Hmm, maybe I need to add a "large and lumpy" category...

It's easy to think that the categories get broken down into "pregnant" and "not pregnant." But my extensive research (i.e. getting knocked up) has shown otherwise. I now present to you "FunnyGal KAT's Pregnancy Phases" (by FunnyGal KAT) (also, copyright FunnyGal KAT 2010).

1. Oh my gosh, I'm pregnant! Yay! But I can't tell anyone! Boo! But still, I'm pregnant! Yay! (*please note that this phase may vary slightly for high school students who find themselves in the family way...)

2. Boy, she's packing on the pounds, huh? I don't want to say anything, but even her face looks like it's gained weight.

3. Could she be pregnant? It kind of looks like she's getting a belly. So, pregnant? Either that or it's been a long winter without a lot of exercise for her.

4. I really think she's pregnant. But there was that one time I asked someone when they were due and they looked ready to punch me, so I'm not going to ask.

5. You're pregnant? I thought so. (Ha! I totally guessed that one! So she's not "Fatty McGiantAss"-- she's just glowing from the pregnancy.)

6. Ooooh, yeah. She's pregnant. Like, really pregnant. I'd better get out of here before she asks me to catch the baby.

I'll let you decide where I fall on this spectrum...

Let's make a deal

If there is anything I love more than shopping, it's getting a good deal. I can enjoy a new shirt or dress, but will love it even more if I know I got a good deal on it. And I got a heck of a deal this weekend at a consignment sale for baby and maternity stuff.

One of the school PTOs put on the consignment sale this weekend and I figured it might have some good kid and maternity stuff. It turns out the whole sale was full of maternity, baby and children's stuff (I will be going back every year to buy the following year's sizes). And the maternity rack was huge (yay for moms of elementary school students who are done having kids!)

Pea in the Pod dresses for $20 (which I've heard usually sell for $80), cargo pants for $5-

$10 and shirts for $4 (I got four shirts for the price of one at GAP maternity!) And the stuff is all in great shape-- so great that if I take care of it, I could probably sell it at the consignment sale in a few years.

And this obsession with being frugal obviously runs in the family because kat's lil sis called me a few weeks ago to describe a consignment sale in her area where she got 20 items of clothing for Peyton and a few toys for less than $40. Then she had spotted an infant carrier and called to ask if I was going to register for one. I figured I would and she asked how I would feel about a used one that cost $5. Heck, for $5, I can love almost anything!

She sent the carrier, which is in great shape. I tested out and can now vouch that it works just as well as a new one.

Missing Callie

A good dog passed away today. Callie was our family dog for about 20 minutes before kat's lil sis became her master. And the two of them ended up living in more places than I've even visited (what does it say when your furry, four-legged niece is more well-traveled than you are?) I think lil sis said Callie made eight moves in her 11 years before finally settling down in Georgia-- well, as much as she could settle down with two other dogs and two kids in the house!

I was away at college when my family brought Callie home and didn't get to meet her for a few more weeks. But I am still proud of the fact that I was the one who named her, even from afar (and, after, I should add, a two-hour span of her being called "Hailey" before everyone decided the name didn't fit her).

A big, gentle German shepherd, she loved people and most other dogs. I didn't realize how big and powerful she looked until I started taking her for walks in the woods and watched as other people dragged their children and dogs off the side of the trail until we passed. It didn't help that Callie would choose those times to bark ferociously as I tried to both lead her past and yell, "She's gentle, I swear! She just likes to bark!" at the same time.

Kat's lil sis took wonderful care of her-- taking her for hikes in the Colorado mountains, letting her swim in the lake in Connecticut and talking walks along the beach with her in Florida (seriously, I think there are more photos of Callie in picturesque places than there are of me!) And Callie always adapted to it all-- even to the addition of lil sis' husband, two more dogs, one rambunctious toddler and a baby. She will be missed.

And that, my friends, is the last sad news I want to hear for the rest of my pregnancy. I can't handle bad news on top of these flowing hormones. When lil sis called to tell me the news, I think she stopped crying long before I did (in fact, I know she did because I'm still crying as I write this). Only happy news from now on, OK?

