Funny Gals

We should have named him "Jeeves"

2012-01-20T12:47:00.000-05:00

FunnyKid is going through an awesome phase right now where he wants to help in any way he can. It started with him wanting to help feed the dogs in the morning so we began with him helping us carry their bowls from the counter to their mats. We're now at the point where he gets the cup of food out of the pantry and brings it to me at the counter. Then he gets the dogs' bowls from opposite ends of the kitchen and brings them to me. I fill the bowls and give him the cup back, which he takes back to the pantry. Then he carries each bowl to the dogs' mat and "places" it down (which sometimes meaning lowering it slowly and sometimes means dropping it from chest height). I give it another two weeks before he's the one doling the dog food into the bowls while I sit comfortably on the couch giving directions.

As if that wasn't enough help, I pulled out the coffeepot this morning and when FunnyKid pointed to it, I said, "Mommy's making coffee." The little smarty immediately walked over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a can of coffee, which he walked over to me! I just need to buy a step stool so he can climb up and finish the job.

Lastly, this morning, I casually mentioned, "We need to clean up the family room so Mom can vacuum" and realized a few seconds later that FunnyKid had disappeared. I found him in the hallway, where he had opened the closet door and pulled out the vacuum. He was in the process of rolling it to the family room when I got to him.

People told me I would love having kids, but not because they would do all my work for me! I'm loving this. Now, if I can just nurture this work ethic into his teen years... I may never have to lift a finger.

Toddler!

2012-01-18T12:54:00.002-05:00

FunnyKid is a toddler! through and through (if this is 16 months, I'm scared about what two and three are going to look like). And that exclamation point isn't a typo-- because toddlers! don't do anything quietly or calmly or with precision. Toddlers! are loud and they're fast and they leave messes.

When the Pretend Husband got home last night, he walked in the door and stopped in shock. There were toys scattered all over the family room among the coupons I had been cutting before my toddler! got hold of them. In the kitchen, there were pots, pans, towels and other cooking implements all over the floor. In the living room, Cheerios on the rug (I blame our dogs for not getting those cleaned up more quickly). In the hallway, an abandoned Cozy Coupe, the vacuum cleaner that had been pulled out of the closet and some random kid socks.

And the worst part? I cleaned yesterday. Actually, I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, putting toys away as my toddler! followed behind and took them out again. I finally gave up and figured I would let the toddler! wear himself out and I could pick everything up once he went to bed.

This morning I couldn't find my car keys and didn't know if I had misplaced them or if my toddler! had taken possession of them. If I had misplaced them, I could have looked in the usual places of in my bag, in my coat pockets and under the driver's seat. But if the toddler! had a hand in their disappearance? Well, that's a whole different search. One that found me digging through the garbage can (FunnyKid likes to throw things away whether they are trash or not) and going through the kitchen cabinets (he doesn't only like to take things out of the cupboards and drawers).

It turns out the missing keys were in my coat pocket, but the search for them made me realize just how on my toes I have to be when my toddler! is awake. Wish me luck...

The body in my front yard and other events in my life

2012-01-12T13:12:00.003-05:00

I don't have enough for a full post right now, so you get snippets of what life in the FunnyGal household is like these days.

First, there's this guy....
This movie star of a son who continues to amaze me with his words (you try not smiling when he yells "Cah" like he's a lifelong Bostonite talking about the traffic or points to my coffee in the morning and calls it "ca-ca.") And he amazes me with his abilities and his kindness and the fact that he barely speaks and yet had two different people point out how funny he is today at story hour. Life is good with FunnyKid.

***

Christmas was perfect. That's all I really need to say (although have you ever known me to stop at one sentence? Yeah, me neither.) It involved grandparents so excited about watching the kiddos open their gifts that they got up early and other relatives who spent part of Christmas Day pushing a Cozy Coupe filled with cousins around the house and good food and laughter and really, what more could you ask for?

***

While I'm amazed at each of the skills FunnyKid has learned in his 16 months, I'm still surprised each time he picks up a new one. Last night, while I was making cookies, he came over and wanted to be part of the action. I put him on a stool and handed him a spoon and I'll be darned if the little guy didn't understand enough to scrape the sides of the bowl down with the spoon and not go near the mixer when it was running. He also knows where the cookies are stored and how to convince Mom he needs to eat one for breakfast, but that's another story...

***

I guess that's about it. Oh, the body in the yard? You want to hear that story? Yeah, I guess I would too. I'm still not clear on exactly what happened, but I think I've pieced together most of it. See, our house is along the route the local high school cross country team runs (I guess? Does cross country practice in January?) Yesterday, I walked out of the garage to take FunnyKid for a walk, looked up and saw a girl lying face down under a bush by the road. Startled, I stepped closer and saw... five more kids laying behind a rock wall in our yard. They didn't say anything to me (but I saw them move so my initial thought of a dead body in my yard was quickly erased) and I didn't say anything to them because it looked they were lying in wait and I didn't want to ruin their game. About a minute later, as I was getting FunnyKid in his stroller, the group of kids jumped up and started running. I didn't see it clearly, but I think someone had run by and they were surprising her? I heard one of the kids say, "Best hiding place ever" as they ran off, so perhaps it will become the norm for me to have a bunch of bodies scattered around my yard.

***

The other day, I received an email from someone I met for the second time and she complimented my personality. She said she hadn't realized from our first meeting how funny and sarcastic I am, but had enjoyed it during our second meeting. I read the email to the Pretend Husband, who proceeded to tell me I'm not funny! Like, at all. (I may have told him he's bad at his job as an illustration of how important my sense of humor is to me). He later said he was kidding, but it was too late. I had already filed for divorce by then. (Ok, I'm kidding. I'll keep the PH around-- but only if he starts laughing at my humor real quick).

Sixteen months after giving birth, I became a parent

2011-12-22T10:00:00.004-05:00

After months of raising FunnyKid, middle-of-the-night feedings, kisses for bumped foreheads and more diaper changes than I can count, what finally earned me the title of parent? This.

The Pretend Husband and I had been patting ourselves on the back that we had finished Christmas shopping for FunnyKid and hadn't gone overboard. We had discussed getting him a Cozy Coupe, but figured we could get it for his birthday next summer. Then, while picking up some groceries at a warehouse club the other night, we spotted it. And it was cheaper than we had seen it anywhere else. And, despite my fears that having one more big gift under the tree will turn my sweet boy into a spoiled brat, we bought it.

And then I tried to assemble it. Pulling the large plastic pieces out of the box at 10 p.m., I thought, "how hard can this be?" Ha! Picture me two hours later, sweating and cursing because I'm still not finished and it's impossible to tell from the drawings which part is pictured and how does this thing fit? I had to view on-line video instructions and pull out a drill in order to get most of the way done.

It was after midnight, and long after the PH had gone to bed, when I got to the part of the instructions where you need two people to finish the stupid thing. That's when I abandoned the project and went to bed, knowing I still have a couple of days to get it done.

FunnyKid is going to LOVE the cozy coupe and I know that seeing the joy on his face is going to erase any dark memories I have of putting the stupid thing together, but remind me next year to start assembling his gifts well before Christmas Eve because they are never as easy to assemble as they look. Oh, and when you remind me, call me "Mom." I've earned it.

Me and my third world problems...

2011-12-13T10:13:00.005-05:00

We're all familiar with my love of couponing, my insistence I get the best deal and a sense of competition I don't necessarily leave on the soccer field when the game is over, right? Well, I would hereby like to welcome myself to the frenzy known as "Parents Go Insane Trying To Get The Most Popular Toys For Their Precious Wittle Wonderful Ones (2011)." And if you think having a 15-month-old means I'm not vying for the really serious electronic stuff, let me remind you that I am a very popular aunt and intend to remain that way.

Hence, there have been some late night eBay sessions in which I put all my super secret skills to work (if the bids are climbing by 25-cent increments, I'm not above having my high bid end in .34. Oh wait, everyone does that? It's a not-so-secret strategy? Nevermind then.) And while I haven't stooped so low that I've pulled the pepper spray out of my purse and gone crazy on my competitors (uh, I mean "fellow shoppers"), I'm not above whispered conversations on my cell phone to confirm I just spotted *the* hottest toy of the season ("there's four of them. Should I buy all four?") (I didn't buy all four-- I let some old guy who claimed it was for his grandkids get in on the action).

And this is just the beginning. I have a kid at the age where he would love climbing into the box the toy came in as much as playing with the toy itself (if not more-- boxes are a big draw around here). Can you imagine what I'll be like when I'm doing it for real and the stakes are having a disappointed child shouting that he hates me on Christmas Day because I didn't get him whatever toy he and every other child in the United States wanted? Yeah, I'm kind of scared of me too.

How I almost died doing a good deed... which explains why I may never do one again

2011-11-20T21:56:00.004-05:00

I suspect I would rarely have anything to post about if I wasn't such a moron. Case in point, the bruises and scrapes on both my knees and the scratches on my elbow (I will spare you a photo but trust me that I look like a 10-year-old who fell down on the playground).

Last night, while driving home from work at midnight, I almost hit a huge garbage can that was laying in the middle of a very dark road. I didn't really want to get involved, but the thought that the can could really damage a vehicle that ran over it made me pull over, put on my hazard lights and go get it out of the road.

As I pulled the can onto someone's front lawn, I realized I was standing on the edge of the road with my driver's side door open in the opposite lane and was wearing dark clothing... while a vehicle approached. Wanting to hurry back to my car before the truck coming up behind my car hit either me or my car, I started to run back to my car... and tripped.

It was one of those full-out, arms-pinwheeling trips that propelled me across an entire lane and sent me sprawling in the middle of the street with the truck still coming at me (in the dark with me wearing black). At that point, I wasn't as worried about my car as I was about getting run over at night a mile from home without anyone having an explanation for why I was even out of my car.

Scrambling up, I dove into my car and-- obviously-- avoided being killed. I did not, however, avoid being injured and returned home with bleeding elbows and knees to a husband who was a bit incredulous about why I had put myself into the situation in the first place. And that explains why I probably will not be doing anything nice for anyone ever again... or at least until I heal.

tap tap Is this thing on?

2011-11-11T14:19:00.004-05:00

Wow. It's been... let's see... forever since I last posted (and even longer since *someone* who shall not be named has been seen in these parts, but who am I to throw stones after my little absence, right?) I will try and be better and all that...

There are, of course, tons of things I could talk about. Like how we lost power for four days and fled the state to save our freezer contents and be able to shower again, or how I have a new niece or how the Pretend Husband and I celebrated our very real wedding anniversary (four years!)

But you (you know, any of you who are still actually reading this little ol' blog) don't want to hear about all that. You want the good stuff. You want to see FunnyKid in his Halloween costume (which was celebrated in our town on Nov. 10 because of the aforementioned power outage). And maybe you'll even comment and let me know you're still here and I should make a better effort to be here too.

Alcohol, hors d'ouevres and me pulling my boobs out in the middle of the party (or: how my husband finally learned to deal with me)

2011-09-19T21:18:00.005-04:00

If there is any area where the Pretend Husband deserves a "Most Improved" Award, it's in the "What To Do When Your Wife Cries" category. Seriously, the man used to be terrible. If I started crying about something, he would try to pretend I wasn't. He would look anywhere but at me and try to carry on a conversation as though I wasn't sobbing loudly with tears running down my face.

I have spent *years* training the guy to A) not ignore the fact that I'm crying and B) do or say something that makes me feel better. It took many, many times of me telling him to just sit next to me and hold my hand or rub my back. He doesn't have to even say anything-- just be there.

Well, the PH was tested last week and I'm proud to report he has finally learned the lesson I began teaching when we were dating. Last week, I abruptly stopped breastfeeding FunnyKid. It had been coming for awhile, he was down to just one feeding a day and I knew he was only doing it as a comfort thing before bed and no longer needed it for nutritional purposes. I knew we were going to stop soon.

But I wasn't prepared for the night we were putting FunnyKid to bed and everything fell perfectly into place for us to try putting him to bed without that last feeding. And-- this is the part that especially ripped my heart out-- he rolled right over and fell asleep without protest.

The PH and I walked downstairs and I just stared at him. "Are you going to cry?" he asked. "I don't know," I replied... and then I burst into tears. And-- shocker of all shockers-- the PH said he understood and rubbed my back as I let it all out. "I know this is for the best. I'm ready and he's ready," I said, "but I didn't realize last night would be the last time I ever breastfed him. He's growing up so fast."

Then, the guy who used to try to chat about football while I cried actually offered to throw a party to celebrate the end of breastfeeding. "And in the middle of it, you can have your one last time," he proposed. I'm still not sure if he was serious or just trying to make me laugh, but it was the perfect response to the situation. Ok, maybe not perfect. Bringing home some "end of breastfeeding" jewelry the next day would have been perfect. But it was close enough for me.

Oh, so calling yourself "Friendly's" is supposed to be ironic?

2011-09-08T12:13:00.004-04:00

The FunnyGal KAT family has been on vacation, which has been a test of our parenting skills as we take FunnyKid out for adventures and sometimes push his good nature to the limits. We've had our share of having to get up from the table in a restaurant to walk around and give the people at the next table a break from the yelling. And I have admittedly thrown some extra snacks his way at times to keep him happy or quiet.

