Little Husband didn't get much from me in the looks department. In fact, he looks so little like me that my older sister demanded a maternity test. My saving grace is that he has my hands. In some instances, say, were I to have girly-girly hands, this would prove problematic for Little Husband. In this instance, as evidenced by the video, having hands like mine, i.e., "Man Mands", will never cause Little Husand one moment of ridicule. The real question is how I managed to escape it for so long. Why is it that no one saw fit to tell me that I have Man Hands? I have some very kind friends. I have to admit that I watched this video three times before I realized that it was me dressing the baby and not Husband!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Santa Did It!
I promise to write more about Little Husband's birth in my next post, but for now I have to take a quick moment to tell a little tale about Santa.
Today, at dinner time, Husband strutted in from the back yard, index finger pointing high. "I was RIGHT!" he declared.
My mother and I looked up from cooing over the baby and waited for him to finish.
"I was RIGHT!" he said again. "It was Santa! I was RIGHT!"
"Er...what was Santa?" I asked.
"It was SANTA who was throwing food over the fence all this time. I caught him red-handed!"
I couldn't believe it. For as long as we've been married some freak has been throwing food over the fence for our dogs. Several times Helicopter Butt has come inside coated in spaghetti sauce or other unidentifiable substances. While the dogs are thrilled with their new found booty, (can you imagine a pizza just dropping out of the sky?), the food has caused Le Pooch Grande to have an upset stomach from time-to-time. Not cool.
When it was first happening (and Husband was blaming Santa), I argued that no rational person would do something like that. I reasoned that it must be 'coons dropping trash from the dumpster. (Side bar: Husband then chastised me for using a racial epithet. I reminded him that it's not racist if, in fact, you are actually talking about raccoons.) I refused to believe that it would be any of our neighbors, even Santa.
I didn't see what happened this evening nor did I have a chance to grill Husband for the details, but I do know that Husband was setting up the BBQ in the backyard when all of a sudden food came sailing over the fence. Husband somehow managed to verbally accost Santa which is impressive given there was an 8-foot wooden fence between them. Santa admitted to all deeds, past and present, and Husband got him to agree never to do it again. Santa even felt generous enough in spirit to congratulate us on our newborn. No mention was made of the gift that Santa has for Little Husband, thank goodness.
I am proud of Husband. In the spirit of cohesiveness, I plan to have a word or two with Santa myself. Santa loves Le Pooch Grande and I intend to let him know exactly how many times he's made her sick. Perhaps I'll even mention the $225 we spent getting the carpets cleaned and disinfected after one particularly bad episode (LPG let loose in the baby's room, of course).
Oh yeah, Santa's on my list and he's been naughty...
Today, at dinner time, Husband strutted in from the back yard, index finger pointing high. "I was RIGHT!" he declared.
My mother and I looked up from cooing over the baby and waited for him to finish.
"I was RIGHT!" he said again. "It was Santa! I was RIGHT!"
"Er...what was Santa?" I asked.
"It was SANTA who was throwing food over the fence all this time. I caught him red-handed!"
I couldn't believe it. For as long as we've been married some freak has been throwing food over the fence for our dogs. Several times Helicopter Butt has come inside coated in spaghetti sauce or other unidentifiable substances. While the dogs are thrilled with their new found booty, (can you imagine a pizza just dropping out of the sky?), the food has caused Le Pooch Grande to have an upset stomach from time-to-time. Not cool.
When it was first happening (and Husband was blaming Santa), I argued that no rational person would do something like that. I reasoned that it must be 'coons dropping trash from the dumpster. (Side bar: Husband then chastised me for using a racial epithet. I reminded him that it's not racist if, in fact, you are actually talking about raccoons.) I refused to believe that it would be any of our neighbors, even Santa.
I didn't see what happened this evening nor did I have a chance to grill Husband for the details, but I do know that Husband was setting up the BBQ in the backyard when all of a sudden food came sailing over the fence. Husband somehow managed to verbally accost Santa which is impressive given there was an 8-foot wooden fence between them. Santa admitted to all deeds, past and present, and Husband got him to agree never to do it again. Santa even felt generous enough in spirit to congratulate us on our newborn. No mention was made of the gift that Santa has for Little Husband, thank goodness.
