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Yesterday my office threw me a baby shower. It was my first shower (not counting the non-shower that Chris threw me a few weeks ago) and it was awesome. I usually love showers anyways, even if they aren’t for me. I love picking out a gift and having it wrapped. I love eating bite-sized food on little plates. I love games where adults are encouraged to dress like babies in diapers. Its all one big ball of fun to me. But when the shower is for YOU? Well, that just takes it to a whole new level of fun!
It was kind of strange though to be at a baby shower and look around and think, “Oh my gosh. All of this is because I’M the one whose going to have the baby this time! This is for MY baby!” It was a little surreal, I have to say.
But I moved past that nostalgia real quick when the bruschetta was served. Food can move me through many emotions.
This is me at the gift table, taking The Seat of Honor. Let the present opening begin, Ladies!
(NOTE: When I sit down, I look a little more like Jabba the Hut than I do a pregnant lady. Everything compacts when you sit down. Like a fat suit that gets squished up around your neck. Its really attractive. Just squint your eyes a little and you can kind of see the pregnant thing…)
I got a million Johnson & Johnson bath sets, which prompted me to ask the group, “So babies are pretty dirty, huh?” I swear, all the ladies in my office think I know nothing about raising a baby. Geez. A girl can’t identify one box of bottle liners and suddenly everyone fears for the baby’s life…
Only at a baby shower would something like a SuperMan Wee Wee Tee Pee be acceptable to hold up in front of a bunch of women that you work with. For those of you who don’t know, a Wee Wee Tee Pee is this little hat for the baby’s…well…wee wee. You cover him up when you’re changing his diaper so that you don’t get peed on. Which apparently is a fairly common occurrence. These are grown, professional women who walk up to you in all seriousness and say things like, “I just can’t live without my Wee Wee Tee Pee.”
When I got home, I spent the night surrounded in baby things. It was awesome. I had towels, washcloths, soap (I told you babies are messy…), blankets, outfits, toys, bottles, stuffed monkeys, and the all important butt paste. I think the fat lady can sing when the butt paste comes out at an office party.
This morning I was checking in over at Archives of Our Lives, like I do every morning. Camille posted pictures of this incredibly cute diaper bag by this company called Yummy Mummy. Being a soon-to-be Yummy Mummy, I had to have it. It is adorable.
As luck would have it, Yummy Mummy is having a give away right now. And if I tell you all about their give away and I put that cute little button over there on the side of my blog, then I get entered TWICE to win! So, if you were checking in to Marriage Confessions today hoping to find a cute little story, or a delightful antidote, you’re up a creek. Cause I want that bag. Deal with it.
And go visit Yummy Mummy, if you’re in the motherly way. Or if you know someone who is in the motherly way. Or if you want to be in the motherly way. Or if you were recently in the motherly way. All motherly way associates should check it out.
(…and tell them that Camille and Katie sent you. Maybe we’ll get extra bonus points!)
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.
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.
I have spring fever. Bad. New England has the best spring ever, I think. But waiting for it is like waiting for Christmas morning. Some days its warm, but rainy so you can’t enjoy it. Some days its sunny, but freezing cold so you can’t enjoy it then either. And then there are those rare, illusive March days where the stars align and it is miraculously sunny AND warm at the same time. And you have to go to work. So, you sit in your office, pressed against your window, wishing you were in a field of posies somewhere wearing gingham and toting a picnic basket.
Because I’m pregnant and any kind of movement at this point takes an enormous amount of planning and energy, I have been laying low at my house for the past few weeks. I lay on my couch on my little heating pad, watching television, and, you know, growing a child. But I’m over that. Totally over it. I came home yesterday and when I walked into my house, it just smelled dark and dingy and so inside-ish. Sort of like what I imagine a bear’s cave smells like after a long winter. So, I threw open the blinds and the windows and let some fresh air in. And then Chris came home.
“What the heck are you doing?” he asked, immediately beginning to close the windows.
“I’m airing out the house,” I said.
“Yeah, but its 30 degrees outside!”
