Who needs wi-fi when your sister sits in front of a computer all day anyway?

Texts between KAT's lil bro and I:

Bro: Can you look up the chevy dealership in or around [town he's in] for me? and send the address and phone number?

Me: Chevy dealership. Main Street, local town. 555-555-5555.

Bro: Thanks. now can you call stop and shop, the nearest one to the statue of liberty and order a cake that says congrats on the new fish tank figurine? thanks

Me: I'm sorry, you must have me confused with your secretary. I'm filling in while she's on her lunch break, but I'm not authorized to make long distance calls in her absence (BTW, I can't believe you took the time to type that whole thing out!)

Bro: Can you do me a solid though. look up the numbers for [second Chevy dealership] and [third Chevy dealership]?

Me: Second Chevy dealership: 555-555-6666. Third Chevy dealership: 555-555-7777.

Bro: Thanks. I don't know why people pay for phone internet. they must not have family.

Me: Or at least family as accommodating as your favorite sister, right? RIGHT?!?

Bro: Wow... I yelled at myself in my head when I read that. you're good

Lessons learned in Pregnancy. Part 1.

I have been in blog hibernation for some time now.  Not that I haven't been reading, etc. But I have tried to collect stories from time to time, only to promptly forget them. But, to celebrate a return to bloggyville, I have put together the first in a series of lessons I have learned over the past 6 months of being preggers.

First off, I guess I have some news to divulge (though if you follow me on Twitter @sjlz, you may already know this)....

The baby that is happily kicking away in my belly? It's a ..... girl!!

Which brings me to lesson #1:
Ultrasound technicians are very sweet and kind people, but generally speaking, very clinical. When I asked her "How sure are you?" (because that's what all of the baby books suggest if you really want to know what you're having), she proceeded to show us - and label - our baby girl's "girl parts" - but using the most clinical terms. I thought my husband was going to pass out when she said the word "Labia."

Lesson #2:
Everyone is psychic, and everyone will predict for you what you're having. They will all be 100 percent sure. Now, I have thought that I was having a girl for some time. In fact, since the moment I knew I was pregnant, I have thought it was a girl. I remember getting in my husband's car about a week and a half before I'd know for sure and gagging at the smell of the air conditioner. My first thought was: I'm pregnant, and it's a girl. But, of course that didn't stop people from telling me, over the next 18 weeks or so what I was carrying. It's low, so it's a boy. It's wide, so it's a girl. It's low, so it's a girl... you get the point.

In fact, one woman - a practical stranger - was so convinced I was carrying a boy that when I gently told her that I actually knew that it was, in fact, a girl, she said to me: "Maybe you're having twins." Really?! It's not possible that you may be wrong, practical stranger? Instead, you're going to assert your instinct over medical science?

Lesson #3:
Morning sickness does not always happen in the morning, and it does not necessarily stay away after the magical 13 week mark. Mine came back. As did some of my strange food aversions. If I even look at a box of raisins, I fight the urge to gag. Some smells are still so powerful and overbearing that I just can't be around them.

Lesson #4:
No matter how hard you try: you will pee when you sneeze or laugh, you will randomly burst into tears over silly things, your baby will kick you at inopportune times (like when you're in your boss' office and it's not a time for distraction or laughter - and this is usually the time the kicks tickle you in some way).

Lesson #5:
Some things that once mattered to you, will just float away. This is true for a lot of things in my life, but one of the more obvious and trivial things: I eventually gave up makeup. Every once in a while, I'll bust out the Benefit and apply a dash of make up and throw on some lip gloss. And by every once in a while I mean... once a month. And this is from a Sephora-loving addict. My fancy collection of makeup, mascara, lip gloss, tools and brushes sits in a drawer. After week 16 or so, I just stopped wearing it. My skin had finally cleared up from first trimester acne and it darkened, so my light colored makeup would no longer fit the bill. And, mind you, I was someone who NEVER went out in public without makeup. Not since I was 17 or so. The glow that people refer to, in my case, is my oily t-zone, unadorned by product to try to lessen the problem.

There are a LOT more lessons I've learned, and continued to learn. Before I break out with part 2 - I'd love to hear some lessons from the other moms out there.

What have you learned?

Party's over, SJ. Start blogging again!

Not to call SJ out right after her birthday or anything, but she's been holding out on you guys. That's right, she knows whether she's having a girl or a boy and she hasn't told you yet. If I were you, I'd be a little miffed that she's been holding out. I mean, it would be understandable that she hasn't been blogging if she didn't have anything to talk about, but she very clearly does. So, SJ, on behalf of the blog readers who still check in with us despite every other post talking about my pregnancy, I'm going to have to ask you to spill it.

