The Breaking Point

I think I have finally answered the age-old question:  How long can the husband of an expectant wife keep his sanity?  The answer would be seven and a half months.

Chris is revolting against my pregnancy.  Its not a problem with me or with the Bean, I think he has just finally had his limit of fetching, caring, and empathizing.  I’ve noticed that there have been less foot rubs in the past couple weeks.  And where he used to tuck me in bed every night, helping me strategically place each of my 1,000 pillows, he now just shoves the pillows here and there, tosses a kiss in my direction, and heads downstairs to the television.

I don’t blame him for this.  Not at all.  In case you hadn’t guessed, I am not exactly the strong and silent type.  I’m more the hurl myself on the floor, yelling “WHY DOES GOD HATE ME” type.  Chris has put up with his fair amount of complaining and moaning and crying, so I’m not surprised that he has hit his breaking point.  I’m just surprised at what it was the pushed him over the edge.

This morning I woke up earlier than him, like always.  I took the dogs downstairs, like always.  I fed them and had a bowl of cereal myself, like always.  And then I settled in with a good book, like always.

Enter Chris.

About an hour later Chris wakes up and comes downstairs, seemlingly happy.  Until he goes into the kitchen.  And we are out of bread.  And I thought the world was going to end.

“Where’s the bread?!?!?!”  he frantically shouted.

“I think we’re out,” I replied, distracted by my book.

“WHAT??!?!!”  he screeched.  “HOW COULD WE BE OUT OF BREAD?  HOW AM I GOING TO HAVE MY TWO SLICES OF PEANUT BUTTER TOAST?  YOU CAN’T MAKE TOAST WITHOUT BREAD!  WHERE’S THE BREAD?  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?”

Hearing the hysteria in his voice, I suggested that he throw on some shoes and run up to the gas station to get a loaf of bread to make his beloved peanut butter toast.  To which he snapped back, “You go get it!”  (Note:  He said this laughingly, but he was 100% serious.)

Now, I love Chris, but I’m not about to drag my pregnant, pajama’d belly up to the gas station for him when he is perfectly capable of going himself.  If he were impaired – say unconscious or trapped under a large bookshelf – I may had offered my assistance.  But this was not the case.

“I would do it for you!” he insisted.  “Go get me bread!”

“No!” I yelled.

“Why not?!?!” he demanded.

And then I uttered the line that pushed him over the edge.  “Because I’m pregnant!”

“You’re not THAT pregnant!” he responded.  “Go get me bread!”

At this point, I looked down at the book I was holding.  It is a book on the No-Cry Method of parenting, which teaches you different ways to soothe a crying baby.  Chris was sitting next to me on the couch – whining uncontrollably for no apparent reason and didn’t seem to be able to calm himself.  All symptoms of colic.

So, I calmly and confidently lean over and take him in my arms, firmly yet gently, as the book instructs.  And I begin to rock him back and forth in a repetitious manner which simulates the lulls of the womb.  And lastly, I start making “swishing” noises.

And wonder of all wonders, he stops moaning!  Just like the baby book said he would!

So, we sit there for a minute rocking back and forth and then from somewhere within my arms, I hear him whimper quietly, “Please go get me bread.”

I knew parenting books were a crock of crap.

Ring Around My Fat Finger

In the past few weeks my hands have started to swell pretty badly and almost every day. Its gotten to the point now where if it happens and I am still wearing my wedding and engagement rings, they get stuck. Chris keeps getting on to me saying that I need to stop wearing the rings or else he’s going to have to cut them off of me one day. I compromised and am now only wearing my wedding band.

Sans engagement ring

I love my wedding band.  It wasn’t actually the one I picked out when we got engaged.  The one I picked out was much cheaper.  Just a band.  But on the night before our wedding, Chris gave me a small box and inside was this beautiful platnum band with small diamonds.  It matched my engagement ring and it was gorgeous.

So, I love my wedding band.  No question about it.  But more than the band, I adore my engagement ring.  It isn’t big.  It isn’t something flashy.  It won’t stop traffic.  It is just a single solitare square cut diamond, small but beautiful.  I love that ring because I know that Chris saved money for it while he was a poor college student.  He kept the money hidden in a picture frame behind a picture of me.  I love that. And I love that ring because of the day that he gave it to me.

