Tag Archives: love

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.


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.



Filed under Husbands, Marriage, pregnancy

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

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

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

The proposal

I said yes (...duh)

I said yes (...duh)

I immediately examine the ring

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

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)

(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…


Filed under Changes, Husbands, Marriage, pregnancy

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.


Filed under Husbands, pregnancy

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.


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.


Filed under Changes, Husbands, Marriage, pregnancy, Suburbia

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

Chris decorating before the Big Event

He even got a blue cake!

He even got a blue cake!

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

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

Quick pic before the guests arrive

A little Wii Bowling for the crowds

A little Wii Bowling for the crowds

Most Adorable Child Ever playing Wii Tennis

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 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.


Filed under Husbands, Marriage, pregnancy

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.


Filed under Family, Husbands, Marriage, pregnancy

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.


Filed under Around the House, Marriage