump in my throat. I'm so pathetic. He gave me a big hug and coaxed me out of my crazy thoughts and reminded me that he does still find me attractive and that this is not the time to even really care about how I look. It doesn't matter to him right now, and it shouldn't matter to me. It's not what's important.

I felt much better after that, but it only took about 5-10 minutes to start feeling weepy again. I started feeling kicks and now, I felt a huge rush of incredible guilt. How could I possibly be so f-ing selfish? This pregnancy is not about me, it's about my daughter. I know I'm scared about what this pregnancy can do to my body, but it's as if I forgot what it was all about. I brought this to Mike's attention. He explained that that was what he meant when he said it doesn't matter to him right now and that it shouldn't matter to me. He told me, come this summer, if I haven't lost anything and have in fact gained weight without even trying to watch what I eat or hit the gym, that would be when he'd get concerned. Now's not the time.

So, this morning I felt much better about myself. I got up, took a shower, picked up a little bit, and went out back to pick up Titan's massive shits. As I was cleaning things up, a new depressing thought entered my head. How on earth am I going to be able to give Titan the attention he needs after the baby is born? He's my dog. I feed him, I take him to the vet, I take him to the groomers, I buy him his treats, and most importantly I scoop his poop. I know how exhausted I'm going to be because I get told all the time. I will have my hands full with baby. I will be healing the trauma between my legs. I will be working on getting schedules going. I will sneak in naps in between diaper changes and feedings. What the hell am I supposed to do about my dog so that he doesn't get left entirely on the back burner? After I finished cleaning up, I came inside and sat down with Mike. And I said it. " I've been thinking, and I feel it would be in our and Titan's best interest to find him a new home before Farrah is born." Waterworks. Mike looked at me and said that he thought I was crazy. Why would I intentionally think of sad things that are really unnecessary right now? I went down my list of concerns, and Mike made some suggestions on what I can do to try to make things easier. I cleaned up my wet face and started to feel a little better. I decided to take Titan with me on my errands today. That way I was able to spend some one on one time with him, which he loves. It made me feel better, too. Until, of course, he couldn't stop farting, I was sure he was going to shit in my car, but instead he barfed. Aghh. I think he loves me. With dry eyes, I cleaned the barf, patted my dog on the head and went home. I am not very excited to see what the next thing will be that will set me off.

In case you were wondering, Mike and I came up with a cute plan for my costume. I'm sorry to disappoint any of you, but I will not be doing the cat's butthole. Although funny, not "cute" enough for the crowd we'll be hanging with. Mike suggested a black tube top, black pants and shoes, with a jack-o-lantern around the belly region. I think I'll be able to pull that off and not feel too uncomfortable around all the hot babes. If not, I could always whip out some tears and have all the attention on me if I feel like the rest of the women are getting a little too much...especially from Mr. Moody.

Take a Picture...It'll Last Longer

I had a real estate agent meet with me today in my office to go over an offer my clients made on his clients' house. As soon as he walked through the door, it was as if his eyes were a magnet and my boobs were a refrigerator. His eyes met with mine though half of the conversation while the rest of the time he was watching my cleavage. I of course caught onto this right away and covered my arms over my chest which just seemed to pull the cleavage up more. Oh shit! He's back. Okay, he left. This time when I saw him coming I took my long locks and brought them forward to hide my feeders. I think what made this whole experience icky, was that he's an old man. White hair with white long nose hairs. I felt like grabbing some tweezers and plucking some of those out of his face because they were making my nose itch and caused me to have some difficulty breathing. It was as if he had a polar bear stuck up his nose. It was so fluffy. I guess while his eyes were fixated on my boobs, mine were fixated on his nostrils. I couldn't believe he could pull in any oxygen through there and I'm sure he thought it was amazing I could even stand up straight with my balloons.

Oh yeah, I was flirted with the other night at the local Safeway. I was standing in line with a case of Coke for Mike and some bread and soup. This young man behind me was standing awfully close and finally asked me with his lower grill covered in what I can only imagine to be pure gold, if I needed help out to my car. He also asked if he could carry anything for me. Let me remind you, I had 1 case of Coke, a loaf of bread, and a can of soup. I'm going to take that as flirting, wouldn't you? It's been a while so I'll take what I can get and enjoy it. In the end, I did decline his offer as I am not handicapped.