Have I told you about how we got engaged?  Its a pretty great story.  When we were juniors in college, Chris and I went on a trip to New York together at Christmastime.  I had begged the entire trip for us to go ice skating in Rockefellar Center, right in front of the big tree.  But Chris kept putting it off and putting it off.  One night after we went to see the Rockettes in Radio City, Chris asked if I wanted to walk over to Rockefellar Center and finally go ice skating.

Outside Radio City Music Hall the night of the engagement

So, we’re skating around in front of the big tree and the lights are twinkling and Christmas music is playing and there are a million people milling around, and all of a sudden Chris stops skating.  Right there in front of the big tree.  And he gets down on one knee.  And I cry.  And he asks if I’ll marry him.  And I say yes.  And we both cry.  And then I fall down (cause I’m on ice skates, remember…).

The proposal

I said yes (...duh)

I immediately examine the ring

I loved my ring from that moment on.  We went back to our hotel room that night with a case of beer and a bag of pretzels, and we stayed up all night talking about weddings and marriage and, of course, my ring.

(This is a picture of me telling Chris that from now on, my ring will be front and center in pictures.)

Chris has been replaced by my ring

The very next day, I bought my first wedding magazine and began plotting planning our wedding.  And, once again, my ring was front and center.

(Note the bling, bling)

And that was the beginning of my love affair with my engagement ring.  I was hooked from then.  But its not the ring itself that hooked me.  I’m not bummed right now because I can’t wear a diamond ring on my finger.  It was more about what that ring meant at the time that Chris gave it to me.

When we got engaged, I was waiting to hear from law schools, he was floating around trying to decide what to do after graduation.  We didn’t know where we’d end up or even if we’d end up there together.  There were so many questions out there, so many obstacles, and it probably would have been easier for us to figure out our paths separately.  But when Chris gave me that ring, things just clicked into place for us.  We still had a million unanswered questions about how it would practically work out, but we knew that however things ended up, we’d be together.  And that’s why I love that ring.

And that’s why it is so hard for me to not wear it right now.  Because we are sort of back in that limbo phase.  Now, we are waiting for a baby, waiting on job opportunities, waiting to see how our lives will change yet again.  And being able to look down at that ring and just know that everything will click into place exactly how it is meant to be was very comforting to me.

I’ve been without my ring for about a week now.  And you know what?  I don’t need it.  I’m doing fine without it.  I guess its because I just know things are working out how they are supposed to – whether I’m wearing that ring or not.  And that’s a pretty good feeling.

But I can guarantee you that the minute that baby is out of my belly, I’m putting my pretty diamond back on my finger.  Every girl loves a little sparkle…

Cuddling with a Pregnant Lady

Last night Chris and I were laying on the couch watching March Madness.  (For the record, I am number 1 in our pool right now, thankyouverymuch…  Chris is number 8, but whose counting?)  Its getting harder and harder to cuddle up together.  Actually, its been darn near impossible in the last few weeks.  My belly takes up most of the room on the couch, leaving Chris to either curl up in a ball at the far end or fend for himself on the tiny loveseat.  Not exactly the cuddling experience people crave.

So, last night Chris was sitting on the far end of the couch and I started nagging in him to come sit with me.  I needed a good cuddle, and he was just the husband to do it.  It was tricky.  Very tricky.  He had to navigate through over-stuffed pillows, two dogs, my ice pack on my ankles, my heating pad for my back.  It wasn’t easy for him.  The closest he could squeeze was about my hip, which was not great, but it would do.

He lays down and we’re sort of nestled together, watching basketball.  All of a sudden, he grabs one of the throw pillows and wedges it between my…um…rear and him.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Well…you’ve been a little…well…you never know when you might…so I thought I’d just put a little barrier up in case you…you know…fart.”

“You’re protecting yourself from my gas?”  I asked, horrified.  If it wouldn’t have taken so much effort, I would have gotten up and stalked away.  But I’m seven and a half months pregnant and it takes more than a little blushing to get me to move these days.

“Well, you just never know.  And I’m laying right in your line of fire…” he stammered.

It was quiet while I considered how much he had just insulted me.