But this morning was a new one for me. The Pretend Husband and I took FunnyKid to Friendly's for breakfast. The PH and FunnyKid got inside before I did and were greeted by a waitress who not only didn't crack a smile, but kind of snarled, "I'll be right with you." "OK," the PH replied cheerily (because, heck, we're on vacation and he was in a good mood). "OK," she mimicked? Really, could she have been making fun of the PH? No, that's not possible.

But the rest of our experience made me suspect she really may have been mocking my husband. And what a bizarre experience it was. For one thing, I didn't see the woman crack a smile the entire time we were there. Which, everyone has bad days so that's almost excusable. But some of the other stuff wasn't.

When an order for the table next to us arrived, it turned out one of the kids was given the wrong kind of pancakes. When the mom pointed it out to the waitress, she insisted she had brought the ones the grandmother had pointed to on the menu. She went so far as to bring the menu over to show the grandmother which ones she had pointed to. When the grandmother politely said those weren't the ones she thought she ordered, the waitress snapped, "Well, what do you want me to do?" Then, as the mom was asking the little boy if he would eat the pancakes in front of him, Waitress Friendly McSunshine stood there with a hand on her hip. When the boy said he wanted a different type of pancakes, she picked up his plate and stomped off without another word.

But the bizarre part was how quickly she switched back and forth between being a complete grump and being a nice person. She dropped off our food, saying, "Here you go, my friends," then started muttering about customers at another table! I even overheard her telling one older lady that she had too much perfume on, then complimenting her jewelry in the next breath. So weird. And not at all how to earn tips.

I will say that we left her a decent tip. I worked as a waitress for awhile and know how difficult a job it is-- so I have a standing rule never to stiff a server. But I will also say that woman-- if she truly is as grumpy as she came off today-- probably shouldn't be working at a family restaurant if she can't handle some of the silliness that accompanies children.

Rocking the body of a 50-year-old

2011-09-01T08:25:00.000-04:00

When I was a 24-year-old spring chicken, I sometimes played six soccer games a week. I remember looking at those old ladies in their thirties who complained about their knees hurting them and thinking, "that will never be me." I figured I would just keep playing multiple games a week and prevent my age from ever catching up to me.

Ha! That plan-- and that schedule-- was kept up for a few years until my knees, hips and back needed more than a day to recover before I beat on them again. And now-- somewhere in my early-ish thirties-- it doesn't even take a full soccer game to put me out of commission for a few days.

A few weekends ago, I was up and down a ladder as I powerwashed our house. Having lifted equipment around and twisted in funny ways, I wasn't surprised to wake up with a sore lower back. A few days later, while my back was still bothering me, I somehow pulled a muscle in my upper back. I'm also sporting a massive gouge in my arm from where the dermatologist removed a suspicious-looking mole. Then, today, while driving home from the grocery store, I experienced a really bad burning pain in my back.

Thinking it was a muscle cramp, I tried to grit my teeth and sit still until it passed. Which it didn't pass. Swiping at my back (while somehow staying in my lane of traffic), I grabbed a wasp off my back and discovered upon getting home that it had stung me twice through my shirt.

I don't need to play soccer six days a week anymore. These days, I would consider two full days without pain a success.

This boy of mine

2011-08-26T09:36:00.000-04:00

One year ago today, I felt the greatest pain I had ever experienced. One year ago today, I felt the greatest joy I ever experienced. Though I can hardly believe it, FunnyKid is one year old today. And what a year it has been.

One year ago, I met this guy.

Today, I was lucky enough to be greeted by this guy.

I'm busy preparing all sort of surprises for FunnyKid's party-- and praying the hurricane headed our way holds off on the rain until after we're done celebrating. But I wanted to take a minute to share the joy that this kiddo brings to my day.

It's hard to sum up my pride for FunnyKid and all of the abilities he has gained over this year. As a new mom, I have been-- of course-- enamored with every "first," from that first awesome smile to his first steps behind his push toy. But perhaps what makes me most proud about this kiddo is how he has lived up to his FunnyKid nickname.

I never knew a baby could be so funny. FunnyKid loves to laugh (and what a great laugh it is) and will bust out with a belly laugh even when we're not trying to do anything funny (he finds someone throwing something-- or even just making a throwing motion-- absolutely hilarious). And he is a little ham who does what he can to make people laugh. He somehow came up with this cute little head tilt that gets people every time. He "kisses" me by coming at my face with an open mouth and sucking on whatever part of my face he catches (it's impossible not to laugh when someone is sucking on your cheek). And, although it's not on purpose, his little butt sticking out when he walks behind his push toy is sure to elicit laughs.

One year. A year of smiles, new talents, tears (oh, the tears! from both FunnyKid and I), adventures, new experiences and laughter-- more laughter than I could have hoped for when I came up with the nickname FunnyKid. Thanks for living up to that name, kiddo. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Bubby!

I'm extra hilarious at 2:30 in the morning

2011-08-16T13:03:00.003-04:00

A few nights ago, I found myself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Then, the Pretend Husband, who had way too much caffeine too late in the day, found himself with his eyes pinned open. So, like any loving couple with double insomnia, we began chatting.

I told the PH I had tried to fall asleep by running through potential baby names for our next child (this is not an announcement). After going through some of my ideas, we began thinking of names for future dogs (also not an announcement). After the usual Molly, Maggie, Max, Buster suggestions, we hit on another idea.

We thought it would be absolutely hilarious to give our next dog a name that is only usually given to people. Like Stanley. Or William. We lay in bed cracking ourselves up thinking about how people names would sound on a dog ("Jessica! Stop licking yourself!" "David! Drop that chipmunk and get in the house!") Then we wondered if the idea would seem as hilarious when we weren't exhausted.

The next day, we discovered that it is just hilarious as we had thought. I defy you to walk outside right now, yell "William, stop humping Jessica and get over here!" and not laugh. It's impossible.

If he wants to push the next kiddo out of his nether regions, I'm happy to listen to him complain. Until that happens, zip it.

2011-08-04T12:14:00.001-04:00

FunnyKid is an Eater. With a capital E. We have yet to discover a food he won't eat (except for a three day period where he wouldn't eat-- of all things-- watermelon). And when he's in his high chair, in your lap or anywhere where there's food, he wants to eat and he wants to eat now.

Let me preface the next little story by saying the Pretend Husband is an awesome father. He has one evening a week alone with FunnyKid while I work, he rushes home at the end of a busy day to make sure he gets time with FunnyKid before bed and he's very hands-on with everything from playing to changing diapers.

However, if there is one thing the PH hates, it's being interrupted when he's eating. He will spoon veggies into FunnyKid's mouth before he sits down to eat so it doesn't interfere with his meal. So, if there's any additional cutting up of food or throwing Cheerios onto FunnyKid's tray, that has fallen to me.

I'm not sure the PH even realized how harried I was during meals as I tried to grab bites of my own meal in between cutting things into little chunks for FunnyKid and keeping him well-fed. Until a few weeks ago. FunnyKid and the PH had come to my soccer game, but the grass was too wet for them to sit and watch at first. So the PH loaded FunnyKid into the car and took him out to breakfast.

On the way home from the game, I was treated to a litany of complaints from the PH. "It was so hard to eat! He kept yelling when he ran out of food so I was constantly cutting stuff up for him. I had to choke down my food in, like, 30 seconds at the end."

I think he was looking for sympathy from me, but he was looking to the wrong person. "Really? That's what it's like to eat with FunnyKid? I wouldn't have realized that, being that I feed him three meals a day and all. Cry me a river, PH, I've been dealing with this for months."

Giving it to you straight about motherhood... or I haven't used the bathroom without an audience in over a month

2011-07-08T18:44:00.005-04:00

Yeah, yeah, there's a ton of books, blogs and other resources out there about what it's really like to be a mother. But I'm going to give you the straight poop with a look into my life from just the last 45 minutes.

Motherhood is:

-Holding your son's attention for a minute or two by singing, dancing, clapping, waving and any other inane thing you can think of... and him turning around, finding the tote bag we keep library books in and having it hold his attention for almost 10 minutes.

-Learning to use the toilet while a little one is using your legs to pull himself up to standing. Privacy? What's that?

-Being so tired, you mess up the lyrics to "Old McDonald Had a Farm." Apparently, around here, ducks say, "duck, duck!" rather than "quack, quack!" If FunnyKid ends up having to repeat pre-school, I'm going to feel so responsible...

-Using your child as a dumbbell by lifting them from the floor to the ceiling multiple times. Hey, anything that gets me into shape and keeps FunnyKid laughing is a win in my book.

-Feeling good about yourself because the kiddo bumped his head and was immediately comforted by your touch and voice. Then immediately not feeling good about yourself when he bites your shoulder. Hard.

-Being able to write this post one-handed while simultaneously wrestling a baby. Don't get me wrong, he's still winning the match. My only victory will be hitting "Publish Post" if only I can get my hand free to do so.

The day trip that only cost $50, my sanity and my will to ever travel again

2011-07-07T21:07:00.000-04:00

While FunnyKid and I were vacationing at my sister's house last week, she and I decided to take FunnyKid and the two cutest nephews in the world to Baltimore's Inner Harbor for a day. We figured hauling around three kids ages 2 1/2 years, 18 months and 10 months would be a little stressful, but were willing to do it for the experience.

We had an "experience" alright.

The fun started with finding a place to park (and finding out we would be paying $23 for the privilege) and then trying to get into one of the buildings where the shops and restaurants are. Handicapped entrances, which we needed in order to get two strollers into the building, were hard to find and required a long walk to get to them. Having done this before, we were smart enough to have packed a picnic lunch rather than try to navigate a restaurant.

Because FunnyKid is still limited by crawling, I had to get used to the fact that my nephews were able to take off in two different directions with no notice. More than once, kat's lil sis went after one while I tried to head off the other with my stroller.

We adapted well. Kat's lil sis is very laid back (she has to be with two toddlers!) so it didn't bother her when the boys got soaked in a fountain and when we picked a spot on the grass to change diapers (there was no way we were going to navigate handicapped entrances again to find bathrooms). And she barely batted an eye as we walked along the water with one of her boys throwing a temper tantrum because the carousel was being repaired.

While one of the most fun parts of our trip was taking the boys on a water taxi to a different part of the city, it was also one of the most challenging. On our way out of the Inner Harbor, we had the advantage of full stomachs and cooperative kids so even having to empty the strollers of kids and bags before boarding and then begging the boat employees to help heft the strollers onto the boat didn't bother us.

The way back was a different story. Both the moms and the kids were exhausted and hot and hungry. It was a recipe for disaster. Basically, I tried to divide my time between keeping FunnyKid from throwing himself overboard and talking one of my nephews out of disappearing under the seats, while lil sis had a wrestling match her younger son to keep him in the seat, suffering multiple slaps to the head in the process (I think I had the better deal because at least FunnyKid is too little to put up much resistance).

The way home included tons of traffic and overtired kiddos who kept waking the others up. And the irony of it is that all of the boys are too young to ever remember the trip outside of looking at all the photos we took. We agreed it's going to take some time for us to forget the experience and try to take all the boys out again with just the two of us. Eight or nine years ought to do it.

At least he let me come back

2011-07-04T21:56:00.002-04:00

The Pretend Husband called me one afternoon last week and said, "You know, you should go visit your sister and nephews. You both stay home with the kids and there's no reason you can't go in the middle of the week." I said he was right and thought that I should plan a trip to visit the cutest nephews in the world soon. But the PH was thinking even more immediately.

"I think you should go this week."

His reasoning had something to do with having a very busy week ahead of him at work and not wanting to feel pressured to get home to see FunnyKid and I, but he was so persistent, I started to get a little suspicious. When I told him I had spoken to kat's lil sis and would be leaving the next morning, the PH said, "Why don't you leave tonight? You can get in the car at FunnyKid's bedtime and get there around midnight."

If I had taken his advice, it would have meant leaving within two hours. Maybe more experienced moms can pull off packing for herself and her kiddo and being out the door in 120 minutes, but I need more time to prepare. I stood up to the pressure and kept the plan that didn't involve me driving five hours in the middle of the night with no notice.

So FunnyKid and I took off the next morning-- but not before I set up nannycams around the house, put a tracking device on the PH's car and paid the neighbor to keep an eye on things (with binoculars).

All this and I'm still carrying baby weight?!?

2011-06-17T09:12:00.004-04:00

While lots of people talk about recovering from childbirth and how physically demanding that is (and it is), there's a lot less chatter about the months and months that follow and what kind of aches and pains are associated with them. Which is where my million-dollar idea comes in: a workout based on what moms of babies and toddlers do every day.

The workout involves a lot of sitting on the floor (which isn't always as easy as it looks. As someone accustomed to sitting in a chair at work, I had to get used to the extra drop). Ok, sit on the floor with legs straight out or crossed or whatever is comfortable for you. Ok, sit, sit, sit. Now jump up and run!

Again. Sit, sit. Baby is going for the dog's water bowl! Get up and run!
Sit, sit. Baby is about to go head first down the stairs! Get up and sprint!

Are you feeling it? Are those thighs burning yet?

Oh, but we're not done yet. Back down on the floor. Ok, now get a 20-pound weight and get up off the floor without using your hands and without dropping the weight (the weight cries-- loudly-- if you do that). Do that about a million times.

