Wednesday, March 28, 2012

A Plea to the Moms Out There

I'm in desperate need of help. Yesterday, in an effort to prepare for upcoming baby showers, I registered at Target online. Well, I didn't really register. I have a registry. It just doesn't have anything on it. Because there is just too much freaking stuff.

I am completely overwhelmed. I get the essentials like a car seat. Yes, we need one. We most want two seat bases. However, there are literally hundreds of car seats. How the hell do I know which one is good? Do I need a convertible car seat? If I get the car seat that adapts to the stroller thing do I then also need a stroller? Why is this so hard?

It's hard because I'm clueless. Maybe a little internet research will help? It doesn't. Half the suggested baby lists are sponsored by advertisers that are insistent I need a water temperature checker. Hey, Parents.com, I have one of those. It's called my hand. Is an ear thermometer necessary? I still remember the old thermometer in the behind method and it was no fun. Maybe this is something I should spring for?

So, to all recent moms (or moms with older kids who still remember critical baby items) I need help. Please let me know one or more items that you were glad to have. Any advice is welcome, down to what brand name you bought. Also, I know I want to run with the kiddo and dog, so any good running stroller suggestions are welcome.

Thank you and good day.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Trudy's New Toy

After the monsoon of a week we had in Kansas City, Trudy was not happy. Her walks were shorter, there were no trips to the muddy dog park and in general, she was bouncing off the walls. Husband and I were desperate to tame the puppy energy. Enter the dog tow leash.

You know when you order something online and have these ridiculously high expectations? Then it's delivered and the results are just, well, meh? That was NOT the dog tow leash. This thing is awesome. Husband had Trudy hooked up in a flash and they were off doing laps through the neighborhood. She was literally trying to pull him up the hills. After 30 minutes, she was exhausted. We were giddy thinking we've found the quickest way to wear her out once the baby is here.

Saturday continued to be Trudy-focused when I morphed into the total overreacting dog owner. Dogs lick their butts. I'm well aware of this. However, Trudy was licking her business non-stop. After a couple hours of this, Husband and I are wondering what's up. Maybe she has a tick? No. Maybe this is some weird after-effect of the dog tow leash? Not likely.

Then I remember the groomer had emptied her anal glands earlier in the week. Maybe something's infected? Shit, it's Saturday. If she has an infection, we can't get her to the vet until Monday. She's going to lick her butt for the next 36 hours straight. This is not acceptable. You may see where this is going.

Husband, Trudy and I were emergency vet bound. If you've ever had the joy of visiting the emergency vet, you know you will pay 82 times what the regular vet would charge. I didn't care. Trudy needed medicine ASAP. I was sure of it.

We get to Mission Med Vet, sit in a room for 45 minutes and have the very kind ER vet explain that when Trudy was shaved with the clippers, the groomer nicked her on the butt. The equivalent of a hangnail. There were people there who's animals had been hit by vehicles, weeping in the waiting room, the vet promising to call them if there was any change.

Then there was me bringing in my dog for excessive butt licking.

Husband did a very good job of not making me feel like a complete moron. The vet was gracious in not charging us, seeing as Trudy was completely fine. I doubt the ER doctors will be so kind when I bring in Baby Saab for excessive thumb sucking. Husband suggested we try to limit ER visits to one per year. I couldn't promise, but said I'd try.

Friday, March 23, 2012

In Defense of Jessica Simpson

Unless you completely abstain from watching entertainment TV or looking at mainstream news web sites, it's impossible not to know that Jessica Simpson is pregnant. Very, very pregnant. I find myself wondering if it's her due date every time I see her photo.

Please understand I'm not judging. One thing I have humbly learned is that every woman has a different pregnancy. All kinds of factors play a role. How active are you? How much of an appetite do you have? What number pregnancy is it? Do you really believe the eating for two philosophy?

Simpson has taken flack for several decisions. Her first was wearing sky high heels while sporting a prominent bump. As long as she's not falling down, who cares? Plus, I can totally relate to wanting to appear taller. Taller gives the impression of narrower. It's simple geometry. (I think. I got a C in geometry.) While her feet may hurt, if she wants to suffer for the sake of appearance, let her. I've found myself wearing higher heels for the exact same reason and I'm sticking with it. Teetering or not.

One thing I don't share with Simpson is the desire (or opportunity) to pose nude on the cover of Elle. I'm not offended by her bare belly, nor am I impressed. She's a singer/actress/designer who's managed to market her pregnancy effectively. I do laugh at those who are offended by this display. If you're one of them, I hope you don't see me on the beach in May. Especially since I won't have the benefit of airbrushing.