But let's make those readers work for it. While SJ and J already have a name picked out for their son or daughter, the Pretend Husband and I are still debating our options (made more difficult by having to agree on a boy AND a girl name). So, everyone is required to leave a comment suggesting a girl name and a boy name for FunnyKid, who is due in less than six weeks and is in danger of being named Herbie if we don't come up with something better. And when we hit five comments, SJ will post her news (I think. I mean, I'm assuming she'll go along with this. No promises, but I think I can convince her...)

How about it? Want to help spark SJ's triumphant return to the blog? Start suggesting names...

Funny how dessert seems to be a theme every time SJ and I get together-- Happy birthday, my friend!

To mark this very special day-- the anniversary of SJ's birth-- I thought about doing something similar to last year, where I broke into SJ's house and left dessert in her fridge. The only problem I foresaw with the plan was the fact that SJ doesn't actually own that house anymore, which would have been weird not only for me to be walking around in it, but probably a little unnerving for the new owner when SJ walked in to get her dessert out of the fridge.

So, in the interest of not getting either of us arrested (and since she gave me a key to her new house, but not the alarm code...), I guess I will have to trade in chocolate-covered break-ins for one of those traditional birthday letters SJ and I have become so good at.

So, SJ, this is it. The last birthday either of us gets to celebrate without kids to distract us from the partying that should go on not only on our birthdays, but whenever we feel like it. Somehow, I have a feeling that your best gift next year won't be a blog post from little ol' me, but the fingerprint-covered card that gets handed to you by a drooling, grinning kiddo. But that's how it should be.

What a year this has been. You moved, I painted, I got knocked up, you got knocked up, J painted... I think that about sums it up. But it leaves out the important parts, like our "Pregnant Woman Support Group" on Thursday when we made fruity "mocktails" and talked about symptoms that probably would have had our husbands abandon us if they had ever heard about them. Or the Saturdays spent going to tag sales and spending hours in the car talking about everything from what life was like to what it's going to be like later this year. Or the many, many hours of dinners and Setback now that we live only 4.2 miles apart.

It's been quite the journey, SJ. From poor reporters at a local newspaper (one of us who wore clothing with funny patterns and the other a snob who "knew" she could never be friends with someone who dressed like that) spending Friday and Saturday nights hanging out at bars (you were dating and then engaged, but never had a problem being my wing man), to moms-to-be who consider it a wild night out when the Setback games last beyond 10 p.m. I have a feeling that self-imposed curfew is going to be getting even earlier, but I'm not worried. We'll just have to pack the fun into a shorter amount of time.

And it has been fun. I can't imagine what my late twenties and early thirties would have looked like without you in them to listen to me, to keep me grounded, to cry with me, to make me laugh time and time again, to tell me when I'm wrong, to understand what I'm going through, to be such a good friend you went and got knocked up so I would have someone to go through pregnancy with and to always be willing to help me finish the extra ice cream in my freezer.

Speaking of which, when are we going out for ice cream to celebrate? Happy Birthday, SJ!

Working on the Wife of the Year Award

The Pretend Husband called me to ask me whether he could get together with some friends in another state the weekend after FunnyKid is due to arrive. My response was to say we would need to wait and see when the kiddo arrives and what kind of baby they are. I mean, if the baby is three weeks old and sleeps for up to three hours between feedings, then I would have no problem with the PH leaving for a day and a half. But if he or she is five days old and wakes up every hour, then no, the PH is not leaving me because I'm going to need the support.

The PH was shocked at my response because he thought he would get an immediate no, followed by "Are you nuts?!?" So he is happy to wait and see where we stand when that weekend rolls around.

Of course, I couldn't just let it go at that (as proud as I am with my status as the "coolest wife ever" right now). I called him a couple of hours later and said, "You know that weekend you want to go away? Well, SJ wants to have a girls' weekend in Boston the following weekend. You know, one last getaway before her baby is born. Is it OK if I go?"

Let's just say the PH is not even in the running for Husband of the Year. He started to panic and said things like, "What about feeding the baby? Can you pump that early? Is SJ really going to be in the mood to walk around Boston all day? It's different from me going away. The baby doesn't rely on my body for its nutritional needs." I made him sweat for awhile ("Well, it's only fair if you get to go") before revealing that I had made the whole thing up.

I like to keep the guy on his toes.

(Make sure you check back tomorrow-- Wednesday-- for a special post. I won't give away the subject, but it's something I write about only once a year...)

There goes my dream of being a supermodel's mom

I had an extra ultrasound yesterday because the doctor thought FunnyKid might be measuring big (he or she is actually a tad on the small side so that's science for ya!) This is the third ultrasound I've had and it went about as well as the first two.

Meaning, we have some great photos of an arm, a foot and the baby's spine-- but none that would, you know, actually identify the subject as an actual baby. Last time, the baby was facing my back and wouldn't show his or her face for anything. This time, the little bugger kept putting a hand in front of his or her face (please, no flash photography!)