He Loves Me - Not for My Sterling Brain

From: J
Sent: Wed, 3/24/2010 10:01am
To: SJ
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

Are you in yet?

From: SJ 
Sent: Wednesday, March 24, 2010 10:51 AM
To: J
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

yes. i'm here.  such a headache, though.

From: J
Sent: Wed, 3/24/2010 10:56am
To: SJ
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

sorry.  did you drink enough?

From: SJ
Sent: Wednesday, March 24, 2010 1:55 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

i had some pasta for lunch. and lots of water. am somehwat better. i am tired. i need a nap.


im gonna go for one soon.

 
From: J
Sent: Wed, 3/24/2010 1:56pm
To: SJ
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

your going to go for a nap soon?

From: SJ
Sent: Wednesday, March 24, 2010 1:58 PM
To: J
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

oh no. i meant. walk. i forgot the sentence "maybe i should go for a walk"

From: J
Sent: Wed, 3/24/2010 2:02pm
To: SJ
Subject: RE: are you in yet?

i love you.  you are cute.

He tried to make it sound like I'm the crazy one...

I called the Pretend Husband after he left for work this morning and had this conversation:

Me: Did you take your lunch to work with you today?

Him: Yes.

Me: Did you notice anything strange about the fridge?

Him: No. What was strange?

Me: Oh, the half-gallon of ice cream sitting in the refrigerator, for example.

Him: I thought I put it back in the freezer.

Me: Were you drunk last night?

Him: No. And I don't know why I'm expected to notice that. It's not like I did a "Where's Waldo?" search of the fridge where I looked through to see what didn't belong. I grabbed my lunch and left.

Me: I didn't do a search. I opened the fridge and a big container of ice cream was sitting right in front of me. Are you sure you weren't drunk?

I've never wanted to kill my husband more...

... than when the midwife reported that the STD testing they are required to do on pregnant women all came back negative... and the Pretend Husband tried to fist bump me in celebration.

Ah, Memories.

Hey, KAT.  Remember this night?

Yeah, me neither. Which means, I'm pretty certain it was AWESOME.

Okay. In all fairness, I do remember. This was the night you made me do the field sobriety test in the parking lot. Even though I wasn't driving.

But I just wanted to let you know that even though you're all knocked up, growing a special little life, and can't drink alcohol or eat cold cuts....

You can totally still eat these.

Note to self: Make sure this makes it into the baby book

The Pretend Husband and I were walking down an aisle in the supermarket the other night as we chatted and I rubbed my growing belly (Nice try, SJ, but I'm still not saying "uterus"!) He asked me why I was rubbing my belly and I told him it was because it was a bit sore. As I kept walking, I tossed out over my shoulder, "Get used to it. I'm going to be doing a lot more of it as this baby grows."

And then it hit me. There's a baby in there. Right there in the soup aisle was when I finally made the connection between "pregnant" and "baby." It didn't happen anytime earlier in the 15 weeks I've been pregnant. Not when I took a pregnancy test and it came up positive. Not in the 10 weeks since. Not as my clothes have gotten tighter or when I shopped in a maternity store for the first time. Not when I saw the little kid with the big head on the ultrasound. Not when I heard the kiddo's heartbeat for the first time. Not when the PH and I nicknamed the fetus "Herbie" and began talking to him or her through my belly.

Nope, it took the soup aisle and a half-sarcastic comment to get me there. I'm just grateful it happened before the baby actually arrived. What a surprise that would have been!

Forget Barney, we'll be rocking out to the Beatles

I'm big into the books and iPhone alerts that describe the development of the big-headed kid currently taking up residence in my belly (SJ: I refuse to talk about my uterus despite how often you bring it up!). This week, I learned that the kiddo has fully-formed ears and will be able to hear my voice. The book also said studies have shown that babies, once born, will recognize the lullabies their moms sang to them in the womb (SJ: are you happy? I said "womb." Still not talking about my uterus, though!)

The other night, I was on my way home from work and decided to sing to the baby. I started with a lullaby my mom used to sing me:

Go to sleep

Go to sleep

Go to sleep....

