Wordful Wednesday: Selfish

13 10 2010

To anyone who feels personally offended that I haven’t been updating:
We were admitted Thursday night.
Baby Boy Mak showed up Friday morning  (6lbs, 4 oz), via a slice in my adbomen and since then, I’ve been trying not to die*.
Seems my bribe of pumpkin cupcakes didn’t work as my arm’s bruising up from my IVs (yes, plural) and blood draw sites. At least they listened to me and only used tape when 100% necessary.
Anyway, here we are this morning after breakfast.

He’s a champ and has charmed all the nurses.
I, meanwhile, continue to be on modifed bedrest, while charming the nurses with my humor.

* Dr. Wiki on HELLP Syndrome. My platlets were at 6k during the event, if you get to the part that talks about severity. So thanks to the aunt who said I looked terrible while my major organs were failing. You win the “awesome. shut-up” award.

MYOB: The Direct Approach

21 09 2010

Balancing coffee on The Bump, Creepy Creepy Guys get on the train. “Well, isn’t that a sour puss? You’re (imitates duck face). Cranky much?”
“On your way to work?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t talk to people I don’t know.”
CCG#1 makes sour beer face. I return to glazed stare out of the opposite window.
“Well, if you don’t talk to strangers, then how do you meet new people?!”, CCG #1 inquires.
CCG #2 comments, “Probably at the candy shop.” (aside: WTF, a candy shop? are you serious?)

CCG #1 says, “So what are you hoping for?”
(voice in the back of my head, “A fu&^ing puppy that poops skittles you pervert!”)

Thank goodness it was my stop, but I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

So, ladies and gentlemen, in the interest of how to get people to stop talking to you, I bit the bullet and can report that even the direct approach of “I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU.” does not work.

WTFFriday: “MYOB in Paint”

17 09 2010

Due to my current state of waddledom, I cop out and take the LIRR half a mile to my office.
I choose to sit at the front of the first car, tying not to sit close to other people, such as one does in the restroom (occupied, empty, occupied, empty).

Getting to a front seat, there’s someone on the train I haven’t seen before and well, that voice in my head said “Maybe you should sit further back” and the other voice said, “It’s only two stops!”
So I pass Unrecognizable Person, and make sure there’s two seats between us; the train has one other person on it at this point.

I wasn’t quite able to get her hair big enough without blocking out the rest of the scene. Work with me here.
So, I take my seat, resume my I-feel-unlady-like-but-damn-it’s-comfortable-to-not-close-my-knees seated position.
I hear that screechy theme from Friday the 13th start playing and in slow motion, I see Unrecognized Person turn towards me.

Not feeling like a total bitch, or maybe because I chickened out, I did NOT say, “What baby?” or “Do I know you?”. Instead I forcibly laughed and said, “A few weeks still.”
“Wow, you’re working up right till the end, huh?!”
Resisting temptation to have her come see  my obvious car, I nod, not making eye contact, “Uh huh. I feel fine, there’s no reason not to.”
“SOOOOOOOO, do you know what you’re having?!?!?!?”
Thinking that she’s not getting the hint from my tone, I try looking tired and say very simply, “No.”
She faces forward, taking that “Oh, you don’t want to talk to me about your bbbbaaaabbbyyyy” skunky beer face*.
Then the Friday the 13th screeching starts again.

“Welllllll, I JUST found out that MY daughter is pregnant!”, she says, turning her body towards me, trying to engage me in conversation.
“Poor thing is so sick. Just vomiting all the time and nauseous.”
I do that forced laugh thing again, “Yeah, I hear that happens.”
Skunky beer face, again. “The doctor wants to put her on medication, but she doesn’t want to take it.”
“Ah ha ah ah.” (I am Stephanie’s feigned interest)

I turn away, not a total body turn, but more of “hey, what goes on over here.”
It was her stop. “Well”, she sing-songs, “Good luck!”
“Thank you.”