“Eh, alright,” I said, turning back to the television.  “You’re probably right anyway.”

My marriage is nothing if its not honest.

I Care. I Daycare.

Wanna know the craziest thing in the whole wide world?  Crazier than Britney Spears or seedless watermelons?  (I mean, really.  Where do the seeds go???)

Chris and I are picking a daycare for our child.  Lets pause and take that in for a minute.  Chris and I are picking a childcare provider for our child.  Lets take that sentence apart and laugh at all the craziness found in there.  A deconstruction activity, if you will.

“Chris and I” – As in, the guy I used to make out with in the back of movie theaters when we were 16.

“…are picking a childcare provider” – As in, deciding who is the right person to care for a very small human.

“…for our child.” – As in, not just any small human, but the one that WE created.  OUR child.

What’s going on?  What’s happening here?  How’d this happen?  Where am I?

You may recall that we had a home daycare lined up for the little Beanie Weenie several months ago.  Sadly, that has fallen through and we are now left trying to find an alternative.  More specifically, we are left trying to find an alternative that does not require us to take out a second mortgage on our home.

This past week we have been visiting daycare centers in the evenings after work, and I have to tell you its kind of the scariest thing I’ve ever done.  I have always thought of myself as being fairly laid back.  I like a good routine as much as the next person, but I tend to go with the flow pretty well and generally speaking I’m fairly content as long as I know where my next meal is coming from.  But picking a daycare is bringing out this whole new side of me.  This new uptight side of me.  This new where-is-the-hand-sanitizer side of me.

I think I’m Momifying.  I think I’m morphing into a Mom.  Suddenly, I notice things like how clean the sheets on the crib in the nurseries are and where the nearest fire exits are located.  I’m asking questions about CPR training for the staff and sleep schedules for the babies.  I didn’t even know I knew enough to ASK these questions.  Sometimes I’ll say something and immediately I’ll think in my head, “Oh!  That was a good one!  Who told you to ask that?” and then I’ll realize that no one had to tell me.  I just KNEW to ask that question.

Its just crazy, I tell you.

And Chris is doing the same things.  I always pictured him as really uncomfortable around babies and baby things.  But this week, he’s looked so natural in a daycare setting.  Like, if I worked at the daycare, I would totally think he was a Dad.  In fact, the daycare owners are talking to both of us like we’re parents.

WHICH IS JUST CRAZY!!

Don’t they know that I still chew Bubblicious bubble gum and Chris still watches Saturday morning cartoons?  Don’t they know that I’m still scared to answer the door when I’m home alone and that Chris’ favorite movie is still The Goonies?  Don’t they know these things?  Cause I’m sure if they did know them, they would instead be saying things to us like, “Could you get your mother on the phone, Little Girl, and I’ll go over our holiday and vacation policy with her instead…”

But no.  They think that we are responsible enough to be parents and so we will continue to ask all the right questions and I’ll continue to test the baby locks on the safety gates.  Because if we don’t do it, who will?

Its very nervewracking.  I try to picture dropping the Bean off with these strangers, in these strange places and then getting in my car and just driving away.  I mean, I’ll come back at the end of the day, but still.  I can barely leave my dogs at the groomers for a few hours.  How am I supposed to leave my offspring all day, every day?  I’ve kind of gotten used to having him around.  He’s been my little roommate for the past 7 months.  I think I might miss him.

Oh, man.  This Momification thing is tough.  I’m getting all concerned and emotional and feely.

I’m one daycare visit away from a frilly apron and gingham sundresses.

The Non-Baby Shower

This past weekend Chris threw me a non-baby shower.  And it was pretty awesome.  He invited friends from all over to our house on Saturday night to eat, drink, and celebrate the Bean.  No gifts.  No games.  Just food and friends.  I could tell you about it, but I think the pictures speak for themselves…

Chris decorating before the Big Event

He even got a blue cake!

The food table (my personal favorite spot for the evening)

(Please note the matching table cloth in this picture.  It goes with the baby blue cake and balloons.  I was very impressed with the color scheme.  And in that Holy of Holy Crock Pots are my blessed meatballs.)