I am proud of Husband. In the spirit of cohesiveness, I plan to have a word or two with Santa myself. Santa loves Le Pooch Grande and I intend to let him know exactly how many times he's made her sick. Perhaps I'll even mention the $225 we spent getting the carpets cleaned and disinfected after one particularly bad episode (LPG let loose in the baby's room, of course).
Oh yeah, Santa's on my list and he's been naughty...
Introducing Little Husbaaaaaand!!!
Here he is. I love him so much. I am a puddle.
He looks just like his daddy!
He looks just like his daddy!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Hospital Update #2
Nothing new to report. Love the epidural enough to marry it. I can feel Little Husband inching his way down...
Hospital Update
Halfway dilated, dozing on and off...we're naming this child "Epidural".
Can't remember who I stole that idea from, but it's a good one. That stuff is liquid heaven!
Back to sleep...
Can't remember who I stole that idea from, but it's a good one. That stuff is liquid heaven!
Back to sleep...
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The World is a Better Place
My mom's coming, my mom's coming! I wasn't expecting to see her until December! She must have heard the fear in my voice when I called her yesterday to give her the news. Knowing that she had six children, I feel as if the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. I can't wait to see her--she will be a tremendous help.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Regarding the Gum...
Regarding the mysterious gum in my hair, I've decided to pin the blame squarely on Melek. Here's my thought process:
Melek is a tall, leggy blonde (5'20"?) and probably weighs in the neighborhood of 102 lbs. I am a short, large-with-child brunette and weigh nowhere near 102 lbs. Obviously, Melek is jealous of me. I have deduced that when I hugged her good-bye the other night, she surreptitiously spat her blue, peppermint gum in my hair.
This is irrefutable as the only other two people to hug me that night were Husband and my 65 year-old cousin, neither of whom would be caught dead chewing blue gum.
I would chew blue gum, but I wouldn't spit it in my own hair, so it wasn't me.
I did once throw up in my older sister's hair while she was sleeping, but at least it wasn't blue. It was an accident, anyway. I still kind of feel bad about that.
Ah, the joys of bedrest! So much time to think and figure things out!
Melek is a tall, leggy blonde (5'20"?) and probably weighs in the neighborhood of 102 lbs. I am a short, large-with-child brunette and weigh nowhere near 102 lbs. Obviously, Melek is jealous of me. I have deduced that when I hugged her good-bye the other night, she surreptitiously spat her blue, peppermint gum in my hair.
This is irrefutable as the only other two people to hug me that night were Husband and my 65 year-old cousin, neither of whom would be caught dead chewing blue gum.
I would chew blue gum, but I wouldn't spit it in my own hair, so it wasn't me.
I did once throw up in my older sister's hair while she was sleeping, but at least it wasn't blue. It was an accident, anyway. I still kind of feel bad about that.
Ah, the joys of bedrest! So much time to think and figure things out!
Ready or Not, Here He Comes!
It's inevitable: Little Husband will be arriving on Thursday. I'm glad that it's Thursday because Wednesday is Charles Manson's birthday and I don't want our precious child to share a birthday with Charles Manson. Who would?
Anyhow, I type this from my bed as I have officially been assigned bedrest due to early signs of preeclampsia. They're hardly noticeable, really, except for all the panting and wheezing that goes on whenever I climb the stairs (or put on a pair of pants). You'd think I gained 150 pounds, the way I carry on.
Anyway, we check into the hospital tomorrow night and on Thursday morning they begin induction. I am terrified of a long, painful labor but several friends got wind of this and have been calling with all sorts of calming advice. I'm much better now. I'm blessed with some incredible friends.
Wish me luck, my friends, as I segue into another chapter of my life. The most exciting and rewarding one, to be certain.
Anyhow, I type this from my bed as I have officially been assigned bedrest due to early signs of preeclampsia. They're hardly noticeable, really, except for all the panting and wheezing that goes on whenever I climb the stairs (or put on a pair of pants). You'd think I gained 150 pounds, the way I carry on.
