Monthly Archives: February 2014

I Love Him For…

Getting a huge grin when I correctly identify a song as being sung by Zack de la Rocha (because he knows I hate Rage Against the Machine and can rarely tell the difference between that band and The Beastie Boys.)

Midnight chocolate milk parties.

NOT wanting to go to a Superbowl party because I was eight months pregnant and he thinks I’d be miserable around a bunch of drunk, excited people.

Automatically assuming that he can’t go to a concert because it’s 4 hours away from our hospital and the date is a week before my due date.

Pulling me off the couch every night because I can’t sit up by myself and I can’t help but lie down.

Telling me that my snoring is feminine and cute when we both know it’s not.

Offering to get me something to eat or drink so I don’t have to get up.

Going to every single doctor’s appointment with me.

Helping me put on my shoes because I can’t reach or my feet are too swollen.

Driving me to and from work on his days off. Just because.

Letting me finish up the episode of Bones I was watching when he walked in from work, even though he’s seen the episode a million times (still fewer than I have) and can’t stand the show.

Not getting mad at me when I accidentally wake him up with my sleepless-night gymnastics. (Rolling over is a feat worthy of Olympic consideration when you’re this big.)

Bringing me a cup of coffee every morning.

Doing the laundry without complaint (despite the fact that I keep nagging that he’s doing it wrong) because he knows it hurts for me to bend over.

Dragging the mat into the building every night he picks me up from work, for the same reason as above.

Making a concerted effort to walk more slowly because I don’t have the same stride I used to have.

Telling me my hair is getting long. It’s not even at my shoulders yet, but it’s much longer than the original pixie cut.

Rubbing my shoulders or feet when they hurt.

Bouncing on the other yoga ball next to me. It does make me feel less ridiculous.

Being excited about childbirth.

Calming me down when I start to worry.

Denying that I’ve been cranky, telling me I’ve been “on edge” and deservedly so, seeing as how everyone around me is being obnoxious. 😛

Saying I’m beautiful or cute.

Acknowledging when he’s being a butthead.

Cheering up when I make an effort to cheer him up.

Playing with Molly.

Standing up for me, especially when it’s really hard to do so.

Wanting to take care of me.

Not taking it personally when I don’t want to be touched.

Thinking fart jokes are funny. They aren’t. But for some reason, it’s endearing that he thinks they are.

Allowing me to make (and understanding) Star Wars references.

Asking me questions all the time. It makes me feel smart when I know the answers.

Being (or pretending to be) impressed with my random assortment of trivial knowledge.

Making me feel comfortable enough to be myself.

Forgiving me when I apologize.

Caring enough to argue with me.

Not touching me with his feet.

Helping me to put together all the baby furniture. And wash all the clothes. And organize them. And arrange the room.

Unlocking the door on my side of the car first when he parked on the side of the street.

Knowing what my “usual” is in every restaurant we go to.

Knowing that I hate whipped cream.

Eating the pickles off my burger for me.

Kissing me goodbye every morning.

Not leaving when things looked rough.

Working through our issues when I was ready to give up.

Being himself.


Two Weeks (maybe) and Counting

I have exactly two weeks from today til our little bundle of joy is due. I’m over it.

My back hurts.

My ribs hurt.

I’m covered in ugly stretch marks.

I have gained so much weight, I could audition for the part of Jabba the Hut,  if they were in the process of remaking it… again.

I can’t roll over in bed.

I can’t get off the couch by myself.

I am incredibly moody. And by moody, I mean ready to throw chairs at people.

I am sick of people asking me “are you still here?!?!?!” at work. (No, this is a hologram. I’m actually in the hospital in labor RIGHT NOW.) Or some variation, like “are your bosses making you work up til you go into labor?” No, of course not. I chose to do it this way.

I might punch our cleaning lady if I’m forced to interact with her and answer her stupid questions next week.

My legs, feet, hands, and face are so swollen, see the Jabba the Hut comment above.

The very best part? There is NO KNOWING when this kid is coming. And because I’m a first-time mom, I must be ignorant about the fact that most first babies are late. That sex is supposed to help induce labor. So are walking, pineapple, red raspberry leaf tea, castor oil, bouncing on a yoga ball, etc. People, I am NOT a magical pregnancy glitter-pooping unicorn. Trust me, I have LOOKED THIS STUFF UP. REPEATEDLY. Now that the baby’s lungs are fully developed, the brain is fully-functioning, and the sucking reflex is practiced, this kid is basically living inside me rent-free. But no matter what eviction methods I try, nothing will work “if the baby isn’t ready.” (I swear to Cthulhu, the next person who tells me that the baby will come on her own time will get arsenic in their food. Like I haven’t read the books, the websites, the articles, etc. or been to a single doctor’s appointment.)