Then there's the criticism of the $3 million Weight Watchers deal. The backlash on this is particularly odd. People openly criticize her weight gain, which she acknowledged was substantial. So we beat the poor girl up for gaining pregnancy weight and then are annoyed she signs up for WW? For $3 million, there are a lot of worse things I would do than promote WW. Plus, I'm a little tired of Jennifer Hudson. (You look fabulous. We get it. Move on.)

To the critics, I say leave pregnant Jessica Simpson alone. I, for one, am happy to see a celebrity pregnant and dealing with the same misery as us normal people. I also respect someone who actually eats cake at her shower.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

To know or not to know...

that was the question. The answer - because I am weak and terribly impatient - is to know.

I walked into the ultrasound room today with the conviction that I would not find out the sex of the baby. I'm not sure why, other than already having told everyone we weren't finding out.

The technician went through the standard ultrasound steps - heart, head, spine, appendages. All there. Whew. The baby's face was hidden due to positioning and hands over the face. The shyness must come from Husband's side of the family. (The best pic was of the hands looking in need of some brass knuckles. Pow pow.)

As we finished up I asked the tech if she knew what it was. Sure do, she said. I looked at Husband, who had made no secret that he wanted to find out. He looked at the floor. "Do you really want to know?" I asked. "Yeah, I really do," he said.

So I caved. Also, I sought validation since I was certain it was a boy. My acupuncturist had speculated boy after checking my pulse for some eastern-mediciney indicator. He also said his accuracy rate was over 90 percent. This, plus an online predictor test, put me in the boy state of mind. Husband found my actions ridiculous, implying if I want to know, why not know for sure.

Maybe I should have skipped all the hullabaloo. It was a lot of fun. It was also wrong. We're having a girl.

This was a bittersweet moment. Not because it is a girl, but because Husband's mom passed away last month and she really wanted a granddaughter. (She already had two of the coolest grandsons ever by way of Husband's sister.)

After we processed this, Husband asked if this means we have to have Barbies. I said not all girls necessarily love Barbies. (Only 99.9 percent of them do.) I also reassured him we can still register at REI for outdoorsy girl stuff. His final request was not to "go all pink" with everything. I promised I would not. By the time we walked to the car he was talking about establishing curfews. Thank god we have a while before dealing with that. A teenage girl. Oh dear.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Sophie

Sophie Day
Dec. 24, 1999 - March 15, 2012

Sheet rock remover, helpful hole digger, poolside lounger, landscaping assistant, rabbit catcher, mole digger-upper, squirrel chaser, golf course roamer, food beggar, front door greeter...the list could go on and on. She was my first dog, my favorite walking partner and my best pal.

We'll miss you more than you'll ever know, sweet girl. Thank you for being our dog.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Pregnancy Week 18 - Girl Support

There have been many enlightening pregnancy experiences since I last blogged, several of which are worthy of their own entries. However, per usual, I’m short on time, so here’s the Cliff Notes version pertaining to the chest region.(If you feel this is TMI, I understand. Don’t read it. I just don’t want to sugarcoat my blog. Women need to know the truth.)


1. There is a sports bra named The Last Resort. If you are a runner who’s well endowed pre-pregnancy, you may have to order this lovely piece of – ahem – athletic lingerie. Sixteen snaps, people. That is how many fasteners this monster has, but true to the advertised word, it eliminates bounce.


2. You will have an specific moment when you realize you need The Last Resort. Mine occurred on the treadmill at week twelve. At first running was as appealing as eating a spoonful of mayonnaise. But then I turned the second trimester corner and thought, “I can still run!”


So onto the treadmill I stepped and upped the miles per hour. “This is great,” I thought. “Maybe my legs will stay thin.” That was until I noticed the guy next to me had literally stopped running to watch the show – the “Jen’s sports bra is clearly not cutting it” show. I caught sight of my freakshow in the mirror. Oh, dear. The run lasted 28 seconds.


3. Regular bras are not exempt from this process, but I was in denial until week 14 when my bra straps started talking to me. “This is far too much responsibility for us,” they pleaded. “You can only push us so far until we snap in the middle of a meeting, most likely with someone important.”


Fine. I optimistically stopped by Victoria’s Secret, knowing full well this was not the best choice for my situation. What I needed was the very largest size they carried. The ones kept at the back of the store in the bottom drawer on the right. Those bras. One style and three color options were offered. Woo-hee. I am bringing sexy back with these babies. And if I don’t need them later, I can use the cups as mixing bowls.


If the griping of all things body image is bothersome, email my Husband. The man is a saint for putting up with my constant chatter about weight gain, unwieldy boobs, too tight clothes and the like. Of course, he’s the one that got me into this situation, so he really has no choice. Forget the saint comment.