The other person on the train was smirking the whole time.

Note: Headphones and books do nothing in these situations. People tap me on the arm to ask questions.

Dilemma: “Oh, hush up, they’re just happy and excited for you!”, some people say.
Those people don’t understand.
First of all, I often don’t know the person who is asking me these questions. HOW exactly are they excited or happy for me?
Second, I feel as though incubating questions are personal. Do these people ask other people what kind of underpants people wear? Do they ask clearly sick people how their feeling? Oh, wait, sorry, it’s allowed to be nosy with pregnant people because babies are precious and adorable… cancer is scary and bad and we don’t want to discuss that.

*You know, when you crack open a beer, expecting it to be all kinds of awesome and then it’s that rogue beer that ends up being f-ing gross.

(Funny, Pregnant Chicken just posted about Things I Wanted to Say While I was Pregnant)

Monday, Why do you Torture me??!

13 09 2010

It’s feeling a bit like Friday the 13th, rather than Monday the 13th.

1) Traffic on the 10s is useless when you don’t announce an accident that’s more than 10 minutes old. Especially when it’s right after I pass the last exit to take the alternate route.

2) Constant Comment is in the office. (remember him? Here, here and here)

He comes up to me, I’m already in a bad mood and he’s using that “You’re so young and stupid” voice… “So, how you feeling these days?”
“Fine.” (Thinking, “Go away.”)
“Feeling the baby kick?”
“I’m 9 months pregnant. I should hope so.” (mind you, he was in a month ago and asked when I was due, clearly out of courtesy, then promptly started talking about himself.)
“Oh, then you can go about any time then!” (my new least favorite phrase)
“I have a few weeks still. (“GO. AWAY.”)
Taking a “I have poops older than you!” tone with me, “Bet you want some advice.”
Taking a “I’m being serious when I say this” tone back to him, “No. Actually, I don’t.”
He proceeds to talk to me anyway.

3) Note to Annoyance, you know that I was working on that proposal. Why aren’t you asking me about it?

WTFFriday: Shorties

10 09 2010

(I know you’ve all missed me soooooo much… no MiniMak yet, just nothing “exciting” going on; doubt you care about my whining that Dairy Queen is closed at 9pm.)

Dear Media Outlets,
If you don’t want something to be news, don’t pick it up or cover it.
That nutjob with the Quran burning, he’s getting the attention he wants because you’re giving it to him.
Sure, it’s news, but YOU’RE the ones blowing it out of proportion. Not saying that what he’s doing is wrong or right, but he had a flock of 50. In Florida.
Pretty sure it wouldn’t have been national news if you’d keep it in your pants.

(now that we’ve got the unpleasantness out of the way)

Dear Old Navy,
You’re so hard to resist with your chunky sweaters, non-mumu maternity clothes and adorbs baby stuff.
I wish I knew how to quit you.

Dear People Who Don’t Know,
When a lady is pretty far along in her pregnancy, she’s got a good idea of if there’s one or more babies in there.
Asking her if there’s twins in there causes undue TMJ flare ups. Extra flare for following up with, “Are you sure?”
This, just moments after you commented on how good (read: smaller then someone this far along)  she looks.
Besides, if there were twins A) you would have heard about it by now B) They’d be the size of peanuts because twiners are A LOT bigger.

Dear Date Requesters,
Baby isn’t taking requests for birth day.
We’re honored that  you’d be willing to share your birthday with us, but really, when he/she is ready, that’s when it is.
Stop looking at me like I took Old Yeller out back when I say, “We’ll see when we decide to come…”

Dear Rotating Doctor,
I’m sure it’ll be nice to meet you next week.
Sorry that our first encounter is going to require your looking at my lady bits. This isn’t how I usually start relationships off.


