Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Melt. Down.

Memorial Day weekend was the first weekend we'd been home in the last month, so that meant one thing - knock some shit out.

Husband spent the weekend preparing for his annual pilgrimage to the Wakarusa Festival in Arkansas where he is responsible for providing equipment for the bands. This is no small feat and frankly, I don't know how he does it. I do know it provides some nice extra income, so I keep my mouth shut.

My weekend focus was the soon-to-be nursery. For the record, I am not a crafty, visually artistic person. I am the person for whom home magazines are printed - here are some pretty pictures of rooms for you to copy. This is the same approach I take with the baby room. I wanted simple and contemporary, but not overly baby-ish. And to keep Husband happy, no pink.

So I find my ideal nursery pic, head to Home Depot for the specific gray paint listed and get to work. After patching walls, cleaning baseboards, taping and moving furniture, I get the first coat applied on Sunday. We head out to dinner. Upon arriving home I want to admire my handiwork. I flip on the light switch.

Tears immediately begin to pour down my face. It's the kind of crying that quickly escalates into huge gulping sobs. Husband asks what's wrong. I answer, the nursery (sniff) is blue (sob) and we're (sniff) having a girl.

He pauses.

"Are you afraid this will give her some sort of gender-identity crisis?"

I pause. "No (sob). It's just supposed to be gray."

"Why don't we sleep on it?"


That night I have a horrible dream about the kid wanting to be on Toddlers and Tiaras. The next morning I determine the color perfectly acceptable, slap on a second coat and contemplate if Star Wars artwork is appropriate for a nursery.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Six down, three to go

It's the start of the third trimester and more musings have been gathered.

1. I am aware that I will give birth during the hottest part of the year. I'm a native Kansas Citian so there's no need to point this out to me. I get it. August sucks. I'm going to be huge and miserable. Thanks for pointing out something I have no control over. However, if you'd like to be helpful, you can bring me a ice cream cake in late July. I like mint chocolate chip.

2. Do not touch my stomach unless you are comfortable with me karate chopping your wrist. My friends understand this, as I'm not a touchy-feely person. However, acquaintances seem to think this acceptable. It's not. You should approach a pregnant woman as you would a dog - ask if it's okay before putting a hand near the bathing suit region.

3. Let me be the initiator of my pregnancy concerns. There's enough to be worried about without someone throwing in additional items. "Have you had hemorrhoids yet?" Really? No, I haven't. But now I can worry about possibly having them. Thanks.

4. There's no need to point out body parts that look different. Again, I'm well-aware. My favorite was a co-worker who said she knew I was pregnant because of how my neck looked. Huh? I have pregnancy neck? That was one area of my body with which I was not concerned. But now I have to add it to the list. (She sometimes reads my blog, so she'll remain nameless. Although she would also vehemently defend her opinion and probably provide before and after photos.)

5. I now understand why some pregnant women don't share their name choices. When people ask me  and I tell them, they give me an opinion. I don't want an opinion. I don't want to know the name I'm considering is the same name of the girl who stole your bomber jacket in high school. (Actually, that happened to me. Her name was Gretchen and I'm not considering that name.) So unless you can fake it and say you love the name ideas no matter what, don't ask. I don't need anyone raining on my naming parade.

6. Finally, a note to Gap Maternity. Any clothing item that has a nude-colored belly band should not be marketed as "sexy." My "sexy boot cut" white jeans would be an excellent form of birth control for young girls. I laugh every time I see the tag because in my third trimester, I've never felt less sexy. But thanks Gap for trying.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

A Whole Lotta Nothin'

Two days into vacation and relaxation is finally arriving. This is my seventh time to Seabrook Island, and I love it more each visit. The quiet. The smell of ocean. Wind chimes, which normally drive me batty, do not bother me here. Fortunately, Husband's agenda is similar to my own so it's working out well.

Sunday was travel day and did not start out promising. Once again, I booked flights so the layover in Atlanta was too brief. Last year we got stuck in Atlanta coming and going, and it looked to be the same this year. A delayed flight out of KC had me anxious. Husband and I scrambled through the Atlanta terminal - me running until I hit a large crowd of people and then having to stop and Husband walking briskly and appearing far less maniacal. I made it to the gate three seconds earlier, which convinces me my method paid off.

Once in Charleston, Husband explained to car rental agent that this is our last trip sans baby for the next year and the guy kindly upgraded our rental from a Camry to a Mustang. I commented this gives Husband a chance to experience his mid-life crisis before the arrival of our child.

In the last two days we've eaten the tomato-crab bisque at Rosebanks Cafe (possibly the best soup in the history of the world), walked on North Beach, been offered two unruly golden retrievers (which I would have considered had the guy been serious), and am now enjoying lunch made by Husband before possibly heading to the gym or more likely the screened-in porch with a book.

As we prepared to leave for the airport on Sunday I wondered aloud whether we should stay in KC. My baby to-do list is long and a week off work would have provided lots of time to knock things out. I also struggle leaving Trudy, especially when she gives me that accusatory I-know-you're-leaving-me look. Now that we're here, that consideration seems ridiculous.

Only on vacation do we give ourselves the permission to not feel guilty about lack of productivity. There's nothing that needs to be cleaned, reorganized or mowed. Tide watching is an activity. Husband asked if it's weird that he likes to watch the tide roll in and out. I responded all old men like to watch the tide.

I have not included many photos recently and then read on a friend's blog that blogs without photos suck. I don't want my blog to suck, so here is a pic of high tide taken from the deck. Here is also a rare belly photo taken at near 26 weeks. I may one day regret not having more pics of me pregnant, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. Must sign off. A lounge chair is calling my name.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Breast Practice

While my last post stated I really have nothing to complain about pregnancy-wise, I was wrong. I will continue to post about my out-of-control chest region.

Last weekend was an exercise in futility as I tried to find a swimsuit to wear on my upcoming vacation. Buying a swimsuit when you're not pregnant is less than enjoyable. Buying one while pregnant ranks just above a root canal.

While trying on various options at Destination Maternity, I could not stop laughing. The sales girl popped over to ask if I needed help. My question was do you have any suit available that when I put it on will not scare small children? Her answer? "We don't carry anything with under wire support."

Yeah, thanks. You could have pointed that out sooner and saved me lots of time and discouragement. Mission failed.

Then last night Husband tells me about a discussion he had with the lifeguard at the Y. She commented that she doesn't often see swimmers with breasts as big as mine. He agreed. I asked him if this is a topic of conversation that he's having more frequently. His answer? "Pretty much with everyone. Especially all the employees that I know at the Y." Horrifying.

Today was the high point of the breast debacle. It was the kick-off meeting of my new work project with all the bigwigs - chancellor, vice chancellors, campus presidents. You get the gist. As I cover my part of the agenda, I'm telling the committee chairs that I'll send them a list of best practice institutions. Except I said breast practice institutions. My boss about spit coffee across the table.

After a small pause I say, "I'm pregnant. Now seems like a really good time to play that card." The female campus presidents cannot stop laughing. I then promise to send every one a list of both best practice and breast practice institutions after the meeting.

Afterwords, my boss mentions the best part was watching everyone try to avoid looking at my chest. I have a whole new respect for well-endowed women. Bras off to you.