Almost there. Now stand up and put the 20-pound weight on the floor between your feet. Bend over from the waist and lift the 20-pound weight up over your head, hold and return the weight to the floor. The 20-pound weight thinks this is a great game and wants to do it again! And again! Repeat at least 35 more times and be prepared for the weight to be upset when you stop.

How do you feel? Good. Only eight more hours before Daddy gets home and you can take a break!

Tomorrow, we work on stretching your arms by reaching under the couch for a lost toy and will add some resistance by having the weight flail around while you try to lift it. Now hit the showers (but only if the 20-pound weight is napping and you've finished everything else you have to do today).

Let me count the ways in which I am screwed...

2011-06-06T15:36:00.003-04:00

My nine-month-old can negotiate the step between the family room (where all his toys are) and the rest of the first floor (where a lot of dangerous things are) and now pretty much has the run of the house.

Today, he wrestled me for access to my boob... and almost won.

Drawers in the kitchen are no match for Mr. Adventure and putting a yardstick through the handles to keep them from opening just gives him something new to play with (the yardstick makes a fun noise when it's pulled back and then let go to snap against the cabinet).

Changing a diaper is a full-scale wrestling event that involves pins, spin moves to break the opponent's hold and once he tried to tag the dog in when it looked like I was about to win.

Speaking of the dogs, they don't know what hit them. Or-- more accurately-- what suddenly and violently yanked at their crotch hair while they were sleeping.

Perhaps the worst part of all is how stinking cute he is while he wreaks havoc all over the house. This face almost makes me want to give in and let him do whatever he wants. Almost.

Guess whose mom will be doing some babyproofing this weekend...

2011-05-27T10:30:00.003-04:00

While we're at it, who took my baby and left me this toddler?!? I'm not sure I'm ready for a kid on the move!

Catch me on an upcoming episode...

2011-05-26T11:06:00.002-04:00

I was always one of those people who sometimes clipped coupons, sometimes remembered to take them to the store and sometimes found I had clipped a coupon for something I would actually use. Then I watched "Extreme Couponing." And I'm hooked.

I've only watched one or two episodes of "Extreme Couponing," but I've gone on-line to read blogs about how to best use coupons, I've signed up for different Websites that allow you to print out coupons and I've convinced family members to save their coupons for me. I'm on my way.

I'm never going to be one of those extreme coupon people who pay $1.03 for $10,000 worth of groceries, but I've had my victories. Last week, I got more than $80 worth of groceries for about $50, including seven bottles of marinade for 49 cents (total, not each) and four tubes of toothpaste for free. Perhaps not television-worthy, but I'll take every penny I can save.

I won't lie to you--it's a lot of work. I spent two hours last night clipping coupons and another hour going through store circulars and matching my coupons to the items on sale. But, other than raising FunnyKid, it's my job right now and I figure every dollar I save is a dollar I earned.

Still, I'm not going to make it my full-time job, I won't be stalking store managers for inside information about upcoming sales and I will never need to rent a truck to bring home my groceries. But maybe I will put some of that money I saved toward something fun for myself. After all, I did earn it.

Here's a tip: try smiling...

2011-05-18T14:08:00.003-04:00

My unsolicited advice/vent for the day:
I've been a waitress and I know how tough it is to go into work happy each day and put up with all of the crap the entitled diners throw your way. And while I don't have personal experience with this, I can imagine your soul dies a little every time you have to put on a period uniform that includes shiny pantyhose and a weird little hat.

Still. If you're going to work in a restaurant that is attractive to families with kids (there's a train that runs along the ceiling for goodness sake!), you might want to show some sort of interest in kids-- parents love that sort of thing. And even if kids aren't your thing, try to put some pep in your step and even a small smile on your face. Immediately asking us what we want to drink without greeting us, answering our questions with the least enthusiasm you can muster without being downright rude and grudgingly wishing us a good day as you drop the check is not going to cut it.

We still tipped you, of course. Because I've been a waitress and I would never tip less than 15 percent. But since you did nothing to go above and beyond, neither did I. Seriously, try cracking a smile. Your job isn't that bad and smiling would do wonders for how you present yourself (and probably for your wallet, too).

I asked for a toilet for Mother's Day-- because I'm just oh-so-sentimental and all

2011-05-09T11:19:00.003-04:00

I asked my husband and FunnyKid for a toilet for Mother's Day. I mean, it's not that romantic a gift, but it's something we need and I would use it everyday. Definitely more practical than sentimental. And, although it's a silly gift and something I probably would have killed the Pretend Husband for buying me if I didn't ask for it, I would have been thrilled to come home to a brand new, comfort-height toilet that flushes on command and doesn't need me to jiggle the handle in a certain way or open up the top every three uses.

Luckily, the PH didn't listen to me and my practicality. Instead of a toilet, he and FunnyKid picked out a beautiful ring with FunnyKid's birthstone for my first Mother's Day. Which I don't need and I won't wear everyday, but I love it (and the meaning and thoughtfulness behind it) about a million times more than I would a toilet. This is one of those times I'm thankful that the PH didn't listen to me and splurged on something I don't need, but absolutely love.

And to prove that the PH has a practical side too, my card from him promises the installation of a clothesline to replace the drying rack I've been using to dry our laundry outside. A sentimental AND practical husband-- how did I get so lucky?

Yo, lady! Over here!

2011-05-05T13:28:00.000-04:00

While FunnyKid looks A LOT like his father, he seems to be developing a similar personality to his FunnyGal mom. The other day, we walked into the waiting room of a car dealership while an emissions test was being done. As we went to sit down, I noticed two older women in the room, both concentrating on what they were reading.

As I stood FunnyKid up on my lap, he looked at each woman carefully, but they kept reading. Now, FunnyKid is used to getting a lot of attention when we're out in public. And I guess he felt that he wasn't getting the proper attention at the car dealership.

Because my little ham looked straight at one of the women, coughed a couple of times and then, when she finally looked up, gave her his biggest grin (which, of course, got her to make faces at him and comment about how cute he is). Oh man, am I in trouble with this kid!

Unless you're world-famous author JK Rowling, this just isn't OK

2011-05-02T08:52:00.000-04:00

I was at a coffee shop the other day when a woman dressed pretty professionally walked in and sat a few tables away. I only noticed her because she was talking to FunnyKid and making faces at him. Otherwise she would have blended in with all the other professionally dressed people who have meetings or do work at coffee shops everywhere.

Anyway, the woman went to sit down and I noticed that in addition to her dress, Bluetooth in her ear and the laptop bag she was carrying, she was wearing a jean jacket. I thought that was a little odd because I didn't think jean jackets are in fashion anymore, but whatever. Then she turned around and I noticed the jacket had a huge crest embroidered on the back. Wondering what (jean jacket-wearing) club she belonged to, I looked a little closer and read the word "Hogwarts."

Oh yes, professionally dressed lady at Panera to work on her laptop, I don't care what kind of work you do, you will not be getting my business. Because you could be the best *insert job title here* in the world who makes millions of dollars a year and has a waiting list of people begging you to let them be your clients and I just can't get past the fact that you think you're an alum of an imaginary school in a young adult novel. Next time, Harriet Potter, a black blazer is a better choice.

A test of my parenting skills

2011-04-26T22:25:00.003-04:00

FunnyKid and I had two funerals to attend this week (the Pretend Husband jokes that we're becoming professional mourners... hmmm, I wonder if I could make any money at it?) At the first one, FunnyKid was one of a handful of children so it wasn't as noticeable if he made a little noise. He cooed a little and made some other happy noises and then fell asleep on my shoulder for the final few minutes. I didn't have to get up and do that quick, embarrassed walk down the aisle as my child screamed and I was grateful for my little angel.

The funeral we attended today? It went a little differently. First of all, it was funeral for a priest that was celebrated by the archbishop in a stone chapel that echoed really well (I'm sure you can imagine how thrilled FunnyKid was to discover how well his sounds bounced around). On top of the fact that FunnyKid was the only child there (and I was the only other person under the age of 50), he hadn't had a chance to breastfeed before we left the house and this funeral, like the one the day before, fell right in the middle of his usual naptime.

Remember that quick, embarrassed walk I mentioned? I did it. Twice. In heels. As 30 priests tried to concentrate on what was going on. But we got through it and even had at least half a dozen people compliment FunnyKid on his behavior (OK, they were older and perhaps a little hard of hearing, but it still counts!) I'm giving myself an A for the first funeral and a C- for the second (I should have fed FunnyKid earlier). While it might not qualify me for Mother of the Year (I'm sure I was out of the running the day I pinched FunnyKid's hand with his sunglasses), I'm happy to be maintaining a B average.

Thumbing his nose at life...

2011-04-21T11:25:00.003-04:00

FunnyKid has a new and very strange habit. His habit is sticking his tongue out and leaving it there for minutes at a time. Like this:
I don't know where this habit came from or what, exactly, the kiddo is trying to do. And I HATE when I tell him what's for dinner or where we're going and that's his response (the Pretend Husband isn't so thrilled when I say, "Daddy's home!" and FunnyKid responds like that, either).

But it has proven itself to be handy in some situations. How much do you want me to pay for gas?!?
You're in front of me in the grocery store express lane with well over the 10 item limit?
You're predicting rain for the fourth day this week and, oh, Easter isn't going to be such a great day either?
What? I didn't say it. FunnyKid did.

My "triumphant" return to the soccer field (if you take the word triumphant to mean "I survived")

2011-04-14T10:07:00.005-04:00

I went back to playing soccer this past weekend after a year-and-a-half hiatus to gestate, deliver and start raising FunnyKid. When I got the email that the league was going to be starting to play soon, I knew I had a little work to do to get into my previous fighting shape (and A LOT of work to do to get into even better shape than that). I didn't want to injure myself so I packed FunnyKid into his jogging stroller and decided I would do an easy one-mile jog.

I think I made it about a quarter of a mile before my lungs and legs gave out. It was then that I realized all those month of packing on the pounds, eating whatever I wanted (because, of course, it was "for the baby") and doing little more than walking had actually taken a toll. I've never been the fastest person on the field, but at least I was able to run from one end to the other without stopping for a drink of water.

Over the next few weeks, FunnyKid and I went out for walk/runs where I slowly went from mostly walking to mostly running. Still, I was worried about being able to keep up when I got to my first game.

Forget about keeping up, I should have been worried about keeping my own teeth. The first play of the game that involved me included me knocking the ball away from a girl, but ending up flat-out on the ground after bumping bodies. The second play was even more spectacular as she kicked the ball as hard as she could and I stopped it-- with my face.

After checking to make sure I didn't have any loose teeth, I kept playing-- and kept ending up on the ground. I blame the amount of time I spent eating dirt on how rough my opponent was rather than a lack of skill on my part (I firmly believe I lost my endurance during my hiatus, but not my skills). All in all, it was a fun game and I'm grateful that I'm not as sore this week as I thought I would be. I'm a little bruised, but I'm proud I was able to keep up whenever I was on the field. I think I'll go back and do it again this weekend.

NOOOOOOOOOO!

2011-03-31T11:43:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, I was able to wear a light-weight shirt when FunnyKid and I went out for a run/walk together. Today, it is SNOWING. SNOW! With up to A FOOT forecast for our area tomorrow.

Spring, where are you? For some reason (probably owing to staying home with FunnyKid for the entire long, long winter), I am more eager for warm weather than ever before. And SNOW is an obstacle to getting to that warm weather.

I told the Pretend Husband he may get home from work one of these days and find a note explaining that FunnyKid and I hopped a flight to Florida. I was only sort of kidding.

The joys of homeownership...

2011-03-09T13:18:00.003-05:00

The other day, it poured all day and well into the night. We made sure we checked our basement multiple times for flooding and were grateful to find it dry as a bone.

As I headed up to bed at 10:30 p.m., I checked it one last time and found nothing. When FunnyKid woke me at 3 a.m. to eat, I figured I was being overly cautious but I went downstairs to check and make sure the sump pump was still working properly. As soon as I opened the door to the basement, I knew something was wrong by the puddle at the bottom of the stairs. (One of the worst ways to wake up your husband in the middle of the night is to tip toe into the room and lovingly whisper in his ear, "Honey, the basement is flooded"-- but it does get him out of bed pretty quick).

While the sump pump and the back-up sump pump had done their jobs in keeping most of the basement from flooding, another part that wasn't protected (and had never had problems) had somehow collected a few inches of water throughout. Which is how the Pretend Husband and I found ourselves ankle deep in ice cold water and digging trenches in the snow in the pouring rain from 3-4:30 a.m.

We were fortunate that the only things that were damaged were some empty cardboard boxes (it's not our first time at the rodeo and we've become smart about how we store things in the basement). The worst part wasn't the flooding but the fact that FunnyKid didn't get the memo about Mom and Dad spending part of their night fighting back the flood waters and woke up for the day shortly after we fell back asleep. He's lucky he's cute even when I'm running on five and a half hours of sleep!

Ready for spring...

2011-02-24T11:53:00.002-05:00

Not that we're letting the cold weather keep us from going out for walks in the jogging stroller, but FunnyKid and I would much prefer to not have to wear multiple layers every time we leave the house. Warm weather, hurry up and get here!

He's lucky my self-defense skills didn't kick in!

2011-02-15T11:19:00.004-05:00

Fact: FunnyKid tends to attract a lot of attention when we're out in public (Opinion: it's because he's so stinking cute!)