27 08 2010

WTF Person Who Laughs at Everything,
Just wondering, what is so funny about someone sneezing? No really, let me in on this joke because I don’t get it.
I sneezed, pardoned  myself and you damn near burst your bladder.
I know you’re not that jovial, what’s with the laughing?
Someone brought you a soda? HAR HAR HAR!
Won a scratch-off lottery? HEE HEE HEE!
Ate some chips? HAW HAW HAW!

Clearly you misread your directions about where to turn.
No problem.
Let me let you in on a tip.
If you’ve realized that you no longer have to turn right, slow down, stay on the shoulder,  put your LEFT blinker on, check your mirror, check your blind spot and when you’re certain that a purple Trailblazer isn’t trying to pass you, THEN pull back onto the road.
Also, that BLARING noise in the key of F, that was my horn.
Your driving antics caused me to break a perfectly good glass when my bag when sailing into my dashboard. You owe me $2.
I’m just glad I didn’t have to pee urgently.

WTF Subway and your “Veggie Delight”,
Let me get this straight… you based the nutritional information using the condiment quantity for a “regular” sandwich and that’s why I have to insist on extra extra veggies?

WTF NY plate “U2 ROCKS”,
Your driving offends me.
First, that sign that alerted you to upcoming merging traffic means that traffic will be merging. This doesn’t mean that you play flying eagles with another car that is going slower than traffic and then speeds up to pass you.
Secondly, it’s a called a blinker, or in some areas “directional”. Learn it, love it, use it.
Thirdly, when you pass someone, do not SLAM on the brakes as soon as you get in front of them; especially when there’s a good 700 yards between the bumper in front of you.
Fourth, it’s a posted speed limit. If you’re not going to do it, get to the right.

Fifth, I don’t think you realized ANY of the hundreds of other motorists on the road.
And screw your “Pray for all Priests!” bumper sticker. I pray that you don’t kill someone with your driving.

WTF Gestational Diabetes,
You’re only present for a short time after I eat way too much (i.e. chips, salsa and enchiladas at El Canelo).
Case in point, when I ate that leftover cake and tested 45 minutes later, you were at 115. Technically, you should have been higher.
When I get retested in a few months, kindly stick to the levels we’ve been having.

WTF Chocolate Milk,
Why do you rock so hard?
I love you.

A Showering!

26 08 2010

Sunday was our shower.
Well, I shower everyday, it’d be better to say “Sunday was our Baby Shower”.
All the attention turns me into a babbling idiot. E.G. “Oh, q-tips! For cleaning ears and whatever else gets dirty on a baby!”, “This book may be too advanced for us…”, “IT’S GOT EARS ON IT!”, “How’s Steve supposed to fit into this?!”
The weather was up in the air (no pun intended) as the forecast pretty much changed on an hourly basis. We did get a sprinkle (or a shower, AHAHAHHAHHAHA) while guests were arriving, but besides that, it was warm and humid which did a number on my ankles. Sexy.

Of course, Big Sister to be was out and relished the attention from her new kerchief and from being such a damn fine looking dog:

Yes, I do dress my dog up. Yes, she does enjoy it.

We had a TACO  BAR for lunch.
Mainly because it’s different and because Baby loves Mexican.
And then we had cake.
3 layers of amaretto. Even the small pieces were large.

I thought I had a pre-cut photo, it's somewhere....

It had sugar elephants and tigers on it. I ate a lion. It was yummy.

So many presents!!!
Here’s a snap of showing off a goodie.
I like this photo because I’m smiling (most of the photos find me looking like I opened a box of past-prime-fruit, I’m not good at making faces) and my massive ankles are hidden:

Despite what the box says, I'm pretty sure this doesn't need batteries

Once we got the furniture installed, I was able to start to de-box a few things; just to reduce the clutter a bit.
My parents made a contribution into the new piggy bank:


The bill hadn’t even hit the bottom when Steve was out of the room, looking for a hammer:


And of course, if the bed can handle a 65lb dog, it can handle a baby.

