Category Archives: Quarter Life Crisis

Maternity Tuesday

Before I start a productive post this week I would like to take a minute to list all of the things that I’m not going to miss about being pregnant:

Tums. Good riddance
Not wearing my wedding ring
Tiny feet in my ribs at odd hours of the night
Using the bathroom 5 times a night
Sensitive gag reflex
Restricted diet

In case that list doesn’t make the point clear, I’m starting to get frustrated with being uncomfortable, throwing up, peeing, and being kicked by someone who I can’t ask to stop (not that I imagine he’s going to listen, anyway).

Think I’m kidding about popping Tums like Skittles?

The travel one for my purse, the normal one for the nightstand, and the Costco big sister one to feed the other two bottles and sit as a reminder on my bathroom counter that acid reflux SUCKS

Screw you, acid reflux.

On to a more exciting and less angry topic: What all of this is for! Our baby is 17 inches, and tips the scales at over 4 pounds. “His skeleton is hardening” ….. You don’t say. Except for his skull, which will expand and grow to fit his enormously brilliant brain as he gets older. It’s a good thing his head will grow to accommodate his brain because someone’s going to have to show me how to use the electronic devices of the future!

I think his moves are visible from space.

And I’m starting to FREAK OUT that there is an actual baby inside of me instead of just a hypothetical concept of a baby. Obviously I knew I was pregnant and how this all works, but I’ve been so focused on keeping him in that it hit me this week like a tiny Tasmanian Devil that this is really happening and he is going to have to eventually come out. And (I’m just going to come out and say it), when I realized that I’m never going to sleep in again, it will never just be Angel and I again, and NOTHING will be the same, I started to question if this is really what I want. Obviously it is, this is just what new mom panic looks like for me. All of that time that I spent decorating my house? My child is about to redecorate with puke, toys, and mismatched food stains. I’m never going to know what a clean and decorated house feels like again. And then I feel ENORMOUSLY guilty for even questioning if I want this little man because OBVIOUSLY I do. I just clearly don’t handle this much change as well as I did when this little guy was just a hypothetical baby in my belly the last 8 months and the changes were hypothetical as well.

My baby at 33 weeks:

You have no idea what I have planned, mom.

So here I am: Mom of the Year.

This realization came yesterday when I was at the doctor and he pulled out a calendar, pointed to a specific date, and asked how I felt about being induced then. Granted this all depends on my body showing signs of getting ready for labor by November 18th, but Holy Crap! this is really happening. And then he gave me a speech about nursing, what to expect with a newborn, and signs that I now need to be looking for as indicators that I need to go directly to the hospital. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. So this is really happening, huh? I must have looked panicked because he told me that “universally, babies born after 32 weeks do just fine” and then looked at my chart and informed me that I was 33 so I’m just keeping him out of the hospital now. All righty- so this is all going to happen? huh

Before this panic yesterday, I was planning on talking about how we got the rest of the nursery furniture and I nested the room to beautiful perfection, but now it all seems totally futile when I ask you all if you KNEW THIS LITTLE GUY WAS ACTUALLY EXPECTED TO COME HOME WITH ME AT THE END OF THIS?! Right, because he’s my son who’s first few words will probably include calling me mom. Which clearly can’t be right because “Mom” is my mom, not me. And when he says mom, I’m immediately going to be on the look out for her: Really? where?

yadda, yadda, the room’s ready, yadda

So panic. Got it covered.

This makes me appreciate Angel not showing emotion as openly as I do. Can you imagine 2 of me in my house instead of just me and someone laughing at me, calling me crazy, and finally annoyingly telling me: “it’s fine, babe.” I can’t imagine how I would feel if I started freaking out about the obvious and Angel jumped on board with an “Ohmygod! What do we do?!” One of us needs to be calm, and I think I’ve demonstrated in the last 847 words that that is not me. Clearly.

2 and a half weeks of work left. That’s all. And then I get a few weeks off to panic some more. And then there’s going to be, like, a baby, or something. That I’m going to have to take care of. Well I’ll be damned. This is really happening.

OR, I could be the first woman who ever keeps her child in utero forever. Option 2 sounds safer. How do I arrange that?

Diary of 7 Comp Days From Work

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Day 1

Sorry I didn’t actually update my blog regarding my time off to do nothing. I was busy…. doing nothing. I woke up late, read an entire book between naps, cuddled with Molly, and watched a few movies on HBO. I accomplished nothing, I did no house work, I didn’t shower or change out of sweat pants, and it was everything I thought it could be. I tried to make coffee in the morning, but we didn’t have coffee beans and I was too damn lazy to go to the store to get some- so I went back to bed instead.

Day 2

The no alarm thing is really easy to get used to. I woke up at 10 and felt like a teenager sleeping through the day. I sat out in the sun of the backyard with the dog for 30 minutes, caught up on my trashy TV, finally showered so I could take the dog to the groomer and to the mall to get soap from Bath and Body Works, and then came home to finish doing nothing before Angel and I went to go to our Boot Camp workout class. And then we ate the fridge out of leftovers because I’m still on this kick of doing nothing (which has no end in sight).

My ass is starting to form in the shape of the couch. I’m so proud.

Tomorrow Angel’s taking the day off, too. He’s either jealous of my and Molly’s laziness, or….? No, he’s jealous. We were thinking about going skiing, but they haven’t gotten any snow in the last week and we decided that we didn’t want to drive and leave the dog alone since she’s still a little sick. So instead, we’re now thinking we’ll take the dog for a walk down to the shopping center for lunch. Assuming, of course, that I wake up before lunch.

This not working thing is way too early to get used to. I’m worried that I’m not going to want to go back to work on Tuesday- even though it’s just for the day (I have Wednesday off). Quarter life crisis in full run.

Holy Scrapbook

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I don’t mean to alarm anybody, but the scrapbook apocalypse has arrived and my office is ground zero.

I’ve been all about finding creative outlets for myself and since diaper cakes are on a small hiatus until I get past my stabby attitude towards babies, scrap books seemed like the next logical step. I mean, who really wants a diaper cake full of small, sharp objects and unlocked pill bottles? Nobody. But who wants a scrap book of our honeymoon? Well, Angel will eventually but he’s not allowed near the office so he doesn’t know it yet.

I have been hunting Cricut machines like they are elephant tusks for an ivory market, just waiting for one to go on sale because even I have my limits. Today I found one for half off and I damn near killed someone trying to get to my computer to order it before they went out of stock. Do you see what my quest for creativity is doing to me? It should be here by Tuesday at the latest. I would love to say that I’ll blog about it immediately, but given my current track record I’m going to call in sick to work so I can spend a full 18 hours using it before I tuck it in bed with me for the night so it may be a few days before you hear about it’s glory. Besides, this will allow me sufficient time to come up with a proper name. All amazing gadgets must be named (see: My Kitchen Aid mixer named Hello Kitchy. Trust me, once you use one of those naming it won’t sound so weird).

I’m too excited about my Cricut machine and scrapbook to sleep…. But such is the life of a starving artist (speaking of, I may have been too distracted to stop for dinner…. I can’t remember).