Hummingbird Juice

This morning, early this morning, I had to head to the hospital to have some lab work done. The had to run a glucose test to check if I have gestational diabetes. I had to drink a super sweet drink within a 5 minute period of time. I had the choice of either orange or fruit. Ummm, fruit? I chose the one that looks and tastes like what you would put in a humming bird feeder. They might as well had offered water with sugar and food coloring. Who are they trying to kid? I was honestly anticipating it to taste like a SuperSip. Do you remember those? Those used to burn the inside of your mouth and throat and leave a nice phlemy coating. Who didn't love it when their mom packed that in their lunch? Well it didn't taste like a SuperSip. In fact, it wasn't very good at all, but it sure beats having to drink that white stuff for a colonoscopy. Can't wait for that day! After drinking my sugar water, I had to wait in the lobby for an hour in an extremely uncomfortable chair with nothing but crappy magazines all over the place. I had been sitting there for about 10 minutes when another pregnant woman walked in, then another, and another, and another. What the hell? Is there another baby boom going on? They're everywhere!!! I feel kinda guilty. I know I'm only having one, but am I contributing to some out of this world over populated epidemic? It was just a little too weird for me. Also, you can't help but look at everyone else's progress with their body. Or maybe that's just me. Not like I was checking them out, but I was paying close attention to the size of everyone's asses, boobs, what type of clothes they were wearing, how much weight they may or may not have gained from their original size, were they wearing sensible shoes like me, did they have makeup on or were they going au natural, you know all the basic things that go through our heads that make us all a little shallow. For the most part, everyone seemed to be in pretty good shape. The other thing I paid close attention to was guessing everyone's age. There was only one person who looked like she was older than me. The rest were in and around my age. Not too bad.

After resting with my head in my lap (it was difficult, but I managed), it was finally my turn to go in and get poked. I explained to the lab technician that I'm a complete pussy when it comes to needles. She was great and it was all over with within seconds. It's not really the stinging of the needle that I hate, it's the fact that something is piercing through my skin and going into a vein. Yuck.

After drinking all that gross sweet stuff, I had to use the bathroom. The admitting department directed me to a unisex bathroom. Right off the bat, I knew it would be bad. I walked into that room and was appalled. The seat had been left up, there was hair everywhere (not from one's scalp), and dribble all over the floor. That was enough for me. I grabbed my sweater and got the hell out of there. What's wrong with men? Yes, men. Heaven forbid that you try to treat a public restroom like a public restroom and not like your own little private peeing and pooping sanctuary. Clean up after yourself. Turn around and look when you're done. Are you taking care of business with the lights off? It sure looks that way. Needless to say, I would've preferred getting a bladder infection from holding it than to go anywhere near that bathroom. As disgusting as it was at nine in the morning, it left me little confidence about the condition of any of the rest of the restrooms.

Drowning

I've been having difficulty breathing lately. My nose is constantly congested and recently, I feel like I have a vice clamped around my chest squeezing the air out. I feel like I'm carrying Farrah very much like Evie carried Oliver. All in front. The weight of Farrah, plus my big boobies, and my added fat, and all the other fun goo that goes with pregnancy is heavy and I feel like I'm constantly working out and out of breath. That's it for my bitching. I'm sure I'll think of something else in the next few minutes. Oh, yes, my back hurts...again.

Couldn't Think of a Good Title Today

There is a "syndrome" for everything nowadays. One of the newest ones is the Restless Leg Syndrome. And guess what! I have it! That's right. Particularly in my right leg. I've always had some weird thing with my legs where I feel like I need to run a marathon, only I'm in bed, it's midnight, and the rest of me is paralyzed with exhaustion from the day. Running a marathon is therefore out of the question. In the past, I would get it in both legs after taking a Benadryl, Nyquil, or any other night time medicine with a sleeping agent in it. My legs would kick around under the covers and it would drive me crazy and ultimately, keep me up way past the time I wanted to go to sleep. Now, I'm lucky enough to get it throughout the day due to my pregnancy. It often feels like I have the biggest mosquito bite deep in my muscle tissue. I obviously can't scratch that, so I have to punch it. I punch my right hip and upper thigh so many times just to try to get some relief. I can't stand it. I'm not just giving it a friendly tap. I usually pull my fist up and drive it down hard into the area that is bothering me. It does make it feel better, but I can imagine what it's going to look like. I also have to massage my thigh like crazy. It feels like an unbearable unscratchable itch. Luckily, there is a drug out there for poor souls like me. However, I would rather deal with my restless legs than get drowsiness, migrane headache, night sweats, blurred vision, stomach pain followed by possible bloody diarrhea, back pain, blood clots, heart problems, and of course death. You know, the things they disclose before they give you that miracle pill to take away this mild inconvenient "syndrome".

Three More Months of This???

I know I'm bitching again, but sometimes it makes me feel better. MY FUGGIN BACK HURTS!!!!!! Everyone tells me that it's normal, but as soon as I tell them where my back hurts, they say, "Oh, that never bothered me." What the Hell ever. It is my middle back and my shoulders. I know it's due to carrying around baby & pregnancy weight, but it's driving me crazy. It actually makes me cranky. I have to sit so low and slouched in my chair at work in order to feel somewhat comfortable. If I sit up straight, or up and slouched, it just perpetuates the achiness in my back. I look like I'm getting ready to take a nap in my chair, but I'm actually working. It looks unprofessional, but so does crying. I had to weigh out my options. The part that makes me cranky is when I'm on the phone with someone that feels like telling me their life story that I could honestly give two shits about. I'm uncomfortable and in pain. Listening to stupid stuff and stupid people just makes it worse because I can't sit in that comfortable position while on the phone. Okay. I'm done now because as I type this, the pain in my shoulders is coming back. By the way, the Tylenol isn't working...again. This bitch session didn't make me feel better. Dammit.