Quick pic before the guests arrive

A little Wii Bowling for the crowds

Most Adorable Child Ever playing Wii Tennis

(Please note the cupcake pockets on her skirt.  Adorable.  If Chris would let me, I would buy this skirt for the Bean, too.  But this might cause a gender identity issue down the road.  Better stick with pants…)

That's me taking a load off cause nothing is cute about swollen ankles in a party dress

That’s about it as far as pictures go.  The best part of the night for me was this incredibly sweet toast that Chris gave and, of course, I didn’t have my camera out.  He toasted our friends who have been around since high school and said how cool it was that we were able to share this new adventure with them.  He toasted the Bean and said how excited he was to meet him and start our family.  And he toasted me and said how proud he was of me and thankful that I was in his life.  I mean, it was pretty perfect as far as toasts go.

So, attention all you husbands and budding fathers-to-be out there:  Wanna know how to keep your wifey happy?  Wanna know how to earn enough brownie points that you can take a few months off?  Throw her a dinner party.  Invite your closest friends.  Shower her with kind words said in a public place.

And, above all, shower her with kisses.  Works like a charm.

Turning in My Party Planning Badge

I’ve mentioned before that Chris is throwing me a non-baby shower this weekend.  It was his idea.  He was so excited about having a baby that he wanted all of our friends to get together at our house for food, drinks, and a rootin’ tootin’ good time (the rootin’ tootin’ part was my idea).  So, this big event is on Saturday.

In our house, I am the party planner.  I am the social director.  I am the planner, the list-maker, the organizer.  Chris has a much more laissez faire attitude (read: doesn’t-give-a-crap attitude).  He shows up usually when I tell him to show up wearing usually what I’ve told him to wear and he smiles and nods and in return I give him beer and food.  It sounds a little harsh, but its what works for us.

This is why I’m having a hard time with the non-baby shower on Saturday.  I have no control.  I have been given strict instructions by Chris to shut up, sit down, and have a good time.  I’m not allowed to help with the menu or the music or the selection of meatballs that will be served.  (Meatballs were my one special request.)  I am the Guest of Honor and, therefore, must stay out of Chris’ way.

Having some issues with this, I’ll be honest.  Like when Chris picked out a sushi platter of 25 pieces from our favorite sushi restaurant to serve to 25 people, I had to literally walk away before I yelled out, “IT’S NOT ENOUGH FOOD!” Or when he came home the other night from work looking so proud because he stopped by the grocery store and ordered a cake.  I had to stuff my face with Bagel Bites in order to keep from grilling him as to the size, shape, color scheme, etc.  But I didn’t.  I sat down, shut up, and tried to enjoy my snack.

I’m a control freak and I’m out of control.  This makes me a freak with no mission.  I’m a footloose freak.  And its driving me crazy.

But last night, when Chris got home from work he had the biggest smile on his face and I knew he was up to something.

“I stopped by the store on my way home from work today,” he said.

He showed me these 3 little white onesies that he had bought the baby and the pack of brightly colored fabric paint he had gotten so that the guests could help decorate them.  The thoughtfulness of it was just adorable.

“And,” he said, reaching further into his bag, “I bought the Bean an outfit.”

He pulled out a little dinosaur shirt with matching shorts.  The cutest thing ever.  Then again, he could have pulled out a brown paper bag and if he had told me that he himself had picked it out for the baby I still would have thought it was the cutest thing ever.

So, maybe this non-baby shower thing is under control.  Maybe he’s more capable than I originally expected.  Maybe I need to sit down, shut up, and enjoy myself more.  Because it seems that my husband is wearing his party planning badge loud and proud.

…But I don’t care what he says.  I’m still dressing him for the party.

Why I Love Costco

Chris:  Sweetie, do we have any spaghetti sauce?

Me:  Hmm…  I dunno…

Chris:  How about spaghetti noodles?

Me:  Yeah, I don’t know about those either.