So we were at Home Depot yesterday and we actually attracted a crowd who exclaimed over FunnyKid's blue, blue eyes and his beautiful smile and those chubby cheeks that make you want to gnaw on them. Seriously, the kiddo was surrounded by three female cashiers and a male customer. (His proud mama is just telling a story and not at all complaining!)

Anyway, the male customer left, the cashiers exclaimed some more, we thanked them for their compliments and we headed out to the car. The male customer, an older gentleman, was loading his car right next to ours. Seeing us, he came over and got in FunnyKid's face to try and make him smile. Thinking the guy was going to start touching FunnyKid, I undid the strap and started to lift the kiddo out of the carriage.

That's when the guy exclaimed, "Look at that smile. He's going to be President one day!" and then... incredibly... then... unbelievably... then, he smacked me on the back! (I know he was just emphasizing his point and-- as the PH pointed out-- is from a different generation and is a guy, but it still took me completely by surprise). Apparently, I don't have to worry about people touching FunnyKid (only one person has tried), but I might need to look out for me!

My parenting advice? Just keep on keeping on...

2011-02-11T11:35:00.002-05:00

The thing about going onto the Internet for advice about raising children is that there is SO MUCH information out there. And it all contradicts itself (and always adamantly). Baby must have their own crib! Co-sleeping is best! Pacifiers work! Pacifiers will ruin them for life! Let them cry it out! Crying it out will traumatize the child and they'll never trust their parents and won't do well in school and will end up a college drop-out living in a van down by the river!

The second night FunnyKid was home, I caved in and gave him a pacifier someone had given us as a gift (despite my decision that he wouldn't be using them). Then I went on the Internet and found several sources that said pacifiers should no way, no how be given before the baby is three weeks old because it will cause nipple confusion and they will stop breastfeeding and what-were-you-thinking-you-must-be-a-first-time-mom-what-with-such-a-dumb-mistake! I cried.

But FunnyKid spit out the pacifier within minutes of falling peacefully asleep and then kat's lil sis told me her kids were given pacifiers in the hospital and then the pediatrician confirmed that we were not actually ruining the kiddo for life by giving him a pacifier to soothe him as long as he was weaned off it by nine months old (FunnyKid weaned himself off after using it four times so no worries there).

As the months have gone on (I can't believe FunnyKid is already six months old!), I've gotten a lot better about choosing what advice works for us-- and I avoid using Google to help me decide what's best for FunnyKid. But every once in awhile-- say, in the middle of the night when FunnyKid has been crying for awhile and we are trying to get him to go back to sleep without eating because we know he's waking up out of habit instead of hunger-- it's so tempting to search the Internet to see if we're doing the right thing.

And, not surprisingly, the advice ranges from Babies cry, let them cry! to Crying it out will scar your child! Because we are now somewhat experienced that this parenting gig, we did what worked for us (and I didn't even cry). And I'm 99% sure we haven't ruined FunnyKid for life (yet).

The difference between men and women...

2011-01-31T22:55:00.002-05:00

When I got into my car this morning, I smelled poop. After checking both FunnyKid and I (and not finding anything), and having my dad not smell anything when he got into the car a short time later, I figured it wasn't anything to worry about. Until about 20 minutes later, when I adjusted the heat and my dad started gagging. He thought the smell was more like a dead animal than poop and we theorized something crawled into the engine and died in one of the heater vents.

In a bit of a panic, I called the Pretend Husband to tell him about what happened and told him I would take the car to our mechanic on my way home from the store. That's when my dad and the PH both began mocking me, saying I could end up paying the mechanic for three hours worth of work if he had to take the dashboard apart to get to the animal. Their suggestion? Buy a couple of air fresheners to mask the smell until it goes away.

My suggestion? Paying whatever it takes so I don't have to ride around with the smell of a dead mouse in my car. But, alas, the guys won and I will be purchasing every vanilla air freshener in the store the next time I go out.

My, how a kid changes your priorities...

2011-01-24T20:43:00.002-05:00

Last year at this time, I would have considered my biggest accomplishments to be meeting a deadline at work, avoiding too much traffic on my commute home and getting a decent meal on the table for dinner.

My latest big accomplishment is the fact that I finally fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans. A small accomplishment, for sure, but you would never know it from the happy dances I've been doing ever since.

At least she tried...

2011-01-19T20:21:00.004-05:00

I'm stealing this story from kat's lil sis because it's hilarious and deserves to be shared with the Internet. Her husband (kat's lil bro-in-law) met a 21-year-old waitress who is VERY.EXCITED.ABOUT.EVERYTHING. She's a talker who shares many, many, many details about her life with her customers.

It worked to her advantage in the case of lil bro-in-law because she shared that she was an experienced babysitter and dog sitter, both of which sis and bro-in-law were looking for after they had moved to the area. So they hired her one night to babysit their kids (the two-legged ones).

Lil sis was annoyed as they got into the car to go out because it seemed the babysitter was spending way more time talking about how drunk she was the night before than she did listening to instructions about the kids, their bedtimes, their routines, etc.

When they got home a few hours later, everything was calm and both kids were asleep so lil sis figured the babysitter couldn't be all that bad. And, in addition, she told them she had cleaned up the kitchen a little and put the dishes from the dishwasher away. Which was very nice of her... except for the fact that the dishes were dirty!

So, lil sis spent the last few minutes of her night going through her cabinets and taking the top few items off each pile, hoping to find all the dirty dishes and putting them back in the dishwasher.

Confusing the family tree

2011-01-17T10:29:00.002-05:00

FunnyKid looks A LOT like his dad (the Pretend Husband) (who, just to confuse things further, is actually my real husband). So, anyway, FunnyKid looks like such a miniature version of the PH that I considered asking for a DNA test to make sure he was actually mine.

Which is why it was so strange when yesterday, in church, a woman asked the PH if he was the uncle and he said yes! I think some of the woman's confusion stemmed from the fact that kat's lil bro (i.e. FunnyKid's actual uncle) went to church with us and somehow ended up sitting between the PH and I. Where the PH's confusion came from is beyond me.

When I looked at him funny and said, "You're not the uncle, you're the dad," the woman replied, "Oh, *that's* why the baby looks so much like you!"

In the PH's defense, FunnyKid looks so much like him, he assumed the woman was joking about how they are related. But, still, I told him denying paternity of our son (especially in church, where everyone knows we are married!) is not funny.

After you...

2011-01-05T19:56:00.002-05:00

I tried to hit some stores last week to return some items and see what kind of sales were going on, but didn't stay out after seeing the mob scene all the shopping areas were hosting. Figuring most people would be back to work this week, FunnyKid and I ventured out. And, for the most part, things were fine.

What was surprising, though, was the number of people who have no regard for the fact that I was maneuvering a baby in a stroller. I actually had people line up behind me to go in the same door rather than open the next door over for themselves. There were also one or two people who walked up to a door, went through it and kept going rather than stopping to hold it open for us.

But the worst was a 20-year-old girl who, despite the fact that I was backing out of the door and pulling the stroller after me, decided she HAD to use that door and not the perfectly good one right next to it. And apparently her business in the bookstore was urgent because she didn't want to wait for the stroller to get out of the door behind me and actually tried to slip between me and FunnyKid's stroller in order to get in.

Really?!? She was thwarted by the fact that I refused to let go of the stroller, but dashed inside as soon as the stroller cleared the doorway. Because it would have apparently been too much to ask for her to grab the door for me and FunnyKid to get through, and not at all inconvenient for the person trying to BACK OUT of the door WITH A STROLLER to hold it for another person.

This Christmas is different.

2010-12-24T20:26:00.004-05:00

There are very few presents under our tree for me, both because the Pretend Husband and I agreed not to exchange gifts and because I feel like 2010 has given me everything I need. I started crying in church this afternoon watching the joy on FunnyKid's face as his father made faces to keep him entertained.

A warm home, an abundance of food, a loving husband, generous family and friends, success in business and a baby with the chubbiest cheeks you've ever seen. It doesn't get much better than that.

Happy holidays to you and yours. May you get everything you want-- and not necessarily wrapped up under the tree.

You know you're a mom when...

2010-12-23T10:22:00.003-05:00

You instinctively use your hand to block your son's pee (and that's not even the grossest thing you touched that day!)

Lately, I have been putting FunnyKid's tub in front of the stove in the living room for his bath time (I tell him some people pay a lot of money for a spa experience like that). While I do put towels on the floor to protect the rug from the kiddo's splashing, they weren't going to be enough this morning. When the little geyser erupted (and started arcing over the towel toward the rug), I quickly jumped in and used my hand to send it splashing into the tub instead.

Of course, I'm all casual about this, but let's be honest, what's a little pee? Now, if it had been vomit or poop, I'm not sure I would have been so quick to jump in and start catching it in my hand. In that case, I may have just opted to buy a new rug.

Why yes, I do still have some baby weight to lose...

2010-12-19T21:54:00.002-05:00

I will always gladly show off photos of my adorable four-month-old. I will not, however, smile while I'm doing it if you are only ask to see the photos as you backpedal from asking me when I'm due.

When am I due? Beginning of September, but I had the baby at the end of August. I will take your awkwardness as an apology.

It turns out we are the terrible neighbors

2010-12-12T22:57:00.003-05:00

When the Pretend Husband went to empty the ashes out of our pellet stove yesterday, the tray was still too hot and burned a hole through the oven mitt he tried to use to carry it outside. I opened the door to find him bent down next to the tiny garden pond by our front steps, trying to break the layer of ice on top and dip the oven mitt into the water.

As he came inside, the PH threw the oven mitt onto a pizza box sitting on the front steps (I think he was going to hold it under the ash tray to make sure ashes didn't fall onto the floor as he walked?) and I warned him to make sure the oven mitt wasn't still burning because it could start a fire.

An hour later, the doorbell rang, I heard the PH yell, "Fire!" as he walked into the hallway and I immediately began filling a bowl with water. As the PH took over that job, I opened our front door to find our neighbor pouring his beer onto the charred remains of the oven mitt and pizza box.

Our neighbor, while working in his garage and trying to enjoy a beer, had noticed huge clouds of smoke drifting over from our property. From his house, it looked like the smoke was coming from the bedroom windows of our house and so he hustled over to investigate. As he was arriving on our doorstep, intending to find out if we were home, he came upon the actual fire that was creating all that smoke and, as I mentioned, wasted a perfectly good beer putting it out for us.

All I can say it, thank goodness our neighbor is the type of guy who investigates first and calls the fire department second. And you had better believe I made the PH tell me I was right about not leaving the oven mitt sitting on cardboard.

This explains why I didn't major in math

2010-12-08T21:53:00.002-05:00

An anonymous source is reporting that I allegedly turned 34 last week (I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor...) And while it's a little older than I would like to be right now, I'm way too busy with FunnyKid to think, let alone worry about how old I'm getting.

So everything was fine and I went along through the day feeling no older than I had the day before. Until kat's lil brother took me out to lunch for my birthday and casually asked, "So what do you want to do for your 35th birthday next year?"

Wait, what?!? 35? Is it possible I'm almost 35?!? That's, like, mid-thirties. Which is-- gulp-- almost 40. I can't possibly be almost 35, can I?

How long do I have to do this before I'm no longer a rookie?

2010-11-28T21:17:00.002-05:00

In the three months FunnyKid has been with us, I've had my share of days when I have rocked this mothering gig. Conversely, I've had those days where things... didn't go quite so well. The Pretend Husband and I refer to "rookie mistakes" whenever we mess up with FunnyKid when we should have known better. Examples include me getting pooped on after ignoring the warning signs and the time I went outside with FunnyKid in my arms to go for a walk with SJ without bringing the car seat the kiddo needed to be in.

Luckily, the PH makes enough rookie mistakes that I feel like we're pretty even and I'm not the most terrible parent in the world. The other night, I had given him two diapers to take up to the kiddo's room-- one for that night and the other for the morning. After the PH had changed FunnyKid's diaper, played with him for a bit and dressed him in a sleepsack, he gave him to me for a feeding.

A few minutes later, I noticed two diapers on the changing table and asked the PH, "Did you put a diaper on FunnyKid?" The PH's eyes grew wide as he said he didn't think so. Turns out FunnyKid was going commando in his sleepsack. Which would have been disastrous in ways I don't need to describe if it had gone unnoticed. And would not have been discovered if I hadn't happened to give the PH only two diapers and then notice those same two. Disaster averted (and a little satisfaction for Mama that she wasn't the one who made the mistake... this time)

We rocked that baby sign language class

2010-11-18T09:32:00.003-05:00

FunnyKid and I attended a baby sign language class at our local library yesterday. And while it appeared to be a drop-in-anytime type of class, it was actually in the fifth of six weeks. They felt bad for me and figured I'd have a lot of catching up to do.

Uh, no. Actually, I took a couple of sign language classes in college and even considered continuing my education to become an interpreter. I wanted to go to the class at the library to see what signs people teach their kids and to socialize with the other moms and kids. Plus, I didn't think I would remember as much as I did.

So I became a complete brown noser. When members of the class couldn't get the (Deaf) instructor to understand what they were saying (she read lips), I fingerspelled for her a few times. Then came the moment that I'm sure made the other moms hate me (I hate myself a little for being such a kiss-ass without even meaning to be!)