Uh

I couldn't remember the rest of that one so I broke into:

Jesus love me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Uh

Finally, I tried:

Hush little baby, don't say a word

Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird don't sing

Momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring

And if that diamond ring don't shine

Uh

And that, my friends, is how my kid's first lullabies came to be "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" and Billy Joel's "Piano Man."

I didn't become an alcoholic until after I got pregnant

(I wrote this last week and left it laying around in the drafts folder. Right after I wrote it, kk asked about how hard it's been for me to give up alcohol. This, kk, is how hard it's been.)

A couple of weeks ago, we went out to dinner with kat's lil bro and his girlfriend, Miss B. The waiter came to take our order and described the drink special of the night, which was something like a "white chocolate raspberry martini with cocoa on the rim" but I was too busy wiping the drool off my chin to pay attention. I don't even like raspberry flavor, but it sounded so heavenly, I made Miss B promise that, if she ordered it, she would let me smell it. And she was nice enough to do just that. And nice enough to pretend not to notice when I grabbed it halfway through the meal and smelled it again.

When we went out to dinner last week, I pointed out a woman at a nearby table who had a huge margarita that looked like it was absolutely delicious. I asked the Pretend Husband if he thought she would let me smell it and he yelled at me. Apparently, people will think it's "weird" if I ask to smell their drinks and he wouldn't let me do it. Still, when his martini arrived, he slid it across the table for me to take a sniff. Now that's love.

A true friend...

...doesn't mind when you invite her over for drinks and, although they may be lovely, they contain no alcohol.

(Although I suspect she did a shot with the Pretend Husband when he got home and I went to the bathroom.)

For all the preggos reading the blog these days (Kellie, I'm looking at you!), here's the awesome drink I threw together:

Equal parts orange juice and pineapple juice

A splash of ginger ale to make it fizzy

Grenadine, which, if you pour it over the back of a spoon, sinks to the bottom

A cherry

Drinking it out of a martini glass or champagne flute is a must.

Baby Bits, Volume 1, Chapter 1

To keep up with this blog becoming *all baby, all the time!* I figured I'd better start with some of the stories that happened over the last couple of months, but I wasn't able to reveal until now.

* First of all, in case anyone is curious, I am almost 15 weeks pregnant. So still pretty early, but late enough to be out of that terrible, horrible first trimester. Everybody tries to gloss over it, but man, there were things like feeling nauseous if I didn't have food in my stomach! having to get up to pee once each night! and needing more sleep than usual! (Why yes, I actually had an extremely easy first trimester. Go ahead and hate me, starting... now.)

* The PH and I have decided not to find out the sex of the baby. We like the idea of being surprised. I also like the idea of driving my in-laws crazy (the Pretend Father-in-Law said, "You're not going to find out?!? But I need to know. Can you ask the doctor to email me?")

* I'm at the point where I don't look pregnant, I just look fat. When I told my coworkers I was pregnant earlier this week, I said, "OK, who suspected?" because I feel like the weight gain is obvious. None of them did. But still, there's a little roundness to the belly that wasn't there before. I've been wearing maternity pants (best.invention.ever!) for a couple of weeks now, but I called the PH yesterday and said, "My maternity pants aren't fitting very well. They're really uncomfortable today." His response? "You're growing out of maternity clothes?!?" I hung up on him.

My blogging return: Letters for my best friend

Dear KAT,

Thank you for holding up the ol' blogfort for the past several...months... while I've been away. It's not that I don't love our bloggy world so immensely - because I totally do - but I am a lazy schmuck. 

But NOW things are different. NOW you're knocked up and I have to get off of my lazy non-blogging butt and make up for being so lazy while you can rest while you gestate.

Sure, I could be a jerky BFF and blog about the martini parties I went to, or the wine-tasting affairs I've been at -- but frankly, I'd be lying AND a jerk, so that's no good.

I could tell you things like: you're going to be an AMAZING mom, you look beautiful pregnant and I can't wait to see the large-headed little baby that pops out in a few months. Motherhood totally suits you.