It's par for the course since every time FunnyKid gets all playful and jumpy inside me, it only takes me telling someone to put their hand on my stomach if they want to feel the baby for the little one to settle right down and pretend they've been asleep the whole time (people may be questioning my sanity...)

Yesterday, the kiddo took it a step further and was not only wholly uncooperative with having his or her photo taken, but actually kicked the ultrasound wand. Seriously, the kick was so hard, the wand popped up off my belly.

Ok, maybe he or she won't be a model, but I'm still holding out for professional soccer player.

Who needs these fancy baby products when we have a whole refrigerator full of options?

Butt paste, nipple butter-- there are some interesting products for mother and baby out there. I was the guest of honor at two wonderful baby showers this weekend, and was also the recipient of a box of nipple butter at the first shower, which was a couples event that had both the Pretend Husband and I opening gifts.

After opening the nipple butter (it's meant to bring relief for nursing mothers), I began joking around about what other products might be available: nipple mayonnaise? Ooh, the PH likes mustard... how about nipple mustard? But he LOVES hot sauce. How about that?

While we continued opening gifts, the PH's guy friends started rustling around in the next room. Shortly after, we were handed the last gift-- a strange looking black bag that wasn't exactly in the baby shower style.

I peeked inside and immediately handed it to the PH, saying, "It's for you." He then pulled out a bottle of hot sauce with a label his friends created that said, "Red Hot Nipple Sauce."

I'm all for making my husband happy, but I think the line gets drawn somewhere around the idea of putting a spicy condiment on certain sensitive areas of my body. (Oh great, with all this talk about hot sauce, now I'm craving buffalo wings!)

My parents should have named me Grace

Because being eight months pregnant isn't enough of a challenge, I went ahead and broke my toe last night. (Well, maybe. The Pretend Husband thinks it might just be badly sprained, but it's painful nonetheless). It wasn't even doing something acrobatic or daring-- I pulled open a door without getting my foot fully out of the way and smashed the littlest toe.

Whether it's sprained or broken, it really hurts. I have worn nothing but flip-flops for the last three months, but even those are bothering it. They are kicked off under my desk right now.

The PH has been semi-sympathetic to my pain. He has made all the right noises ("I'm sorry you're in pain) and he also suggested I give the breathing technique I plan on using during childbirth a try ("If it doesn't work for a little toe, you should probably be looking for something else to use for labor!") He has a point.

I'm in danger of being reported to the fashion police

With kat's lil sis, her husband and the two cutest nephews in the world visiting this week, the Pretend Husband and I gave up our room and moved into the guest room. So, each night this week, I have gone up to our room to pick out my work clothes for the next day. Last night, I didn't because there was a clean basket of laundry in the guest room and I figured I could find my clothes there.

My only option this morning was a black thong under white capri pants. And wouldn't you know, this is the only morning this week that my nephews let their parents sleep in, so no one was awake when I left (and there's no way I was going to take a chance at waking two sleeping kiddos by going into my closet).

So, I'm sporting quite the look at work today. I'm laying low in my office and as far as I know, none of my coworkers have noticed my apparel (either that, or they're too polite to say anything). I figure it's better to have them staring at my butt than the huge, protruding belly in the front anyway!

My weirdest pregnancy symptom...

I have no scientific backing for this statement, but multiple tests run by yours truly have proven it: pregnancy improves your aim. I can throw a piece of paper into a trash can from across the room. I have even tossed things over my shoulder without looking and made it in. I stunned the Pretend Husband the other day by lobbing something into the garbage from three-point range. I can't miss!

So, while my ankles are swollen to the point of non-existence and I can't remember my own name half the time, I have some mad basketball skills to fall back on. I'm thinking of creating a team of pregnant women and petitioning the WNBA for admission.

That eight minutes even included three questions asked and answered!

Dear Doctor,

I realize your time is valuable. Which is why I was not only on time for my appointment this morning, but I was even early. We have to see each other every two weeks now, so I figure it doesn't hurt to butter you up a bit.

But when I got to the window to sign in, the woman in front of me mentioned she was there to see you, too, leading me to believe your office double-books you. Which is fine with me, especially because my appointments these days never last more than 10 minutes.

But the question remains, why did they have you take the woman with the 45-minute appointment before the preggo with the 10-minute one? If you're going to leave a patient waiting, isn't it better to have her sitting there for 10 minutes rather than 45? And, by the way, you saw me for all of eight minutes, which would have meant even less time for Miss Full Examination And Then Some to wait.

Yes, you have a very important job that sometimes takes longer than the time allotted. But I consider my job to be pretty important too (especially because I'd like to keep it and not get fired for being gone half the morning). I hope you will take this into consideration for future appointments.

Regards,

Your Patient (although probably not your favorite)