The instructor wrote on the board that we should each sign a sentence and pointed at me to go first. Since we had just learned a bunch of Thanksgiving signs, I figured we were supposed to incorporate those, so I signed, "My family is going to eat turkey during Thanksgiving dinner at my dad's house." Then the next mom went and she signed, "I cook turkey." The next signed, "This is my son." Oh. Oops.

I think we all know who will be getting the "A" in sign language class!

Yes, it was the longest delivery ever. I'm talking two years long...

2010-11-10T14:02:00.005-05:00

The good news is that kat's lil sis and the cutest nephews in the world recently moved within driving distance. We decided to celebrate that by showing up on their first weekend in their new house (you can thank me later, lil sis, for the motivation to get unpacked and have the guest room set up within days of the movers dropping everything off).

While the Pretend Husband and kat's lil bro-in-law made themselves scarce with a guys' weekend away, lil sis and I wrangled her two boys and my one. One of our excursions was out to a mall, which was a bad idea for a lot of reasons. The mall was huge and crowded and no one seemed to care that I was pushing a stroller and lil sis had a humongous double stroller. We didn't so much walk through the mall as dodge our way through it.

At one point, I left my stroller parked behind lil sis' and ran to check on something in the kids' department. As lil sis stood there, a woman eyed the strollers and asked, "Triplets?" Aside from the fact that our kids don't look alike in the least, there's the small problem that one of them is two months old, one is nine months old and the third is two years old. But when you're trying to avoid getting trampled while keeping a two-year-old occupied and out of trouble, you'll agree to anything. "Triplets? Yes. Let's go with that."

Nope, no baby. I'm just crazy.

2010-11-01T21:51:00.004-04:00

As FunnyKid's mom, one of my main jobs is to talk and sing to him a lot to help him develop his language skills (I will be the one with the kindergartner using words like "extracurricular" and "synonymous"-- but since SJ is as much of a word nerd as I am, her kiddo will probably be conversing right along with FunnyKid!) So I spend most of my day chatting with the little one-- describing what we're passing in the car, telling him how autumn works and discussing what's on the agenda for the day.

The other day, we were at the grocery store and I wheeled FunnyKid's stoller up to the deli counter to order some meats and cheeses. "We are getting some turkey," I said to FunnyKid after I had ordered. "Daddy likes turkey on his sandwiches, so we're buying him some turkey and I'll make him sandwiches to take to work."

The worker behind the counter finally looked at me and said, "Do you have a baby with you?"

I quickly replied, "Yes. Yes, I do. (moving him away so she could see him from behind the high counter) Otherwise, you must have thought I'm just crazy, talking to myself like that..."

She didn't answer.

Baby Story: The Penny Edition

2010-10-27T19:18:00.000-04:00

I've been long absent from this blog, but now, I have some news to share.

The FunnyKid's betrothed was born on Saturday! That is, my daughter was born on Saturday, three weeks before her due date. The child knows how to make an entrance.

Are you surprised? No? Because we were. Seriously.

The weekend started off with a celebratory dinner with the PH and KAT for the PH's birthday on Friday night. It was a great night out that we don't have very often. I ate a delicious steak with horseradish sauce, garlic mashed potatoes and pink lemonade. We had some laughs, played some cards, marveled at the Funnykid's cuteness....

And went into labor.

OK. That part was just me. In fact, it actually happened at home. Earlier in the evening, KAT had joked (or accurately predicted) that I would be going into labor around 3 a.m.

But around 11:45 when I was laying in bed with my husband, contemplating whether or not I had to pee, I felt a warm rush of fluid. Naturally, I assumed that I had just wet myself. Until it happened three more times. And I did what every paranoid pregnant lady who doesn't want to be the one to call the doctor because she peed herself: I googled "What does it feel like when your water breaks." We had talked about it a few times (KAT, the PH and us) and the PH had assured me that "that hardly ever happens."

And while that's true, it's exactly what happened to me. My water broke. I was the one in the emergency room with a towel. I had known when I left the house that I would be coming back with a baby - I cried when I said goodbye to Bailey. I was waiting for my husband with my packed bags. I am quite certain that J believed it to be a false alarm. This was confirmed when we got to the hospital and the nurse confirmed what I had known at this point: my water was broken. And we were going to have a baby that day.

The next few hours were loooong. But, 14 hours later, we met our little girl. Neither one of us can believe we were allowed to take her home.

I have learned some valuable lessons in the past few days, which I am more than happy to share with you all. But, right now, I have a sweet baby to cuddle.

Not what you expect to find when changing a diaper

2010-10-25T21:43:00.002-04:00

The Pretend Husband got FunnyKid ready for bed last night, picking out a fleece sleep sack for the little guy to snooze in. When I unzipped the sleep sack this morning to change a diaper, it prompted this email to the PH:
I didn't think the birds and the bees would have to be discussed so early...

...but I found a black lace thong in your son's sleep sack when I went to change his diaper this morning. I think he might have snuck out in the middle of the night and met up with some slutty girl baby. I need you to have the sex talk with him when you get home.

It's possible it's my thong and it got into the sleep sack in the wash. But, just in case, I'm hiding my car keys before I go to bed tonight.

Life lessons I learned from my two-year-old nephew

2010-10-21T20:56:00.002-04:00

Kat's lil sis has been visiting for the last two weeks with the world's cutest nephews. While our days have been full of plenty of craziness, there has been time to slow down and see the world from my two-year-old nephew Peyton's level. And what a world it is! I now give you the lessons I've learned from Peyton during his visit (feel free to start putting them to use yourself):

Life's too short to take the time to sit still for photographs.

It's a tasty world out there. Plus it totally grosses out the grown-ups when you lick shopping carts, your hands after touching the floor of a restaurant, etc.

If you don't like something, throw a pacifier at it.

If you like something, throw a pacifier at it.

If you want to get a laugh, throw a pacifier.

Patting your cousin lovingly on the head will get you huge points with your aunt.

Sitting on the floor of the grocery store may help you get your way. Or it may get you left there. It's a chance you should be willing to take.

When you get the chance to visit a playground, make sure you play the heck out of it.

Fruits and vegetables are overrated. Hold out for cookies and M&Ms.

Silly faces and cute games will get you places, especially with your aunt.

Not being able to pronounce relative's names is not a problem as long as you give them cool nicknames (just ask Aunt Kat and The Dude).

I love it when a plan comes together....

2010-10-17T21:51:00.002-04:00

While life with FunnyKid is far from perfect (anyone with ANY advice about how to get this kid to take a freakin' bottle-- I beg you to leave a comment!), it does work out at times. Take two weeks ago. I spent two days and nights in a row feeding FunnyKid every hour and a half. Yes, I slept for 90 minutes at a time for two whole nights and was barely surviving.

When someone asked me how well FunnyKid was sleeping (for some reason, people love to hear about a baby's sleep habits), I confessed things were going poorly. "But he turns six weeks old on Thursday," I said. "I hear that's when everything gets better. I expect him to sleep through the night on Thursday night."

We both chuckled and moved on to other topics, but wouldn't you know it? FunnyKid slept for more than seven hours straight on Thursday night. I love this kid (but seriously, any advice about getting him to take a bottle?)

Reasons why I don't miss being pregnant

2010-10-04T18:15:00.005-04:00

With SJ nearing the end of her pregnancy, she has had-- understandably-- more frequent complaints about how she feels. And while it might make most people think, "Thank goodness I'm past all that..." it actually makes me miss being pregnant (a little). But rather than wallow in reasons I wish I were still pregnant, I came up with some reasons to be happy I'm not.

-- When the Pretend Husband learned I was no longer allowed to sleep on my back, he appointed himself the Sleep Police. I was frequently woken up by him poking me and saying, "Roll over." And if that weren't bad enough, I sometimes woke up to find him groping me as he tried to determine whether I was lying on my back. I don't miss being woken up all the time.

-- By the end of my pregnancy, I was incredibly swollen, especially in my hands and feet. I couldn't fit into anything other than flip-flops and often woke up to find my hands frozen into claws because of the fluid in my joints. I had so much fluid that, a week after giving birth, I had already lost 20 pounds. I won't talk about how much sweating I had to do in that week to get rid of that much fluid...

-- Oh yeah, and the last reason to be glad I'm no longer pregnant is being able to see the little being who I knew only as the kicking, hiccuping thing in my belly. And what a cute little being he is:

This is also why the PH won't let me balance the checkbook...

2010-09-27T12:53:00.004-04:00

In speaking with someone the other day, I mentioned my nephews and she asked how old they are. Forgetting that Peyton just celebrated his second birthday and trying to do the math in my head (carry the 1, divide by 16, add Pi...), I told her the boys are 18 and 10 months old. She looked surprised and said something about them being very close in age (and maybe something about kat's lil sis being a little nuts).

It wasn't until about three hours later that I realized the numbers I had given her-- numbers that are impossible unless Peyton was born a month early and my sister got pregnant, like, a week later (explaining why the lady looked surprised and thought kat's lil sis is a little bit nuts).

Explaining, also, why I now carry a calculator in my purse in case someone asks me pretty much anything involving numbers.

Confirming what I already knew...

2010-09-16T09:59:00.004-04:00

Remember that "Seinfeld" episode where the gang went to see friends who had an ugly baby and had to come up with compliments even though they could hardly look at the kid? The Pretend Husband and I are aware that all parents think their kids are the cutest things ever and took our own feelings that FunnyKid is the cutest kid ever with a grain of salt.

But then we got it confirmed by a panel of judges. I stopped by my hair salon last week to introduce the FunnyKid to my hairstylist, a nice, nice woman in her sixties. I failed to realize that we were stopping by on a Friday, which is old lady day at the salon as they all get fixed up to last through the weekend.

So, not only did FunnyKid get complimented by my stylist, we were asked to walk down the row of chairs as each person paid him a compliment. "He looks like a doll." "Oh, he's precious." "Bless you, you are just perfect." Then we paraded back up the row, collecting compliments on the way. It was like our own personal parade.

I'm telling you; if you ever start to feel bad about yourself, pick a hair salon that caters to older clientele and stop by on a Friday. You will be showered with compliments (either that, or FunnyKid truly is the cutest kid ever. Yes, let's go with that).

Ack! I've been hit!

2010-09-09T16:33:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, the pretend sister-in-law asked me if I had been pooped on yet. I proudly said no. An hour later, FunnyKid got me.

The Pretend Husband and I were standing behind our vehicle while I changed FunnyKid in the back area. I had gotten one diaper off and was wiping him down when all of a sudden, poop shot out of his butt and hit me up one arm and across my stomach-- which was more than two feet away at the time. Two feet!

The PH almost fell on the ground from the effort of not laughing at my predicament. I had mercy on him and told him he could laugh. I would have been laughing at the kiddo's talents myself if-- you know-- I hadn't been covered in poop and all (and me having used the last wipe in the diaper bag!)

I'm chalking this one up to rookie error and vowing it will never happen again (while secretly proud of my son's firing abilities!)

Can you believe FunnyGal KAT is a mom?!?

2010-09-08T10:57:00.005-04:00

Neither can I! But the broken sleep each night, the poopy diapers that fill my days and the little one breastfeeding off of me are starting to make it seem more real.

My thoughts are scattered these days and if I were to wait until I get my act together to post, FunnyKid will be five before that happens. I just don't think I can manage a real post with a beginning, a middle and an end, so you get bullet points instead.

* The Pretend Husband was my hero during my stay in the hospital for a lot of reasons, including being completely awesome while I was in labor. But he really proved his worth when he stopped me from eating corn after I delivered. Knowing that my nether regions were a bit traumatized, he suggested eating a hard-to-digest food might not be in my best interest in the end (pun intended).

* While we have figured out how to get between two and four hours of sleep between feedings, we were complete newbies during our first night home. Did I say newbies? I mean "zombies." We tried to tag team the little guy with one of us sleeping and one of us holding him (he wouldn't sleep unless he was one someone's chest). It resulted in the PH and I each getting about four hours of sleep total. But the FunnyKid slept great so I guess that's what counts.

* I was probably one of those pregnant people who was like, "Newborns sleep up to 20 hours a day. Which will give me plenty of time to get things done around the house. I'll clean while he naps!" Uh, yeah. Not so much. Yes, he sleeps a lot. No, I don't get much done (I consider it an accomplishment when I get either a load of laundry or a load of dishes done in a day). Most days, I'm forced to choose between lunch or a shower (lunch always wins...)

Each day gets a little better in terms of the kiddo and I figuring out each other and a routine. So I should be back in no time with regular (funny) updates about being a mom (and, if I ever get my act together enough to leave the house, about the joys of Wal-Mart). Thank you for all of your good wishes and, if it sounds like any of this is a complaint, I'll leave you with this (which I call, "Worth It.")

One born... one still cooking...

2010-08-31T11:03:00.000-04:00

First off, let me just publicly reiterate that KAT and the PH make a damn fine looking kid, if I do say so.

Between the squishy baby cheeks and the little kissy face, he's really quite adorable. Which is perfect, you realize, because obviously, I'm excited to have such a cute son-in-law.

As KAT and the PH adjust to life with the newborn, J and I have been extremely busy finding goats, getting deeds to our tract of land, going through our Wii games, etc. You know. All to arrange the dowry.

The only problem I foresee is that instead of having a sweet little baby girl, my womb appears to be occupied right now by a very large starfish.