In fact, I'll stick with those things, because they are all TRUE.

It's been an awesome experience being an aunt, as you know, so I can only imagine what it's going to be like to be a mom. I'm honestly a bit relieved you're going through this first. You can let me know how that works for you.

But really, don't you think you went a little overboard on ways to get new blog material?

With love, chocolate and kleenex,
SJ

This one is worth reading to the end...

A few weeks ago, the Pretend Husband and I had my dad and his fiancee and the PH's parents (the Pretend In-laws) sit down for a discussion. I began with, "As the dogs' grandparents, we have something to discuss with you. You know how Molly and Casey have been asking for a brother or sister? Well, we have narrowed it down to three options and we want you guys to help us decide."

Immediately, the groaning started up. "A third dog?!? You guys are crazy!"

Quickly, I showed them a photo of a black dog and said, "This is the first option."

The comments continued, "I'm not taking care of three dogs when you go away. This is ridiculous!"

I showed a photo of a white dog and said, "This is the second option."

I was a little scared for my life as we got hit from all sides, "I can't believe you would do this! Three dogs is too much!"

So I quickly put down the third photo, saying, "This is the third option."

(It was a unanimous decision to go with option three.)

If heaven has Super Soakers, my mom must be the water fight champion by now...

I have tried so hard to find the funny in everyday life recently. Not just so I would have something to post (although I'm always on the lookout for stories that translate well onto the blog), but because it's always nice to think about the last time you really laughed. This week hasn't been filled with a lot of laughter (at least, laughter that will translate well). Not because of any catastrophic event, but because of too many hours spent at work and not enough time with the people who tend to make me laugh.

So I'm reaching back into the ol' memory bank for today's tale about my mom. My mom passed away more than five years ago, but definitely still hangs around in the stories my family tells, in some of my facial expressions and, if the corner of my eye is to be believed, in the house we live in (although perhaps that's a story for another time...)

One of my favorite stories about my mom is one I told at her memorial service because it sums up her and her parenting style so well. My mom loved water guns. Loved them. And had tons of them. We didn't give her gift certificates for pedicures or flowers for Mother's Day-- we gave her Super Soakers.

And having enough water guns around the house for everyone naturally led to some epic battles. We would turn on the hoses at the back and front of the house, divide up the weaponry, give everyone a chance to fill up their gun and then race around the yard trying to soak, but not be soaked. And in the midst of these armed kids would be my mom, giving it just as good as she got (to this day, I'm not sure there's anything more satisfying than soaking an adult and not getting in trouble...)

For one battle-- one that my mom sat out in order to work in the yard-- things got a little out of hand. People were soaked but then feelings were hurt and someone ran inside in a huff. And that's when someone (my brother and sister say it was me, but I'll never admit it) dragged the hose into the house to threaten them. And that certain someone may have actually turned the hose on in the house and soaked the front hallway from floor to ceiling. That someone may then have been afraid their short life was about to end.

That's when my mom walked into the house, stopped short when she saw the water dripping down the walls, looked at her sorry-looking kids... and then, rather than handing out the punishment we knew we deserved, she grabbed the closest water gun and chased us out of the house with her squirting us from behind. And that was the day I escaped death (and discovered just how awesome my mom was in the process).

The embarrassing part is that she also has way more friends on Facebook than I do...

The Pretend Husband and I were laying in bed chatting yesterday morning as the dogs slept curled between us. At some point, Molly groggily lifted her head to look at us. And we both burst out laughing because that poor peekapoo had the worst bed head. Combined with the nasty look she was giving us, we surmised Molly had a pretty rough night. Speaking in the voice we created for her, Molly confessed to sneaking out of the house after we went to bed and attending a rave. She also admitted that she "gothed" herself up (she had black lips and nails) for her night out on the town. Then she told us both to "shut the eff up" because her head was killing her.

The PH and I laughed about it and traded jokes, finding ourselves very, very funny. That is, until I thought about the fact I had worked until 11 p.m. the night before and then gone straight to bed when I got home (very similar to most nights for me these days), and realized my dog's social life is more exciting than mine.