If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball

To round things out, here’s photographic evidence of our potential as capable parents:

It takes a village to carry a carseat


15 08 2010

Clue 1)
“Wait, are you saying that you tried to open a can of paint with the wallpaper removal tool?”

Clue 2)
“Don’t worry, I’ll use the scissors…”

Clue 3)
“I’ve got some tape downstairs.”
“Is that hockey tape?”
“Same thing.”

Clue 4)
“I don’t know what hurts worse, my pride or my finger.”
“Probably your pride.”

Clue 5)
“Damn it, if only it were two hours later, I could have just stuck a testing strip in there.”


12 08 2010

Okay, okay, I know I’ve been QUITE the grumpy butt as of late.

However, there’s been a change in the tide.
It’s over 12 hours now that I’ve been in a decent mood!

So, yeah, sorry about all of that PEOPLE SUCK AND YOU SUCK AND *RASPBERRY*

Much like when we got the carpet installed (‘cept with more of a bump):

Things that were idealized in my brain began to unravel in foot-stomping-fashion… then I put on my big-girl underpants printed with “HELP” and not-even-close-to-a-real-crisises were averted.
So, Mr. President, you can take your hand off that red phone.

*tap tap* Is This Thing On?

9 08 2010

The way my brain is wired is pretty easy. Relevant [to this posting] nugget include:
If you’re going to take the time to ask someone a question, take the time to pay attention to their answer.

I tend to get frustrated when people bring things up that I presume they know are wrong, just to start a conversation.

I.E. #1
At last month’s 4th of July party, an uncle asked if we were finding out what we’re having.
I told him no.
Over the weekend, I saw said uncle again. He asked if we were going to find out what we’re having.

I.E. #2
4th of July: “Are you feeling the bbaaaaaabbbyyyy*?”
“Sure am!”
This weekend: “Are you feeling the bbaaaaaabbbyyyy*?”
(aside, I have 8-9 weeks to go. If I am not feeling the baby, we have MAJOR issues.)

I.E. #3/4
My parents have lived in Tucson for almost 6 years. Why do some people insist on asking me if they still live in Phoenix? They lived in Phoenix about 8 years ago.
Same goes for my maternal family who live in Small Town Michigan (2 hours south of Detroit)… Steve’s family still thinks they live in Detroit, despite my correcting them multiple times a year. Not that the geographic location matters, it’s more of, “They don’t live in Detroit, they live in Small Town, but (revert to whatever dribble was going on).”

Maybe it’s that whole can-we-talk-about-something-else but I am over being asked, “How are you feeling?” and “Are you excited?”
If you know someone who’s pregnant, stop asking them.
You don’t really want to know about hemorrhoids, bladder weakness, upset stomachs, acid reflux, back pain, midnight charlie horses etc. ** Everyone and their mothers (and fathers. And uncles. And Aunts. And various strangers) are asking them how they feel. Can we talk about the weather (but not related to pregnancy) or the local sports team or something?

Most people are excited to welcome a baby into their lives. If I answer with a dry, “No”, you look at me like I’m the one who is stupid. Why the hell wouldn’t I be excited? Thank you for not asking if I’m nervous or scared or prepared (for the record, “No, because it is what it is, why fret over how horrible it’s going to be?”, “Kind of, just because this is something I’ve never done before.” and “Hahahaha. No. Though, I do have a car seat, stroller, changing table and boppy.”) because I do not want to hear you trying to rationalize WHY I should be scared/nervous; “Oh, you know Family Member almost DIED when she gave birth!”

And to people who do rationalize people’s fear, there’s a monster living under your bed and that lunch meat you made your sandwich with is past  it’s best-by date and tomorrow you’ll find that the next piece of bread in the bag is moldy.

*Yes, that’s how you must refer to spawn. Especially if you’re over the age of 60. No offense to my decent 60+ readers, I know you’d never.
** This author is lucky and has not been plagued by may of this maladies. But you know that because we’ve discussed it.