The Torture Which is My Husband

I love my husband. Anyone who knows me probably thinks I worship him and have a hidden room in my house that has pictures of him everywhere with candles lit to give him constant praise. Yes, he is my favorite person and I constantly tell him that. He is my favorite person...until he does these little things to me that make me crazy. When he does these things I want to kill him. It usually ends with me screaming for the neighbors to hear, me swearing loudly at him, throwing out some smart ass remark, and of course, him laughing hysterically the whole time.

Mike is a gassy, gassy man. Not as much lately because he has cut back on drinking a lot of coke, but still he does drink his protein shakes that have the tendency to stink the place up. Every day I have to get a hug from him. It's our way of expressing that the day is winding down, we're done dealing with work, and it's just our gesture of "it's family time now." Sometimes, not every time, when I go in for my hug, he'll hug me long and hard and suddenly the trumpets are blaring out of his ass. I try to pull away, and he pulls me in closer. As I pull away with all my strength he tries to gently comfort me, "C'mon Kathy. Just stay with me and take it all in." This is when I start to scream and swear. The thing is, it's not always the sound of trumpets. It starts off that way and always ends like it is under mud or water. You know what I'm saying. Wet. Should he wipe? Should he change his pants? Maybe he should take a shower.
That's when I get frightened. I don't want to be held and caressed by someone who just shit themselves. Really.

Another treat is in bed. I know what you're thinking, and no he doesn't do the "tent." No, his is more sneaky. It's always the little ones that I don't hear and then when I think he's being sweet and wants to nestle up to me, he lifts the sheets to roll closer to me. When he lifts those sheets, he fans his smelly fecal matter into my face and up my nostrils. Grrrrross. When I try to get away, he quickly grabs my arm and pulls me into his poison. All the while, he has his eyes closed like he's sleeping but has a shit-eating grin on his face. He's so mean. In fact, he did this to me last night. The pride he has when his farts make your eyes water, is priceless.

Then there's the car. Oh, god, yuck. When we're driving somewhere and he's smelly, he always has the window lock on. There's no escape. The only relief we get is when it's just too much for even Mike to handle. There have been many times that I have gone out to his car to get something and as soon as I open the car door the most bazaar smell wafts in my face and causes me to scrunch my nose up, quickly grab what I need, and slam the door shut. When I get back in the house and ask Mike what the hell died in his car, his response is usually, "Oh, yeah. I had really bad gas today. Sorry." But he laughs hard when he says this.

Mike likes to play tricks on me, too. There have been several occasions that he is in our bathroom pooping and yells for me to get him some toilet paper. "Kathy! There's not enough toilet paper. Could you get me a new roll? I think there's some under the sink." Of course, being the good wife that I am, I quickly get up and grab him a new roll. He opens the door for me to hand it to him and as soon as I notice that there is a full roll already in there, he grabs my hand before I can get away. Mind you, this all seems to happen in slow motion. Again, he keeps me there telling me just to be okay with it. "It's gonna be okay, Kathy. Just relax." I pull away from him as hard as I can, usually standing at a 45 degree angle, ready to crack my head open on the counter if he lets go at the right time. I could care less. At least I'll be out cold not concerned whether Mike's poo particles are entering my lungs.


I can't help but laugh about these little tortures that Mike puts me through, because it seems to bring him such joy. How can I deny him that? He's such a boy and such a kid at the same time. He laughs so hard at himself with such delight at his accomplishment, I can't help but usually laugh along with him (still angry though). It's funnier though, when I lift the sheets at night to send a little good night kiss to his nasal passage. He never expects that from me.

Battle Star Sciatica

I have a new symptom. Sciatic Nerve pain. It hurts when I sit. It hurts when I stand. It hurts when I walk. It even hurts when I'm lying down. I've been working so hard on improving my posture and making sure that I don't get that pregnant walk, but this pain is making that goal very difficult. I limp with a waddle. Aghh. One thing that I've found that actually works is Tylenol. So weird. My whole life, Tylenol has never worked for me for anything. Fevers, pains, head aches, nothing. Suddenly, my body's chemistry is a little different and it works. Thank god. My biggest concern with the pain is that I don't want it to interfere with what I need to do at the gym. My legs and my ass have become my "problem areas." That's what hurts, though. What to do. What to do.

I am officially in the home stretch of things. Today I start my third trimester. I am 28 weeks pregnant and have 12 weeks to go. Holy crap, I remember when I was 12 weeks pregnant and 28 weeks away seemed so far. Weird.