Minor technicality. It didn’t feel that cold to me. And if Chris would just adjust his hormone levels to mine right now like a decent husband would do, I’m sure he wouldn’t think it was that cold either.
I’m also ready to go somewhere. Somewhere other than my living room. Somewhere where shoes and pants with zippers are required. Somewhere warm.
“Let’s move,” I told Chris.
“Somewhere warm,” I replied.
“Why don’t we just take a daytrip instead of, you know, selling our house…”
“That works, too.”
Yep. I’m ready for something drastic. I’m ready for shorts and t-shirts and ponytails and margaritas. I’ve been listening to Kenny Chesney again, and if he tells me one more time that no shirt and no shoes are no problem, I may be forced to just up and walk out on my job and find the nearest beach where whaling has not been outlawed and throw my huge self down on a towel.
But, until that happens, I’m going to have to find some other way to celebrate spring. Maybe I’ll do something crazy. Maybe I’ll change my screensaver…
Chris: Maybe you should think about limiting your Girl Scout cookie in take.
Me: Maybe we should get a divorce.
THINGS I MISS ABOUT MY PRE-PREGNANCY LIFE
1. Diet Coke – I’m sure that I could have some in moderation, but I read somewhere a long time ago that they didn’t know how the sweetener in diet drinks effected babies and so I have steered clear. But, oh how I miss them. I think they miss me, too.
2. My feet – I know they are still down there, but its been a while since I’ve seen them. I hope they are doing okay.
3. Spicy tuna rolls – I have been eating sushi while I’m pregnant, but only the vegetarian kind or the shrimp tempora, since the shrimp is cooked. But my absolute favorite are spicy tuna rolls. I miss them terribly. I usually sneak one bite when we are having sushi (sure, I’m deathly afraid of drinking Diet Coke, but I’ll down raw fish in a millisecond. I know, it makes no sense…), but I long for a big roll all to myself.
4. My big chunky jewelry – I love big jewelry. Necklaces, earrings. All of it. But when you are huge, the last thing you want to do is add MORE big, chunky things to your appearance.
5. Shoelaces – I can’t get down to them, so I’ve been wearing slip on shoes instead. But I miss my tennis shoes. And their laces.
6. Sleeping on my stomach – Ahhh….. Let me just relish that thought for a minute…. So good….
7. Pants with buttons – My maternity pants keep falling down because of that stupid elastic waistband. I can’t wait to put on a pair of my real jeans with real buttons and real zippers. Sometimes I catch myself staring at women’s crotches in total jealousy of their buttons. I’m really making an effort to stop doing that.
8. Clothes sizes – Normal clothes are measured in numbers (4, 6, 10, 12…). Maternity clothes are measured in statements (medium, large, X-large, you-are-freaking-huge-large). I’m ready for the non-judgmental numbers again.
THINGS I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT DURING MY PREGNANCY
1. Tummy Butter – As big as I am, I do not have ONE stretch mark yet. Not one. And I owe it all to Palmer’s Tummy Butter. I hate the way it smells (like sour vanilla, if you ask me), but it does wonders on the belly.
2. A heating pad – You aren’t really supposed to get your body temperature too high when you’re preggo, but nothing soothes my sore back like a heating pad. I keep it on low and I don’t use it for very long. But when you stretch out in bed at the end of the day (that’s when my back hurts the most), nothing feels better than a little bit of heat to soothe those muscles.
3. My Boppy Pregnancy Wedge Pillow – This pillow wedges under your belly and helps keep it level while you are sleeping. It is so helpful and keeps me from hurting my back even more. Although, its kind of hard when you roll over in the middle of the night because you have to drag your wedge pillow with you. I’ve knocked Chris with it so many times…
4. Strawberries – I eat ’em every day, all day, in everything. And if its not an actual strawberry I’m eating, its a strawberry flavored something. I so wish I had craved chocolate or something decadent, but I’m all about the strawberries.
5. Chris – Everyone should have a Chris when they are pregnant. He’s a foot rubber, back rubber, heating pad adjuster, dinner cooker, trash taker outer, clean upper, dish washer, heavy things carrier, compliment giver, and stud muffin all rolled into one.