It's the only way I can explain feeling simultaneous kicks to both of my ribs and my groin at the same time. We've ruled out twins, thanks to some very active, very thorough ultrasounds. But at some point since then, my child has obviously morphed into an exoskeletal sea creature.

I am starting to get a little anxious as my impending due date approaches, of course. Particularly after my doctor announced at my last appointment that my baby seems to be going through ANOTHER growth spurt. (At one point, she said "Whoa. That is the head.") I'm taking it in stride though. Perhaps she'll settle down a bit... relax. Maybe slow the growth a bit so she's not, you know, a toddler at delivery.

But, the FunnyKid has inspired us to move along our baby preparedness efforts so that little FunnyGirl can have a place to lay her tiny head.

Note: chandelier installed. But we don't have a single diaper in the house. Or a car seat yet.

How FunnyKid Finally Got a Name

2010-08-26T22:02:00.006-04:00

Hello all! It’s Kat’s lil sis here. Why a guest blogger, you ask? Well, seeing that Kat is a little preoccupied at the moment snuggling a precious new baby, this proud auntie has the privilege of announcing that FunnyKid is..........................

A BOY!!!

Little Owen was born today at 1:33pm, weighing 7 lbs, 9 oz and measuring 20 1/2 inches long. I have yet to get the full version of Owen’s birth story but from the little snippets I gathered, everything went smoothly, there were some humorous moments (surprisingly involving a groggy Kat and not the PH!) and despite Kat’s fears about the size of FunnyKid’s noggin, it turns out he has a very average head circumference. As for other things average, well, I will leave that up to speculation because I refuse to be *that aunt* who talks about embarrassing things before the kid is even a day old.

Congratulations to Kat and the PH as you board this wild ride called parenthood. Welcome to the world, Owen. I already know that with that sturdy pair of lungs you have, you will fit right in to our crazy family just fine. And if you have inherited even half of your Mommy’s humor and wit, then you will live up to your FunnyKid name as well.

Why my mom deserved a medal

2010-08-25T06:59:00.000-04:00

I pulled out my baby book the other day to check on how much I weighed at birth. While I was a normal weight (I weighed 8 pounds, 7 ounces), I discovered I was born almost THREE WEEKS after my due date. Seriously, three weeks. And only after they induced my mom.

You know how, while people talk about the nine months of pregnancy, it's actually 10 months long? Well, my mom was pregnant for almost 11 months! I'm surprised she didn't love me much less than my siblings for putting her through that (or, at least she didn't show it!)

At this point, I'm just hoping the timing of FunnyKid's arrival isn't hereditary. I'm counting down the final two weeks of this pregnancy (hoping it doesn't go quite that long) and don't think I could take it if I had to go another three weeks past that.

Keeping it in perspective...

2010-08-22T18:54:00.003-04:00

The Pretend Husband has picked up a lot of the slack since I was put on bed rest. The other day he not only remembered his mom's birthday was coming up, but he went out and bought her a beautiful bouquet of flowers to mark the occasion (he's good about stuff like that-- but usually only after I remind him of upcoming birthdays and come up with a gift idea).

When he got home that day, he gave me a bouquet of daisies he had bought at the same time he got his mom's flowers. When SJ and J came over the next day, I started teasing the PH, saying, "Look at the pretty daisies the PH got me. Of course, his mom got a huge bouquet that included orchids..."

The PH's response? "It's her birthday. You're just pregnant."

(Just for that, I had better be getting the biggest bouquet he can carry when I give birth to his child!)

I'm a kept woman

2010-08-17T13:19:00.004-04:00

Kat's lil sis yelled at me yesterday and told me I had better post something soon so no one thinks I had the baby and that's what's keeping me away from the blog. So, are you all on FunnyGals Baby Watch 1.0?

Unfortunately, the reason for my lack of posting is much less exciting that the arrival of FunnyKid. I was pulled out of work and put on bed rest so not only do I not have a computer, but being away from the office and not allowed to be out interacting with Wal-Mart cashiers has left me with a lack of funny material. That, and it's so hard to type out a post on an iPhone.

Fortunately-- but only in the sense that it gives me material-- I have been admitted to Labor & Delivery twice in the past week for monitoring. So there is at least the story about the nurse who came into the room to draw blood and, upon hearing how much I hate needles, said, "Oh, I do too! I cry when I see them."

Uh, OK. It turns out she is able to hold herself together when drawing other people's blood, but loses it when it's her own blood in question. Still, the experience didn't go well and ended with another nurse poking into my other hand to get the job done.

Speaking of which, I have become an expert at giving blood and urine samples since each is required of me every couple of days to check on the pregnancy-induced hypertension I am experiencing. I'm not yet sure how I'm going to make this translate into a party game, but there's got to be some potential to put these skills to use somewhere.

So, no baby. No great stories. Lots of laying around on the couch. Any ideas for boredom busters I can do while laying on my side are greatly appreciated.

Wash your hands.

2010-08-09T11:21:00.000-04:00

I work in a largish office building and we share a ladies room with other offices.

I've seen a lot of stuff go down in this room... but nothing quite as disturbing as the increase of those who we call "Yellow Hands."

It is not acceptable to simply turn the faucet on and quickly flash one of your hands through the water. Seriously. You're an adult. Wash your damn hands.

And use soap. It won't kill you.

Sorry, folk.

2010-08-04T13:05:00.001-04:00

I really, really meant to blog in the past week.

Fail.

Everything you (n)ever wanted to know about the PH and I...

2010-08-04T11:51:00.002-04:00

I found this while cleaning out my work computer before going on maternity leave. It's a questionnaire I filled out about the PH and I, and since it will give you a break from my all-pregnancy, all-the-time posts (and I think it's kind of funny), I thought I'd post it. Everything you ever wanted to know about the Pretend Husband and I, but I just know you were too shy to ask...

How long have you been together? It feels like forever… oh wait, it’s only been four years or so (honey, if you’re reading this, I meant four blissful years…)

How long did you know each other before you started dating? It feels like forever, but that’s because it was. I estimate about three years of card games at SJ and J’s house, dinners at SJ and J’s house and complaints about how we were never going to find a spouse at SJ and J’s dining room table. You can see how right we were about that…

Who asked whom out? Neither. It was fate… or rather, a large bottle of vodka, that finally brought us together. That’s the romantic tale I’ll be telling the grandkids someday.

How old are each of you? I’m a year older than the PH, which makes me a cougar. We’re both in our early 30s.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? All the moving and renovating we’ve done since we began living together. We actually made a deal to not buy or sell a house in 2010 and shook on it.

Are you from the same home town? Nope. Two towns apart… and we met in the middle at SJ and J’s house.

Who is smarter? He is, fo’ sho. Which is why he is in charge of our finances.

Who is the most sensitive? Um, that would be whomever cries more often, so definitely the PH. Just kidding— I’m definitely the crier in the relationship.

Who has the craziest exes? It’s not even a contest… it’s me (*whispers shamefully*)

Who has the worst temper? I hope he doesn’t yell at me for this, but it’s him

Who does the cooking? Definitely not me. I’m in charge of baking in this relationship and he does the rest. We know what we’re good at, so why mess with it?

Who is the neat-freak? Um, I’m not and he puts up with me. He’s neat—I wouldn’t call him a neat-freak, but he’s definitely neat freakier than me.

Who is more stubborn? I still say he is, but he insists I am. I’ll let you know how that argument turns out.

Who hogs the bed? I’ll admit I do. He often has to ask me to inch away from him before he falls off the edge of the bed.

Who wakes up earlier? Him, and in a much better mood than me. One of the sweetest things he does is, on the weekends, he will get up early with the dogs to take them out and feed them so I can sleep in. And, to top it off, he even sometimes brings me coffee in bed. Yup, he’s a keeper.

How long did it take to get serious? Let’s see… we moved in together about two months after we started dating, so I’ll say… 10 minutes. I think we both knew from the starting that we weren’t just fooling around. I mean, can you imagine how awkward it would have been at SJ’s and J’s if we had broken up?

Who does the laundry? This one is kind of a toss-up. We both do it when it needs to be done. But I get to do it with no supervision and the PH gets a long list of requirements when he heads down to the basement (no bras in the dryer, please hang my sweater on the drying rack, etc.) He’s getting better at it.

Who's better with the computer? I’m learning that it’s me (the PH doesn’t know the shortcuts for cutting and pasting in Word… who doesn’t know those?!?) I’m not super proficient or anything, but I’m definitely the computer expert in this relationship.

Who drives when you are together? Definitely me. He thinks it’s because he spends so much time driving for work that he doesn’t want to do it in his free time. I KNOW it’s because I’m the better driver.

Well, THAT'S never happened before...

2010-08-02T13:11:00.003-04:00

SJ and I checked out a couple of tag sales this weekend to make sure there isn't any baby stuff we're missing (conclusion: there isn't). At one of the tag sales, the 10-year-old son of the woman hosting the sale starting following us around all used car salesman-like. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for? I can help you find it." "Did you see this toy? It's in great shape."

It was cute... for the first few minutes. And then I felt like saying, "Listen, can you let me browse through your family's crap in peace?" But, somehow, despite my looking exclusively at the baby stuff and-- you know-- the huge belly protruding in front of me, he missed the fact that I was pregnant until his mom asked when I am due.

I answered and that's when Car Salesman Jr. said, "You're having a baby?" and then reached.out.and.rubbed.his.hands.all.over.my.stomach. I mean, I understand the fascination little old ladies have with pregnant bellies, but getting groped by a 10-year-old is a first for me.

And just to show what an evil mind I have, my first thought as this happened was the desire to point at SJ and proclaim, "She's pregnant too!" while running for the safety of the car.

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

2010-07-29T13:20:00.003-04:00

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.

2010-07-27T10:15:00.000-04:00

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!

2010-07-26T13:39:00.000-04:00

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!

2010-07-21T09:19:00.000-04:00

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

2010-07-20T11:34:00.000-04:00

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

2010-07-15T11:22:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-07-13T15:56:00.001-04:00

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

2010-07-12T14:32:00.002-04:00

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

2010-07-08T11:54:00.002-04:00

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...

2010-07-06T15:24:00.003-04:00

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!

2010-07-02T12:19:00.003-04:00

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)

Getting us ready for parenthood... one puddle of vomit at a time.

2010-06-28T12:40:00.004-04:00

Last night, Molly (the black dog) woke us up three times by vomiting in our bedroom. Each time, we got up and I comforted her and cleaned her face while the Pretend Husband wiped up the vomit (she had vomited a couple of times earlier in the day so we went to bed with the cleaning supplies within reach).

It's tough to get a good night's sleep when you're woken every few hours. But, we figured it is preparing us for a baby crying every few hours, and this sluggishness the PH and I feel today? Well, that's probably waiting for us this fall, too.

Last week was particularly hard. Casey (the white dog) woke us up at 4 a.m. by vomiting in our bedroom. While the PH cleaned up the four different spots (I'm not sure how he keeps getting clean-up duty, but let's not point that out to him, hmmm?) I took the dogs outside in case Casey wasn't finished. She wasn't.

Then, fearing that Casey might have a blockage in her intestine that was preventing food from getting through, I grabbed a flashlight and started following her around the yard to see if she was able to go to the bathroom (oh, the things we do for our furry children!) While this was happening (and presumably, one of my neighbors was calling the police to report a prowler in our yard), Molly decided to take off for a tour of the neighborhood.

So, 4:30 found the PH sitting on the front steps with Casey while I scoured the backyard with the flashlight, quietly calling for Molly. We finally all met up, trooped back upstairs and settled back down for a few more hours of sleep.

About 10 minutes later, Casey vomited again. This time, I cleaned and the PH took the dogs outside. I went back to bed but after about 20 minutes, I still wasn't asleep and felt bad that the PH was handling things alone outside. So, dressed in a pink bathroom, I trooped back outside and all the way out to the perimeter of our backyard to find the PH enjoying the sunrise while closely watching Casey for bathroom activity (she didn't go).

We finally made it back inside at 6 a.m.-- just enough time for all of us to pass out for an hour before the alarm went off. Then, to add insult to injury, Molly and Casey got to go spend the day with their grandparents (who promised to keep an eye on them) while the PH and I slogged into work, trying to function on about six hours of sleep.

Yes, I feel prepared for parenthood. But I'm also grateful we have 10 more weeks before the baby arrives. This mama likes her sleep.

I'm engaged to my husband!

2010-06-24T11:26:00.004-04:00

Look what I got...

It's big, it's shiny and it's 100 percent fake. As the weather has heated up, my fingers have gotten a lot more swollen to the point where I can no longer wear my wedding and engagement rings.

I feel a little funny being knocked up and not wearing a ring so I had the idea to hit up Kohl's to buy the gaudiest rock I could. The Pretend Husband preferred I get something that could actually pass as a real engagement ring, which is how I ended up with this one. And it's weird not wearing my rings, but this one will do. After we paid $8 for it and were leaving the store, I said to the PH, "Why did you spend thousands of dollars on my ring? You could have saved so much money by buying it here!"

I may be fooling myself, but I think it looks pretty real (I realize the photo is a bit fuzzy). I also think I'm being a little silly by feeling like I need to wear a ring while pregnant. What do you think? Do people notice that kind of thing? Should I care?

Funny runs in the family...

