But... I'm Doing It Backwards?!

All: I need to know why we don't wear maternity clothes ALL THE TIME. Seriously. Who is answering this question for me because someone needs to immediately. 

Now look, maternity clothes cost more than the arrival of the child which OK is maybe one reason why we don't wear them all the time. However, zulily.com sends me a daily email with at least one or two deals for maternity clothes. A few weeks ago the deal was for Page Maternity jeans which looked great and at about $60 each - a decent price. Remember our current Dante weather aside, I'm going to be pregnant well into fall/winter so I need to keep my shit together for another few months. I missed the memo where someone told me that maternity jeans run OVER $150 when sweatpants and a fucking muumuu would suffice. Sixty bucks was a damn gift and if I had known when the sale was on I would have bought them out and sold them on eBay. College funds bitches! 

Like every other major jean designer Page assumes I am approximately 12 feet tall so I dropped them off at my friendly Asian tailor (no I don't hem my own pants. I cook and do laundry - wife card complete) thinking oh I can wait 3 days before I am going to need these. Right now allllll the formerly-pregnant people are laughing at my naivete. Why? Because the past three days I have been rocking non-mat pants with the super-hot hairband loop and about two inches of gut just hanging out there under my flowy shirt. Yeah yeah... it's not gut it's baby blah blah. Let's be clear - it's baby gut. 

Today, I pulled on a pair of brand new maternity leggings that could double as a bra if I didn't need any support. Double that with my new pair of bright orange TOMS and support tank and I literally don't have SINGLE SNAP OR TIE. I assume this will have to be norm for the next couple years - trying to make myself look presentable without structure. But screw structure right now, right? RIGHT. 

I find it odd that I am eager to grow INTO clothes rather than shrink out of them. That's going to get old soon isn't it? It's the opposite mindset of the last 20+ years of my life; that and the unstoppable urge to eat at every 20 minutes. Or rather give into the urge to eat every 20 minutes. Although the wider I get, I have to remind myself I need to get wider before I get belly-ier. That's a word right? Yep it is today.

Belly-ier. Get on it. 

In lieu

I've been celebrating my "advanced maternal age" and blinding insomnia for the past few days and have been unable to finish a post that does not suck. But during the aftermath of a particularly rough bout of insomnia and an annoying day at work, I was ready to shiv people in the kidney and call it day. And then this little gem from my best friend gave me the best laugh of the day. 

You're welcome. 

The Day I Got Old

For the record, it was today. Now I know - ma'am - that one just doesn't get old in a day but trust me today was that day. 

This morning I woke up at 6:15 with knot in my shoulder and a pulsing headache behind my left eye. Then immediately shoved about 4 handfuls of oyster crackers into my face, peed, drank a half-gallon of water and declared myself awake - AT SIX FIFTEEN ON A SATURDAY. 

On my way to a delightful brunch with Dills, her adorable sons and a giant plate of monkey bread I must have yelled at no fewer than five idiot drivers about their lack of turn signal. All, I don't understand why it's so hard to just let people know that you have an intention to turn. You literally don't have to LIFT A FINGER. It's a flick - a single flick of your finger and you can make my murderous rage disappear. And really, it's all about my murderous rage. 

Also please note: I stopped this post to take a nap. And not a disco nap - a full out sweaty drooling nap that really should be continued in my bed until tomorrow morning. 

Do you see where I am headed? Before that nap I had dinner at 6PM because after a trip to the mall where I bought nothing like a grown-up, I was ravenous. The Hubs turned on Palladia to some outdoor music festival while I folded laundry (have you started yawning yet?). Here's what I said: 

1. I used to think those are so fun; now it just crowds of stinky, hot people with smokers breath.  
2. This music is TERRIBLE. 

I immediately turned on HGTV while the Hubs mocked me for shaking my cane at the young'uns. 

At least it's OK for me to mock those idiots that totally choose the wrong house. 

ETA: I wasn't going to mention the other 5 things that proved I got old but then completely forgot by the time I got to writing this post. Mostly because the fact that I FORGOT THEM IN 2 HOURS just proves my point. NOW GET AWAY FROM MY AZALEAS. 

You know what sucks?

Trying to write about something personally confusing. And that's what I am doing right now. Or at least trying to. But not really because instead I am posting this which is really just a bunch of words on a page. Let's talk about pregnant stuff because that's not personal or confusing right? Right? 