BUT there is something: this pregnancy can’t last forever. The doctors won’t let it. I will be able to suffer an all new type of sleep deprivation in just a matter of a few weeks, tops. I’ll have an adorable, squalling poop machine and a fabulous husband to help me out. I’ll have 4 weeks straight off work, two weeks part time, and then back to reality. I’ll have family there, too, if I need them. I’ve had the best non-pushy offers from my mother to stay or not, depending on what my particular needs are. Apart from bonding with the newborn and my husband, I’d like to spend those weeks maybe trying to get some writing done. Maybe getting back into photography. Maybe reading some novels. I want to sing lullabyes to my baby, take naps, and not get out of my sweats for any reason other than dropping into the office to introduce my baby to my bosses and doing some quick analysis of how much my life will suck when I come back to work. (I can’t let my bosses see my after-work uniform. :P)

I keep telling myself that this is all worth it. I want this little girl so badly and I want her to be happy and healthy. I’m so excited to bring her home with us, to hold her, to cuddle her, to hear her, to see the color of her eyes and hair and her little body in general. I’m excited that, however little sleep I’ll be getting, I can at least do it on my back. I’m excited that I’ll be losing weight and that my stretch marks will begin to fade. I’m excited to not wear maternity clothes anymore, however long that may take. I’m excited to be a mother.

“Finish Like A Winner!”

When I was in Middle School, I had this horrible P.E. teacher who literally looked like a troll and who ran us into the ground like she was preparing us for war. I’ve seen Full Metal Jacket. I’d take Gunnery Sgt. Lee Ermey over this lady any day of the week. (Ok, so he’d be way tougher. At least he’s funny!) Anyways, she was making us do our very first Presidential Fitness Tests, so she was having us practice the mile run. She told us to run around the football field four times, but when you hit the long-jump pit in the last turn on your last lap, you let loose. You run as hard and as fast as you possibly can til you cross the finish line and you “finish like a winner.” You could run a 30-minute mile and stay out of trouble for next week if you really tried to kill apply yourself on that last leg of the race.

I’ve always kind of chuckled remembering that. I mean, not the P.E. experience. God, I’d go back and date every single ex-boyfriend of mine over and over on repeat for the rest of my life before I’d go back to one day in that P.E. class. (I’m not athletic. At all. I don’t know if that was ever obvious before.) But I smile when I think about “finish like a winner.” I’ve applied it to every aspect of my life since then. Goof off in High School, but do SO well in Junior and Senior years that my GPA gets me into the university of my choice, early admission. Goof off in college, but do really well in classes at the end of the quarter. Goof off at work, but make sure to get everything done (and done EXTREMELY well) before taking off for four weeks to raise a baby.

Well, I’m at that last leg of the pregnancy race. I’m in my 36th week or 9th month. I have 28 days left til my due date. I was in a brain fog for the past 5 months, struggling to remember the simplest of things or complete the most mundane of tasks. The past two weeks, however, I’ve been kicking this job’s butt. And today I feel great. No soreness, no lack of sleep, no anxiety. Just peace, calm, and determination. Week 36 is the long-jump pit on the side of the track. I can almost hear Mrs. Troll-Face screaming at me to pick up the pace and “finish like a winner.” I still can’t flip her off, like I’d like to do, but once I finish this race (and it’s going to be soon!) then I will know I gave it everything I had right at the end.

Wow. That’s such a crappy metaphor. She really should have taught us to apply ourselves as much as possible throughout the race, pacing ourselves, yes, but not emphasized finishing like a winner so much. Damn, Mrs. Troll-Face! Yet ANOTHER way P.E. ruins lives. Go figure. 😛

How to Make A Hormonal Woman Cry




Ok, I know you are at a 4.5 weeks count down.  Things might be getting more difficult or you might be under a little more stress.  Boss 2 and myself might not be able to anticipate every change that you are experiencing.  What I mean to say, is that if there is anything that you might have been able to accomplish physically before and can’t (or just find more difficult) now, let us know and we will take care of it.  Also, I know we often kid around and have fun in this office, however, you may be going through a lot of stresses that change your appreciation for a more relaxed work environment.  What I’m trying to say, is we understand…just let us know and we can adapt.


Also, let me know if you have any special requests for when you are gone.  I know you planned on only take three weeks off and then coming back part time (Monday and Tuesday) for the following three weeks because of financial constraints.  You know I’ve expressed that I don’t think this is enough time with your newborn.  Far be it for me to interfere.   But I’m going to anyway.  You planned on coming in M-T…on the fourth week.  I’m going to pay you for an additional week, if you decide not to come in to work.  This will give you the option of taking at least five weeks off under your anticipated financial plan.  However, it is your choice.  If you really want to come in and work part time…that is your call.



It’s been tough the last couple of weeks. There were some really difficult personal issues that have more or less been dealt with now. I’ve been in an extraordinary amount of pain and not sleeping very well. I’ve been dealing with the fact that I have only saved up 3 weeks off with my baby and can’t possibly afford to take the additional 3 weeks off completely. And then there’s all the fears and worries of a first time mom about the delivery, the first few weeks with the newborn, the concerns over whether or not our baby is healthy, etc. Thank goodness my relationship with my husband is as strong as it is. Thank goodness I have such supportive and loving friends and family. And thank goodness I have two bosses who care about me and my baby. While it’s not all perfect in life right now, I am comfortable bringing a little one into this world as it is right now. She just needs another few days for her lungs to be fully developed (if they aren’t already) and for her sucking reflex to be strong enough so she can eat (again, if it’s not already.) But I’m so ready to have her outside my body. She’s just too big for me to be comfortable anymore! lol

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