The Second Trimester Wrap Up

This week begins the 27th week of my pregnancy and we all know that the 27th week is the last week of the second trimester.  (Full Disclosure:  I only know this because I Google’d it about 10 minutes ago…)  I can’t believe how fast time has gone – 6 whole months down.  But at the same time, I can’t believe how much time is left.  Every day seems to go slower and slower, but I’m okay with this because it is giving the Bean time to get big and strong and, man, is he showing off his muscles for me.  He is kicking more and ever – and stronger than ever.  I picture him rolling around in there yelling, “Hey!  Let me out!”  But as strong and frequent as those little kicks are, I have to say that they are the greatest feeling I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

In the first few months of my pregnancy, I felt so foreign to myself.  I didn’t recognize my body, I was uncertain about this person growing inside me, I was worried about how my relationship with Chris would change, and, equally as important as any of that, I had to say goodbye to my skinny jeans.  It was a time of rapid change and for someone who contemplates for weeks before changing her toothpaste brand, it was scary.  I didn’t feel good and I didn’t know how to take care of this new me or the person inside of me.  But as that first trimester came to a close and as my belly started to actually show proof of the person growing inside me, I started to at least accept what was happening to me.  It would take me a few more weeks to embrace it, but I began to understand it more and feel more confident.

As I was adjusting to these changes and abnormalities, Chris was adjusting as well.  I think he actually had a harder time than I did.  He saw me getting sick, frustrated, tired, and feeling helpless and there was literally nothing he could do about it.  It was the first time in our relationship that he hadn’t been able to fix something, and being forced to wait it out was really hard on him.  But I think he learned that sometimes, action isn’t what I need.  I don’t need him to solve all my problems.  Sometimes, I just need him to hold my hand.  And that was a huge shift and change in our relationship.

When I started my second trimester, I felt like I had been pregnant my whole life.  I had energy again.  I knew more about what was going on inside of me and so some of the fear subsided.  I still had bouts of doubt and worry, but I felt great.  And then the Bean started moving around inside my growing belly and suddenly I couldn’t even remember the first trimester.  I’ve spent most of my second trimester laying on my couch with my hands on my belly, waiting for him to move.  And he never failed to entertain me.  Squealing with delight, I would call for Chris to come every single time.  And, bless him, he came every time I called.

Almost more than the Bean moving, seeing Chris through new eyes in my second trimester was the greatest gift I’ve been given.  As I grew in my confidence, so did he.  I remember one night he came home from work and busted into the kitchen and said to me, “I felt like a Dad today.”  He went on to say that nothing particular had happened, it was just a feeling he had driving home.  Like he was a Dad.  In our ten years together, I have never loved him so much as at that moment.  His excitement and enthusiasm has only gotten stronger this trimester.  Every morning when he goes to work, he kisses me goodbye and then he whispers into my belly, “Good morning Bean.”  And at night when we turn out the light, his hand always finds my belly and he whispers, “Good night Bean.”  I’ve always known that Chris loves me more than he loves anything and more than anyone could ever be loved, but seeing him extend that love to a person that he hasn’t even met yet just takes my breath away.  As much as my belly has grown in this second trimester, so, too, has our relationship.

The ending of my second trimester marks a really important time for Chris and me.  Its is the beginning of our last few months together as a couple before we transition into a family.  In my first trimester, this scared me – all this change.  The uncertainty of the future and what it would look like, what it would hold for us.  But in the past 6 months, I have seen glimpses of our future.  I’ve seen that the love Chris and I have for eachother will only grow with the birth of our son and will make us stronger parents.

Thank you to all of you who have shared in these last few months with Chris and I.  Your outpouring of love, support, encouragement, and confidence has meant a lot to both of us.  I hope you’ll be part of the next few months as we welcome the next little man who has already stolen my heart.

True Marriage Confessions

I have been accused of not confessing enough about my marriage on this blog.  At first, I thought that was a load of crap.  I give more information than anyone would ever want to know about me.  But the implication here was that I didn’t tell enough secret stuff – things about my marriage that no one really knows (or probably cares about).  Well, we can’t have that!  This is a full disclosure website and I’m willing to step up to the plate.

Without further adieu, I give you:

MY TRUE MARRIAGE CONFESSIONS

1. Sometimes when Chris is downstairs, I call him on his cell phone and ask him to bring me food.

2. One time, Chris and I locked ourselves out of our house because we were making out on the back porch and forgot to check that one of us had a key.  This was last year.

3. I forged Chris’ name last year when we signed our Living Wills.

4. I secretly love my dog, Lucy, more than Chris.  

5. On Saturday mornings when I get up really early, I sometimes kick Chris until he wakes up.  And then I act like I was sleeping and ask him to make me breakfast since he’s already awake.