If I tell one more person I pooped today the local new station is going to show up at my door and do a feature. Or the Internet police will come to my door and be all, Ma'am no one cares that you pooped. And they would totally call me ma'am because this is the week of ma'aming me to death. "Can I get you anything else, ma'am?" "How can I help you ma'am?" DON'T YOU MA'AM AT ME. I am young! I am filled with snark! I am not ma'am worthy. Just because I am in bed before 10:30P and can't sleep past 8AM - hmph. Your face is a ma'am. 

Now before I took the tangent train to Ma'amville (and don't think there aren't going to be any more stops there), my rambling was heading towards why the Hubs and I refuse to make this whole making-a-person-thing "Facebook Official" or rather FBO. 
(Yes, someone I know called it FBO. I can't; I won't; I refuse.) And while I am sure those who have asked shrug-off my reasoning as pregnant craziness, but Hubs and I agreed on this one. 

Reason's we are not announcing on the Book of Face: 

1.  Facebook is for amusement and general nosiness; I really just want people to think I am funny, not breeding. 
2. I have 360 "friends" on Facebook. I talk to approximately 1/4 in real friend life. If I talk to you in real friend life you know I am pregnant. You're welcome. If you found my blog, you don't know who I am and you know I am pregnant! You're welcome too. 
3. When I was trying to get pregnant, every pregnancy announcement on Facebook made me want to stick hot pokers in my eyes and immediately released horrible person MiT. I never want to unknowingly have people feel that way and yes I know,  I don't "make" people feel a certain way but still, I've felt that and don't want to make others feel that way indirectly. 
4. It's no one's business what's happening in my uterus. I write because what's happening to me isn't unique to the world but it's unique to me. And because some of this is funny/weird/amazing. Plus I like writing - this gives me something to write about rather than all things on Pinterest that I am never going to do or how blah my life is. This is more fun because I talk about poop at least once a post. 

Ma'am - that's some fucking bullshit. 

My avatar and other religious things

I chose the avatar because it's funny. What isn't funny about Jesus cradling a Velociraptor? God I love the Internet.

Note: I didn't choose it because I think I am Jesus (Ahem Kanye) nor that I am Godly or a Virgin Mother or any of those Catholic idols my mother so adores. It's FUNNY. And I am pretty sure that being a pregnant person and then a mother requires you to have a sense of humor or a bottomless Valium prescription. The former is cheaper and better for my liver. 

Speaking of religion and idolatry, my Dad stepped up on his organized religion soapbox this weekend and assumed/insisted that we're going to raise the little 'raptor with some religious structure right? RIGHT?  OK well to be fair, he did ask about baptizing/christening the biscuit first. To which I responded, "Um, sure. I mean, we can." 

UTTER DISMAY.  

Look, I can't just saunter into a church and be all, "Hey here's my baby dump some water on it and read some Scripture!" I mean, I don't think I can because my Catholic upbringing was pretty much "Are you IN or are you OUT?" And we're so on the OUT side of that bargain. Although perhaps I can pay them off? Like "Here's $500 for your church or whatever dunk my kid in a pool and say a Hail Mary!" Also a product of Catholic upbringing but not completely out of the realm of possibility. 

Things REALLY got heated when the actual raising within some church/religion/Osteen-like cult came up probably because my answer was "Erm, not...really."  

Here's the question: Do I baptize/christen our 'raptor because my parents insist? It doesn't go against any belief of ours per se although the notion of a baby holding on to some sort of "Original Sin" from a fairy tale story about a snake seems a bit ridiculous and unfair. Alas, we hardly mind the baptizing/christening portion of the conversation. If my parents would like to take over that part of the dino's life than I am happy to have them do so. However, the insistence of raising a child in the church - any church - made me squeamish. I love how my parents have a foundation; a community that has brought them good friends and a sense of purposefulness they thoroughly enjoy. And who knows? We may do that one day when our litter is gone and grown. However, my Dad's dismay at not raising us with a solid church foundation felt like an attack - like somehow my brother and I are lacking of something. Don't misunderstand, I know that my father was more dismayed in his perceived shortcomings; not his children's current religious affiliations or lack thereof. 

