Chris: Maybe you should think about limiting your Girl Scout cookie in take.
Me: Maybe we should get a divorce.
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.
So, apparently a lot of people had trouble viewing the fourth Bellycast that I posted this weekend. In the Bellycast, I finally unveiled the nursery. So exciting! So exciting that I thought I’d post pictures for anyone who wasn’t able to view the video.
Here is the view from the nursery doorway. The room is actually a very small bedroom. Its the perfect size for a very small person. Everything fits, but just barely, so some of the pictures are hard to see.
This is the crib and the bedding set. We went with a sports theme, but we are using the theme loosely. Its cute though…
This is the changing table. I bought the softest most adorable terrycloth cover for the mattress pad. Unfortunately, I didn’t think about the fact that it is WHITE and that the things I will be cleaning up on that changing table are definitely NOT white. No worries. I bought bleach, too. The baskets underneath the changing table are full of things like rattles and hand toys, receiving blankets, and bottles.
These sit on top of the dresser. The lamp matches the bedding set, and my Mom made the adorable Humpty Dumpty nighlight.
These are the books that start Michael’s little collection. You have to have Peter Rabbit. You just have to. And the second is a book on etiquette. I have a fascination with etiquette. I may not always use my manners, but I like knowing what I should be doing. When I was about 8 years old, my Dad bought me an old volume of Amy Vanderbilt’s Book of Etiquette at a garage sale. He bought it as a joke, but I became obsessed with it, reading all 500-something pages over the weekend. That’s when my fascination began. Now, I collect etiquette books. So, its only fitting that my baby should have his own etiquette book! My Mom found it in a bookstore. It’s perfect!
When Chris was growing up, he says that Winnie the Pooh was his favorite. He actually wanted to do the entire nursery in Winnie the Pooh at first. I compromised and instead we have a cuddly Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal and a honey pot with finger puppets that sits front and center in the room.
These are the shelves we hung in the nursery, and a few pictures of the things sitting on them now. The picture of the book called What’s Wrong Little Pookey is significant because Chris and I have called each other Pookey since we were in high school. Now, we have a little Pookey in our family!
So, that’s about it. The little nursery for my little Beanie. There’s just one thing missing…
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.
Today kicks off March Madness, and if you are at all vested in college sports or if you know any male you know all too well the time commitment and dedication it takes to be a March Madness fan. Personally, I’m a big college sports fan. I went to Florida State University where the culture of sports and beer are cultivated like fine wines and cheese. Being a fan is an artform in Tallahassee, Florida. While I mostly follow college football, I do dust off my basketball cheerleading uniform for one month a year and I cheer on teams that I know nothing about in the name of March Madness.
For years, I have stood on the sidelines as Chris participated in pools and brackets. I’d occasionally throw a good suggestion in the mix for him, but for the most part I just showed up and ate chicken wings. But not this year. No, sir.
Because THIS year, I’m IN THE POOL. That’s right. Chris finally agreed to let me enter the basketball pool that he and his friends have done for the past few years. I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. I spent HOURS pouring over statistics that mean absolutely nothing to me in an effort to help me make at least a half-way educated guess. I don’t need to win the thing. I just don’t want to embarrass myself. Visions of playing golf with my Dad when I was little and being told to just pick up my ball because I had taken too much time dance in my head. I don’t want to choke under the pressure. I just want to be able to at least hang in there for a few rounds.
I called my sister when I found out I was going to play.
“Ginny,” I whispered. “When you pick teams that are going to win in a basketball tournament, what is that called?”
“I think its called your racket,” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I think that’s right,” I responded. (Its not right, actually. Its called a BRACKET.)
“And Ginny?” I asked. “Whats it called when you enter a group of people who all pick their rackets?”
“I think that’s called a pool,” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I think that’s right,” I responded. (That actually is right.)
So with the help of my trusty sister, I was able to at least FAKE the sports lingo I would need to be a real contender. Of course, Ginny went to the University of Florida, a university that makes Florida State look like a nursery school when it comes to team spirit. Chances are she was more immersed in the “culture” of beer than the “culture” of sports while she was there, so God knows what she actually knows about sporting rules. She looks great in a jersery and visor though, so I trust her judgment.
I submitted my BRACKET yesterday and the tournament kicks off today. Cross your fingers and cheer for Pittsburgh! They are my number one pick over U Conn (don’t I sound so sporty?). And if you have any basketball watching/picking/cheering tips for me to keep me from completely embarrassing myself, feel free to share. I’m gonna need all the help I can get!
Have I mentioned that I’m huge? That I rival a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon? That I scare small children? Have I mentioned that lately?
In my first trimester, I wanted to be big so badly. Every morning I would wake up and ask Chris if I looked any bigger today. “Not yet,” he’d usually respond, and then I’d get pissed.
In my second trimester, I finally started to show and I loved it. I paraded my belly around like it was a prized possession. When I’d see someone I hadn’t seen in a while, I’d happily announce, “Aren’t I huge?!?”
Now that I am in my third trimester, I’m ready to kill someone. Preferrably the next person who tells me how big I am.
I know people mean well. I know they say it with happiness and joy. But, honestly, why would you tell an obscenely large pregnant lady that she looks huge? Do you think she doesn’t know that already? Its like walking up to a blind person and being all, “Hey! You can’t see!” Most people at least make the effort to be polite when they tell me I’m huge by making the comment, “Its all baby! Good for you!”
What the hell does that mean? Its all baby? No kidding. I’M PREGNANT. What ELSE would it be if it wasn’t a freaking baby? But they use the “all baby” remark as a way to make me feel better. As opposed to saying, “You’re huge! Lovin’ those Girl Scout cookies, huh?” I guess that would be worse. A lot worse. I may actually kill someone over that remark, or at the very least I’d sit on them…while eating Girl Scout cookies. That might make me feel better.
But, for the record, putting the disclaimer of “its all baby” on the end of any kind of statement about a third trimester pregnant lady’s weight does NOT erase the fact that you just called her enormous. I mean, who are you kidding? We all know its not ALL baby. You and I both know that I’m not expecting to give birth to a 30 pound newborn. If you feel that you must comment on my size (and who can blame you – its like having an actual elephant in the room), then I’d go with a nice, “You are glowing!” or “What a sweet belly!”
The next person who tells me I’m huge and that – lucky me – it’s all baby is getting a pencil right in their eye.
Confessions of a Young Married Couple now has a Facebook page. This is, apparently, very different than the Marriage Confessions Facebook group that was already functioning. There’s a world of difference between a Facebook page and a Facebook group.
I don’t know. I don’t get it. I try to understand all this social networking crap, but I really don’t. Just don’t tell my former faculty advisor because I did my graduate thesis on social networking and they might, you know, revoke my degree or something…
Anyway, I think I’ve gotten it straightened out now and the Facebook page is up and running. Click Here to become a fan of the page and you will automatically be entered twice to win all future giveaways that you choose to enter. And if that’s not enough to send you over to the page, then try some of these inspiring reasons instead:
And the most important reason to visit the new Marriage Confessions Facebook page:
CAUSE ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOING IT.