6. We both have a crush on Jennifer Aniston.

7. We’ve had the same nickname for each other for 10 years.  Pookey.  (Pronounced Pooooookey)

8. Every time Chris has a major milestone event, I give him a lucky coin.  He keeps them in a little dish next to our bed.

9. Sometimes I hide in the bathroom when its time to shovel snow.  

10. One day we both called in sick to work so that we could stay in our pajamas all day and play Wii.

11. One time I rear-ended Chris’ car at a stop light because I was talking on my cell phone.

12. Since I’ve been pregnant, Chris has done the dishes and cleaned the kitchen every single day.  He never complains.

13. When Chris talks to the Bean, he uses the same voice he uses when he plays with our dogs.

14. When Chris stays up later than me, I just lay in bed and wait for him.  Sometimes I sit at the top of our stairs and throw things down to where he’s sitting until he comes to bed, like pennies and washcloths and shoes.

15. Every night, Chris throws his spare change in a jar on our kitchen counter.  Every morning I take change out of the jar to pay the parking meter and to buy snacks out of the vending machines.

16. When Chris snores (when he’s been drinking), I kick him.  When I snore (because I’m preggo), he rubs my face gently until I wake up.

17. I rearrange our Netflicks list so that my movies come up first.

18. I don’t put my parking tickets in our checkbook register until the end of the month so that Chris doesn’t see them.  I get a lot of parking tickets.

19. Chris bites his fingernails down to nubs and the noise drives me freaking crazy.  He also chews ice loudly and that drives me even more crazy.

20. Chris and I talk on Google Chat all day while we are at work.  We send each other messages like, “I just broke my stapler” and “My sandwich is soggy.”

21.  I hate going to bookstores with Chris because he just follows me around.  

22. I’m a better griller than Chris, but he won’t admit that.  But he knows.

23. If we won the lottery, Chris said he would quit his job and become a mechanic.  Just because he has never worked on cars before and he wants to learn.  

24. Chris has a shot glass collection from all the places we’ve traveled.  I hate that collection.  I think its trashy.  He loves it and built a display case for it to hang in our house.  Its hanging in our basement.  I think that’s a fair compromise.

25. We still celebrate our dating anniversary every year.  April 29.  

There.  Now you have even more confessions.  Never let it be said that I didn’t give the people what they wanted.

When Baby Makes Three

Last night after a terrible day at work, Chris took me out for a dinner date – Ruby Tuesdays!  I know, I know.  But we’re crazy like that.  Nothing says hot romance like a salad bar.

We had a really good time actually, mostly because it was the first conversation we’ve had in a while that didn’t involve babies.  And except for those few times I  almost threw up during the meal, it involved very little talk of pregnancy either.  It felt like a real date night.  We talked about the Heisman presentation today and about our days at work (which had both been eventful).  We talked about our Christmas plans and about the economy.  All good stuff.

As we were walking to our car, arm in arm, I suddenly got a little teared up and turned to Chris.

“What if we never get to do this kind of thing again?” I said.  “What if we have this baby and we never see eachother again?”

Chris kind of laughed.  “Where do you think we’re going?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said, crying openly in the Ruby Tuesdays parking lot like the classy broad that I am.  “But I hardly see you at all now between having my head in the toilet and going to bed at 7:30 every night.  And its not going to get any better once you throw a baby in there.  Then I’ll just have a baby taking up my time.”

“Well, where do you think I’ll be?” he asked.

“I don’t know…your Man Cave?”

“No way, you crazy pregnant lady!” he laughed.  “I’ll be right there with you.  It’ll be you, me, and the baby.  And the dogs.”

“And probably your parents,” he added.  Now I laughed.

“Okay,” I said, getting myself together again so that I didn’t look like the trashiest of the Ruby Tuesday diners, which would be hard to do but still possible. “But everyone says that when they have their baby, he becomes the most important part of their life.  And you are the most important part of my life.  What if that happens to us?  I don’t want to put the baby first.  Let’s not be one of those couples.  Let’s put our baby second.”

“Okay,” he said, hugging me.  “But a close second.”