How do you navigate those waters? Do I look for a church? Do I offer to bring the newest member of our family home (a good 2hr plane ride) so they can perform that ritual cleansing at their church - the same I was confirmed in? Do I begin randomly calling any Christian church and ask what they're going out-of-religion baptism rate is? Would it be inappropriate to ask if they hate gays? Or Velociraptors? 

A Non-Announcement

WOO HOO twelve weeks! Hallelujah! And while my parents are beside themselves and my husband tears up when we walk into the doctor's office, I am feeling… perfectly fine about the whole you're-growing-life thing. 

Don't get me wrong, I am OVERJOYED and not a little nervous. But really? I feel like I am just along for the ride. So my digestive system slowed to a crawl making me look at least 5 months pregnant with bloat and poop. Maybe I pee more often that usual or instantaneously such as when I cough or even think about peeing. All the internets assure me this is normal and blah blah so I refuse to worry about it. 

Here's the thing: I am a WORRIER. No one has even doubted my long genetic history of anxiety-ridden lunatics. My grandfather, for example, walked my mom to school. Cute right? Not when she was 17 and a senior in high school. And of course, due to the advances in modern pharmaceuticals, my family now lives a life lower anxiety. I am not going to say "anxiety-fee" because that would a) be a lie and b) there are no pharmaceuticals to cancel out our genetics. Tangent aside, we're all nuts so I am not one hundred percent sure why I am riding this pregnancy wave like it ain't no big thing. 

What I am loving the most is the reaction from friends and family. With one notable exception, my nearest and dearest have hooted, hollered, cried and OMG'd me to the happiest place on Earth. My lifelong best friend showed up after a manic-filled run to Babies R Us with onesies, burp cloths, socks, pacifiers and a $50 gift card. Knowing we're not finding out the sex, it's the usual palette of whites, greens and yellows. This allows me to forgive her after poking at my right boob at the dinner table asking "Is that padding?!" I squelched the urge to ram my fist in her face after assuring her that was NOT padding and indeed my very swollen and tender breast. My family thought it was hilarious; I may offer to stick them with hot pokers so I can laugh at their pain. Aren't I adorable? 

The Hubs and I agreed keeping this all quiet in the Book of Face world. While I love the self-serving and often mock-worthy social media network, I find it unnecessary to announce the goings-on of my uterus to the "friends" I never see or speak to on a regular basis. They're just there to feed my ego about my latest profile picture and laugh at my witty repartee. Now you totally want to be my friend don't you? I can't say that I won't be posting photos of the biscuit when he/she arrives nor do I think posting photos of your children allows the world access to them but I do think there's an increasing need to live off-line. Wait do you hear it? THAT'S IRONY PEOPLE. But in all seriousness, those reading this already know me or have stumbled across this blog after a Google search term gone wrong. Sorry y'all. 

What's happening right now: 

• I forget everything and am easily distracted.
•  I have an iPad, a Nook and about 4 magazine subscriptions that just pile up. I remembered exactly zero for a flight home - even though I have all the chargers packed neatly in my carry-on. What I did remember was my computer - please note the charger stayed safely plugged in to the power strip in my living room. Solution? Bought a magazine. Gave it to my seat mate on the flight. 
• I stood in Barnes & Noble for roughly 35 minutes trying to remember if I read the eighteenth book in the Stephanie Plum series. I remember every book I have ever read in my life. My first book? Danielle Steele - Kaleidoscope. I was 10. Solution? Bought the $7 hard cover and figured out I started but never finished said book. 
• Normally I take out my iPhone and make a note to remember something. Now I take out my iPhone get distracted by something SHINY - like a text or the email bubble or the time. I fiddle for a while then put my phone away and realize that's not why I took it out but that I needed to remember something. What was that again? No clue because I have wandered off in the shiny haze of my Apple product. Hope it wasn't a birthday! Or a doctor's appointment! Solution? I bought a notebook; didn't have a pen. WELCOME TO MY WORLD.
• Peeing - Constant 
• Digestive system - On Hiatus 
• Dreams - Holy vividness Batman. Look I never want to dream in HD much less Plasma LCD dreams with anxiety and work and random Candy Crush challenges. I never win the Candy Crush ones. Or the ones where the house is on fire. But I did have one where my friend was nominated for an Emmy; I don't know if she won. 
• Night Sweats - The lower half of my body breaks out into spontaneous sweat regardless of room temperature. Hot, right? Swampy is more accurate. Thank the Jesus for Johnson's Baby Powder.