2010-06-21T14:19:00.002-04:00

I am anticipating a visit from the two cutest nephews (Peyton is 21 months old and Wyatt is six months old) in the world in a few weeks and my emails to their mom (kat's lil sis) reflect that. I ended one the other day with "Tell Peyton I can't wait to give him kisses!" (referring to this thing he and I do where I sneak up on him, say "I'm going to give you... KISSES!" and then kiss his cheeks like crazy).

lil sis wrote back, "And what should I tell Wyatt?"

I responded, "Wyatt and I don't have a 'thing' yet. Tell him we will work on that when he's here."

lil sis then responded with, "Okay, he says he wants some kind of secret handshake with you. Something Peyton won't know about! Gosh, the sibling rivalry starts already."

Shhh, let's let him think he has a chance with the ladies...

2010-06-16T15:19:00.004-04:00

I wasn't going to post anything today because the funny has been lacking around here, but then I found a conversation the Pretend Husband and I had this weekend that I had transcribed onto my phone for a future blog posting.

I got up early on Saturday morning to go to a tag sale with SJ (I know, we are wild and crazy, aren't we?!?) I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and had not showered. The PH and SJ's husband both decided at the last minute to join us and the PH came down the stairs all showered and decked out in khakis and a polo shirt.

"Hon, you look way better than I do for a tag sale," I said.

"You know how many ladies will be there who don't work on Saturday nights?" the PH replied (It should be noted that I work at a radio station on Saturday nights).

"Why? Are you looking to replace your baby mama?" I asked.

"I'm going to work the crowd," he said. "You working Saturday nights is severely affecting my social life."

(Does it even need to be noted that the PH came home from the CHURCH TAG SALE without any phone numbers? Or that he spent his Saturday night like he often does-- cuddling on the couch with the dogs watching sports? Yeah, that's why I don't worry when he gets dressed up and goes out to "work the crowd.")

Not your usual love letter to baby...

2010-06-14T11:13:00.004-04:00

Dear Herbie (aka the kid in my belly),

I had your father speak to you about this yesterday, but I think it bears repeating. That's not a pillow. Or a trampoline. It's my bladder. And you jumping on it or using it as a place to rest your head has consequences for me. Like having to try really hard not to pee when I laugh. Or having to run to the bathroom every 20 minutes. Or waking up every three hours during the night.

I love you, Herbie, and I want you to have a good time in there. Punch my belly as many times as you want. Make it pop out in weird places. And definitely kick the palm of your dad's hand when he rests it near you (we both love that). But, please, let's make the bladder off-limits, shall we?

Actually, forget that I asked. You WILL stop kicking me in the bladder. There, I said it. Why will you do that? Because I'm your mother and I said so.

Love, Mom

You know you're really pregnant when MEN start noticing...

2010-06-11T14:09:00.006-04:00

Today was a first. While I've had women ask me about my pregnancy, I think most men know not to ask questions until they are absolutely positive a woman is carrying a child and hasn't just packed on some pounds. And even if they know for sure, most men aren't going to get involved further than something innocent like, "How are you feeling?"

Which is why it's funny that my boss-- a man-- saw me turn sideways today and said loudly, "Wow! There's no hiding that!" while pointing at my stomach (not that I was trying to hide it anyway). I responded with, "Yup, definitely pregnant. I wasn't lying."

The conversation prompted a male customer standing nearby to begin asking me questions and talking about how awesome pregnancy and birth are (uh, ok...) While I have no problem swapping stories with women, it just felt strange to do it with a guy.

So, what do you think? Does this shirt make me look pregnant?

Can I tell you how funny I think it is that the PH went to take the picture and then said, "Oh, wait" and moved a bit so he could get "more of the pond in the photo." Yeah, because it's not like I was supposed to be the subject or anything. Got to make sure we can see the pond!

Where does he come up with these things?!?

2010-06-10T14:01:00.004-04:00

The Pretend Husband is on some kind of roll lately, busting out all over the place with one liners and things that make me laugh (or roll my eyes and laugh). The other night, we were talking about labor and I told him I was going to give him a list of encouraging things to say to me while I'm writhing around in pain.

"I don't need a list," the PH said. "I'm just going to lean over, gaze into your eyes and whisper, 'Remember, you're the one who wanted a baby.'"

Husbands say the darndest things...

2010-06-08T15:23:00.000-04:00

Laying in bed last night, I was reading a book about pregnancy. I got to a part about how quickly my uterus is growing and exclaimed to the Pretend Husband, "Holy cow, this says I will grow half an inch every week for the rest of my pregnancy! That's crazy!"

The PH, not really paying attention to exactly what I was saying, responded with, "You're going to get taller?!?"

Uh, yeah, PH. That makes sense. Especially seeing as how I have 13 weeks left to go. So, you can expect me to be topping out around 6 feet, 4 inches by the time the kid comes. And I'll be ready for the WNBA if we ever have a second child.

The PH is one of the most intelligent people I know and yet, he seriously thought pregnancy would make me taller?!? It's not like we don't have a whole bunch of friends who have been through pregnancy. Don't you think he would have noticed if all the women had ended up at over six feet tall, towering over their husbands? I'm questioning whether the PH should ever be left alone with our child.

A man with a plan...

2010-06-07T12:43:00.002-04:00

If there is one thing the Pretend Husband and I have learned since we've owned dogs together, it's that they are total chick magnets (and dude magnets, for that matter). Whether we take them out to the pet store or a park, it's a sure thing that somebody is going to stop to talk to them and pet them, and usually to talk to us, too. The PH and I have often commented that we would not have each been single for so long if we had thought to get a dog.

And the PH has learned that babies are something of a chick magnet, too (not surprisingly, you don't see too many guys hitting on women holding a baby, though...) Which is how he came up with a grand plan for his "daddy night" when I'm working at the radio station.

Saturday nights, the PH will be taking the baby out to "Target or the park to pick up women." As I was laughing about his ingenuity, he said, "You know what? Girls like dogs, too. I'm going to take the baby and Casey with me."

Women will be powerless against the cuteness!

Dude, five times in one night!

2010-06-03T10:40:00.003-04:00

Back when SJ and I started this blog (waaaay back in aught five), that title would have been pretty self-explanatory. Either my crazy single self hooked up with that many guys or SJ (engaged at the time) was bragging about the number of shots she had done.

But, alas, it's been a busy four and a half years for us. Marriage, moving into multiple houses, dogs galore... oh, and that part where I got knocked up and SJ found herself with child. We've left behind those crazy girls nights filled with chocolate martinis, the random use of tiaras and some epic hangovers the next day (I learned my lesson the time I spent an entire funeral willing myself not to throw up in church).

Instead, we make mocktails out of juice and sip them out of martini glasses. And we discuss which pregnancy-related symptoms we have rather than which dude I should grant a second date to. And the only shopping I've been doing lately is for a cute outfit for the FunnyKid rather than cute shoes for myself.

And that title? Well, apparently, the FunnyKid thought my bladder made a nice, soft pillow and that's how many times I got up to pee last night. *Sigh* My, how times have changed.

Next option is a bikini-- and believe me, NO ONE wants that...

2010-06-02T10:49:00.003-04:00

With the temperature soaring this weekend, the Pretend Husband and I decided to hit the beach. I had two options for maternity swim tops-- a black number my sister gave me and a black number I picked up somewhere. But, when I went to try them on, I found each of the tops had their own drawbacks.

Kat's lil sis is, uh, not as top-heavy as I am so the plunging V, which probably looked great on her and showed off a little cleavage, was more like the start of a strip show for me. And the other top fit well in front, but had one small tie across the back, essentially leaving my whole back (and large, pregnant butt) open to the elements (although I should clarify I had bottoms on so my wide butt was covered, but not at all camouflaged...)

Having to choose between an unflattering look I couldn't see (my butt) and one I could (my chest), I chose the one I could keep an eye on. The afternoon then consisted of my trying to keep from flashing the beach every time I moved, the PH throwing panicked looks my way when he thought something was about to happen and some weird placement of my arms in an effort to not teach sex education to the little kids in the area before they were ready for it.

Needless to say, I will be shopping for a new maternity swimsuit this week. Do you think they come in "turtleneck?"

You know it's bad when you're more emotional than the pregnant chick

2010-05-28T09:31:00.002-04:00

Kat's lil bro is a big dude who wears steel-toed boots and sometimes makes crude jokes (he's a firefighter, so I think that comes with the territory). And, despite being raised with (or, by) two older sisters, he's one of the least emotional guys you'd ever want to meet. Looking for a tear in his eye the first time he meets his nephew? Not going to happen. Want some sympathy when you break a bone/ get fired/ lose money in a Nigerian Internet scheme? He's more likely to call you an idiot.

Don't get me wrong, lil bro is a good guy. But he's a guy nonetheless. Which is what makes this next story so ironic.

Lil bro bought a house that year that has an in-ground pool. It was late in the season when he moved in and it didn't get a lot of use. Well, this year, the whole family can't wait for him to get it opened and running because a.) he-- and the pool-- are within a short drive for us and b.) he doesn't care if we use it as long as we leave any extra beer we brought in his fridge (he's easy-going like that).

But the family is waiting for the pool to be opened because... some frogs laid eggs in the water on the pool cover and lil bro is insisting we wait until the tadpoles mature before evicting them and taking off the pool cover.

I was speaking to lil bro yesterday trying to figure out how long it would be before I can haul my pregnant body over to his house and dunk it in the pool for sweet, sweet relief from the summer heat. He started talking about the growth period for tadpoles and other such facts.

"Wait, did you research this?" I asked.

"Yes, I need to know how long before they're big enough to get out of the water," he said.

"Do you think their growth is more important than your comfort?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Well," I replied. "It's not more important than mine. The pregnant lady needs the pool!"

(I offered to let lil bro collect all the tadpoles and let them loose in our pond, but it led to a discussion about their predators and other facts I had no interest in learning. Somehow, I think the frogs are going to win this one while I make do with a squirt bottle and a fan.)

La la la. If I can't see them, they must not exist. La la la.

2010-05-27T11:49:00.004-04:00

Sorry for the silence lately. Work has been a bee-yotch, blah, blah, blah. And working too many hours has left less than the amount of time needed for my life to be funny.

Last night, while I was laying in bed reading, the Funny Kid in my belly decided to put on a circus act. I'm not sure what was going on in there, but there was all sorts of jabbing. Thinking the kicking, rolling and whatever else was pretty intense, I glanced at my stomach in time to see part of it pop out. So weird!

I immediately yelled for the Pretend Husband to come up and he was able to catch the tail-end of the act and thought it was neat. Then, in passing, he said something about stretch marks on my belly and I freaked out. I am proud to have avoided stretch marks this entire time, but apparently I was only avoiding them on the parts of my body I can actually see. The underside of my belly has a couple of good ones. I was able to contort myself enough to get a peek at them, but will be glad if I never have to see them again.

Needless to say, the PH and I now have a deal that he doesn't comment about any part of my body I can't see. It allows me to continue to go through this pregnancy blissfully unaware of my shortcomings. (Come to think of it, I need to figure out how to implement this policy in the rest of my life. I can't wait to tell my boss I'll no longer be accepting criticism of my work performance and that I prefer to remain blissfully unaware of my shortcomings!)

Looking at the bright side of pregnancy...

2010-05-20T13:05:00.003-04:00

As we all know, I'm a bit of a klutzy person. So I drop things. A lot. Including food. But I've discovered one of the advantages of being pregnant.

This morning, I was eating peanuts when one slipped out of my hand. I waited to hear it hit the floor, but it never did. Turns out this rack I've been carrying around not only increases the looks from men, but is great as a food-catcher.

Now if I can just get my belly big enough to balance my drink on, I should be all set (and as classy as ever...)

No, I will not pay $4 for your slightly-used roll of paper towels

2010-05-18T14:24:00.003-04:00

SJ and I hit up a bajillion consignment sales, tag sales and consignment shops this weekend in our quest to outfit both our pregnant selves and our future offspring in awesome clothes for cheap. I won't bore you with details, but it involved me finding the bouncy seat I registered for at half the price at a consignment shop and SJ hoping she really is having a girl because she bought some flowery GAP sweaters that were too cute to resist.

Going to so many places allowed us to kind of compare how people run their tag sales-- and just how much they value their possessions. For example, one tag sale had a Baby Bjorn infant carrier priced at $30 (they retail for $80). Another tag sale had the same one priced at $8. I found some really cute prints of frogs that would have gone well in our nursery-- until I noticed the woman wanted $50 for them. I'm not sure I spent $50 in the entire day, let alone on a single set of items.

On the flip side, we found a tag sale that wanted $1 apiece for maternity tops and 50 cents or a dollar per baby outfit. We like tag sales like that and left with huge piles of clothes.

Here's how I see it. Yes, you paid a lot for your stuff (especially baby stuff, which is not cheap!) Yes, it's in good shape. No, you're not going to get your money back. And let's be honest-- you were probably planning on giving it away anyway. Here's your chance to see it go to a good home and make a couple of bucks in the process. But don't expect to be able to re-do your kitchen on your tag sale proceeds. Because, being the seasoned tag sale veterans we are (OK, SJ more than me, but she's teaching me), we are going to sniff out whatever deals you have (hello, brand new Bundle Me for $10) and leave the expensive stuff for the suckers. Either that, or we will return at the end of the day and bargain with you until SJ pays $20 and walks off with more brand name baby outfits than she can carry.

I was just... cleaning the bathroom? (Think he'd buy it?)

2010-05-14T13:41:00.000-04:00

I don't mind the klutziness that has accompanied my pregnancy (in truth, I'm probably no klutzier than I was before I got knocked up so it's not like I've had to adapt to that...) But I can do without the pregnancy brain.

Never heard of it? It's the only explanation for why, after I finished brushing my teeth the other night, I picked up my glass of water, gave my hand an order to dump the water in it into the sink and place the glass on the counter next to it... then proceeded to pour the entire glass of water on the counter about six inches to the right of the sink.

I still haven't told the Pretend Husband about that stunt because I'm not sure I can stand to (again) see the look of incredulity on his face when I do things like this.

The dream in which the Funny Gals predict their babies' sex

2010-05-13T12:30:00.001-04:00

So, though I've been pregnant for about 15 weeks, I haven't really dreamed about being pregnant, or about the baby.

At all.

That is, until last night. I'm not sure if it was the unhealthy nacho dinner, the gigantic side of carrots that constituted my lunch or something else entirely, but I did dream - not only about my baby, but about KAT's as well.

I dreamt that KAT and I were at the doctor's office. That doesn't seem odd, although, we don't actually have the same doctor or even the same practice. But we were both there, and there was an ultrasound in the room. So naturally, when the doctor stepped out, KAT asked me to do an ultrasound on her baby. Um. So I did. She wanted me to find out what she was having - but she didn't want me to tell her.

Right. So I did that. And then, just to be sure I was right about the sex, I opened up the pouch where she keeps the baby, and checked it out. Yep! It's a girl! We had an odd pact though, that we wouldn't let each other actually see the babies, because then we wouldn't want to put them back in their pouches so they could continue growing.

Then, KAT checked my baby out from my pouch. First she said "It's a Boy!" And I was in such shock that I didn't believe her. I had been so certain I was having a girl... and that SHE was having a boy. Then she followed it up with, "Oh, I'm just kidding! It's a girl!"

And so it came to be that KAT and I are having girls.

But we're also kangaroos, so.... you know. Grain of salt and everything.

What? Some families have quiet meals together that were planned in advance? That's so weird.

2010-05-12T14:27:00.004-04:00

I thought I was headed home yesterday to hang out with the dogs, make dinner for the Pretend Husband and hang out until we went to bed. That was, until I got a phone call from my dad while on my commute home. One thing led to another, which led to another, which led to me picking up the dogs and deciding to go visit my brother and his house, neither of whom I've seen in awhile.

My brother was a bit weirded out when I called to say I was on my way over and was convinced I was going over to break some bad news to him in person or something. But really, I wanted to see his house before his kitchen gets remodeled today and I thought it would be nice to drop by on him, like he sometimes does to us. And so, lil bro said I could come, but added, "Bring food." (I wasn't offended because I know where his priorities lie. I also wasn't going to bring him anything because I was already on my way and there are no stores between our houses).

Then my dad got involved again and offered to bring over a pizza and wings to lil bro's house if the PH agreed to meet us there. I would get to see lil bro's house, the dogs could all play together, my brother would get his food and we could catch up. It sounded like a good idea-- until lil bro pointed out the fact that his kitchen is undergoing a renovation so he had no table, no way of washing plates after we used them and nothing for anyone to drink.

After a flurry of phone calls, we got the PH rerouted to my dad's house, had my brother agree to pick up the food my dad had ordered and we all made our way to my dad's house since it was the closest place with both chairs to sit on and plates that could be washed after we used them.

A few minutes after the PH and I arrived at my dad's house, my brother came strolling in-- with three pizzas and two containers of buffalo wings. We all looked at my dad like he was crazy as lil bro said, "Why'd you order so much food?"

We're still not completely sure what happened, but we pieced together that my dad had a few drinks in him when he called the restaurant, the man taking the order didn't understand English well and my dad had started the conversation off with "I need three items" (which may have gotten translated to "three pizzas"). The four of us did our best to eat two large pizzas, one medium and 24 buffalo wings while mocking my dad mercilessly about how he managed to order $66 worth of food for four people.

Not quite the quiet night I imagined but, then again, whenever my family gets involved, it's rarely the experience I think it's going to be anyway. I'm just glad I wasn't the one who agreed to pick up the pizzas and got stuck with the big bill.

Scenes from Mother's Day

2010-05-10T12:04:00.000-04:00

* I had a bet with a coworker that the Pretend Husband would not mark Mother's Day in any way, thinking I'm not yet a mother (and I kind of agree with that thinking). But a bunch of people told the PH to wish me a happy Mother's Day and he got nervous. He came home and said, "I don't have to do anything for Mother's Day, do I?" I replied, "You use your best judgment." He knows the code, so of course he had to do something to mark the day.

* I had breakfast in bed delivered to me. And by "breakfast," I am referring to a day-old doughnut and a bottle of water because the PH couldn't find the decaf coffee. But I'm not complaining-- it was very "him."

* The PH was soooo proud of the card he picked out for me, which wished the mother-to-be a happy Mother's Day. He was even more proud that, standing in a group of 30 guys facing a rack of only 20 cards left, he found the perfect one and grabbed it before anyone else (ah, that competitive spirit). He was so proud of it, he even read it out loud to me after I had read it to myself. It was sweet to see. Then I opened the mail from the day before and discovered kat's lil sis had sent the same card. The PH called her up and gave her all kinds of grief about how, of all the cards in the store, she had to choose the same one he did.

* I decided I really wanted Mexican food yesterday and only a certain chain restaurant would do. As we set off for the only one in the state, the PH and I discussed how crowded we thought the restaurant would be-- he was sure there would be a wait and I thought most people were going to take Mom out to somewhere nicer. So we bet on it, wagering-- uh-- something married couples sometimes wager. I won and quickly sent off a text message to kat's lil sis announcing my victory: "We got right in and had our choice of tables. Don't call us around 3-- I'll be collecting my prize!"

* We decided to finish up the day by preparing for the Funny Kid. We touched up the paint in the nursery and then made plans to go out and pick up the crib we chose. After running through the store-- the PH told me he was proud of me for keeping the trip short-- we decided we would go home, have dinner together and assemble the crib before going to bed. That was before we found out the crib wasn't in stock. Because of a complicated thing involving a discount only if we bought a bunch of stuff in the same day, our night instead included us driving 40 minutes to another store-- grabbing fast food on the way-- and rushing home to feed our very hungry dogs before trying to get some work done and falling into bed at midnight. Ah well, if that doesn't prepare me for the kiddo, I'm not sure what will.

(Feel free to debate whether I deserved to celebrate Mother's Day. I'm kind of on the fence because I haven't even done the hard work yet. But still, I'm not complaining about a day of taking it easy and getting pampered by the PH!)

Well, I hope they're very happy together...

2010-05-06T14:46:00.003-04:00

I have mentioned before how-- despite my best intentions-- being married to the Pretend Husband is like being married to my father. And it seems that the more the two begin to resemble one another (in character rather than appearance), the more they prefer to spend time with their pal.

My dad mentioned he just bought a bunch of meat on sale and wanted to know when he should come over for a barbecue on our deck. I mentioned the PH is working late tonight, but said my dad could still come over and have dinner with me.

"No," Dad said. "It's more fun when the PH is there." (he actually used the PH's name this time, but sometimes does call him "The PH")

Uh, thanks, Dad. Finding out your father prefers your husband's company to yours is kind of like discovering you're not actually the favorite kid (not that I ever had that experience, but I'm sure my brother and sister felt this way when it happened to them...)

I'm really in trouble if I find out the PH feels the same way, preferring to spend time with my dad rather than me.

Is it possible I'm not as awesome as I think I am?

2010-05-04T21:14:00.002-04:00

I don't think I'm giving too much away to say SJ had it confirmed that she is definitely not carrying twin girls (as predicted by my recent dream). I'm not quite ready to give up my claim to have psychic abilities though (even if I have to convince the PH to name our kid "iPod" in order to preserve my credibility).

While it may be a relief to SJ to find out there's a single kiddo kicking around in her belly, I think it just means the rest of my friends should be very, very scared. I'm predicting twin girls for one of you and I'm still convinced my dreams are never wrong.

Mocking the mocktails

2010-05-03T15:32:00.005-04:00

If there's one thing SJ and I are both big fans of, it's alcohol (OK, fine, we're fans of a lot of things, but if you've read this blog for longer than-- say-- since we got pregnant, you know we are fans of booze). And, because we are future mothers who don't want our kids to have more than one head each, we are abstaining from the nectar of the gods for the duration of our pregnancies.

And it's hard. So we've taken to drinking "mocktails" when we get together. We've tried the pineapple, orange, ginger ale, grenadine combo I concocted and I drink most beverages out of a martini glass or champagne flute these days to make myself feel like I'm partying like a rock star.

The other night, SJ came over with the ingredients for virgin pina coladas and proceeded to throw bananas, coconut extract, milk and pineapple into a blender with ice. We tried the concoction, threw a little more coconut extract into it and blended it again. Then we added some real coconut and blended it again. When we tried it, we knew something was missing and began to debate over what should be added. More milk? No. And definitely no more banana. It could use more pineapple, but we're out. What's not quite right? What's missing?

And then it hit us. It needed rum.

(Perhaps I should add a disclaimer that of course we didn't add rum to our drinks. We just sat sipping what was essentially a banana smoothie and tried to remember what rum tastes like. And we may have made a pact that each of us would bring the other a fancy drink in the hospital after we each give birth, but I'm not confirming anything.)

Graham Crackers and Milk.... I WOULD KILL FOR MILK.

2010-04-28T15:51:00.000-04:00

I've had a few food aversions.

There are some foods that I used to love, that right now, oddly bother me. One of those things is good old fashioned homemade macaroni and cheese (though the boxed kind does not bother me). I also can't eat most pasta meals and maybe only one slice of pizza when I LOVE pizza.

I do, however, crave veggies and fruit. I eat a salad nearly every day and crave Granny Smith Apples like I love red wine. WHAT KIND OF STRANGE PREGNANT LADY AM I??

Of course, sometimes the mere thought of eating anything makes me quite queasy still (this is going away any time now, right?), but for the most part, I take all of that advice to eat small meals throughout the day. It hasn't really seem to make much of a difference, but it does keep the heartburn down. And because of this little meal heavy diet, I have an entire pantry stocked with organic animal crackers, dried fruit (but suddenly don't like raisins), granola, fig newtons and all kinds of nuts (that, incidentally, I no longer like).

Which is why, for my 3:30 meal, I had graham crackers and Nutella. But all I wanted was a glass of cold milk to go with my crackers -- not, as it happens, my 700 ml bottle of Poland Spring. I really, really wanted milk. But, I could not bring myself to pour a cup of milk from the office "coffee supply" milk jug. I felt that was cheating.

So instead, I made myself a hot chocolate with about a quarter of the packet, about a teaspoon of water.. and then topped it off with lovely, wonderful, cold milk.

I feel it's a good compromise. But just in case, I'm going to be bringing in my own milk for the office fridge.

Doesn't it suck when people post about their dreams?

2010-04-27T12:34:00.003-04:00

It does suck when people post about their dreams, so I'll make this short. And I'm only doing it because it was funny (and in case parts of it come true). I dreamt I gave birth to a boy in a very quick and painless delivery. And the Pretend Husband and I were then trying to decide between two names: "iPod" and "The Pretenders." I never found out what we chose because, two days after I gave birth, and because the delivery was so easy, I volunteered to give birth to someone else's twin girls (not carry them, mind you, just give birth to them). And I kept talking about how unusual it was to give birth twice in two days. My sister was there, but I don't think the twins were hers; I think she was just there to visit little iPod (or little The Pretenders).

So guess all you want about what this means, but I'm warning you that one of us-- the one who didn't just have her 20-week ultrasound that confirmed only one baby-- will definitely not appreciate any insinuations that my dream is a prediction. I'm just sayin'.

She's either pregnant or trying to shoplift a soccer ball under her shirt

2010-04-26T13:17:00.003-04:00

Another milestone in pregnancy-ville: last week, for the first time, a stranger noticed I'm pregnant. I was helping a woman who had come into my office when she suddenly asked, "When are you due?" My first thought was: "September." And my second thought was: "Boy, are you brave!"

Because, I don't know about you, but I pretty much won't ask a woman I don't know about her pregnancy unless a) she's wearing a T-shirt proclaiming her current state or b) the baby is crowning while she breathes through the labor pains. Anything else is just risky.

I've heard a bunch of stories lately from people who asked others about their pregnancy, including a guy who was attending a wedding with his wife. Trying to make conversation with a couple at their table, he asked the woman, "When are you due?" and was mortified when she answered in a frosty tone, "I'm not pregnant." There is just no recovering from that, and the poor guy spent the rest of the reception not speaking to the people at his table.

And Kat's lil sis is still miffed at the fast food worker who, six weeks after she gave birth, looked her stomach and inquired about her due date.

Although I was surprised someone had the guts to ask about my pregnancy, I wasn't offended. It means I no longer look like I'm just packing on the pounds, but the weight gain actually looks like a pregnancy. Now, strangers coming up and touching my belly? That's a different story.