Anyway, we check into the hospital tomorrow night and on Thursday morning they begin induction. I am terrified of a long, painful labor but several friends got wind of this and have been calling with all sorts of calming advice. I'm much better now. I'm blessed with some incredible friends.
Wish me luck, my friends, as I segue into another chapter of my life. The most exciting and rewarding one, to be certain.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Preparing for Motherhood
“Honey, can you do me a favor and put the wash in the dryer? I just don’t think I can do it right now.” Bent over from more contractions, I headed for the stairs.
“Where’s the wash?” Husband looked like a deer in headlights.
I turned, ready to explain that the wash was, in fact, in the washing machine but decided that Husband needed to relearn some of that autonomy he’d mastered during his bachelor days. My being a housewife appears to have rendered him slightly helpless.
“I’m not even going to answer that question.” I replied, ever the diplomat. A surge of pain seared through my hips and lower back. I started up the stairs.
Husband figured it out quickly. In his defense, he’d actually misheard me the first time.
Yes, things are tensing up around here as we await the arrival of our baby boy. Last week the baby doctor spoke of induction next week, provided my cervix shows some signs of dilation. In honor of that, I went for a 2.25 mile walk with a friend with the hopes of moving things along. What a mistake that was!
Mid-way through our walk I could feel a familiar tingling in the portion of the sciatic nerve that runs in front of my shins. Now, the tingling doesn’t bother me as it’s not painful and is really just more of a nuisance. It’s when I bend slightly and the tingling turns to a shooting pain that I get distressed. After the first mile I was walking like a baby taking his first steps. At the two mile mark I was walking like a zombie: big clomping steps with legs straight, no bending at the knees. My friend, in her infinite kindness, pretended not to notice.
I can’t help but resent my body a little for its betrayal of me. This is the first time in my life that it has refused (with a vengeance) to do the things I command of it. Even yoga, the activity I do when I am feeling lazy, leaves me breathless and fatigued. I’m mad at my body for aching when I don’t think it should ache and giving out on me after only one hour of being awake (especially after a peaceful night’s sleep!). I once read that with pregnancy you learn a whole new respect for your body. This is true.
Yesterday I woke up with some light contractions but hopped out of bed anyway to brush my hair and my teeth. The hairbrush got caught on a tangle so I jerked it slightly to undo the knot. The hairbrush held fast. I jerked the brush again but still it did not move.
“What the…” I asked myself as I leaned forward to inspect the knot in the mirror. I spied something blue. Picking up the clump of hair, I brought it around to eye level only to find that somehow, in the dark recesses of the night, a clump of blue mass got stuck in my hair. I brought it to my nose and sniffed. Peppermint gum. My first thought was that I do not chew blue gum. My second thought? Husband.
“Did you by any chance chew blue gum last night?” I asked Husband, somewhat amused.
“No,” he said, looking up from his newspaper and coffee.
“Are you sure? No blue gum? No blue breath mints? Nothing blue?”
“No—you were with me all night. You know I didn’t eat any gum or candy. Why?”
I showed him the clump of blue stuck in my hair. He burst out laughing while I busted out the peanut butter.
How the blue gunk got in my hair is still a mystery, but I figured it was good preparation for motherhood as I imagine there will be many a time that I find some foreign, icky substance attached to me somewhere. Just as long as it’s not boogers. I can’t deal with boogers.
“Where’s the wash?” Husband looked like a deer in headlights.
I turned, ready to explain that the wash was, in fact, in the washing machine but decided that Husband needed to relearn some of that autonomy he’d mastered during his bachelor days. My being a housewife appears to have rendered him slightly helpless.
“I’m not even going to answer that question.” I replied, ever the diplomat. A surge of pain seared through my hips and lower back. I started up the stairs.
Husband figured it out quickly. In his defense, he’d actually misheard me the first time.
Yes, things are tensing up around here as we await the arrival of our baby boy. Last week the baby doctor spoke of induction next week, provided my cervix shows some signs of dilation. In honor of that, I went for a 2.25 mile walk with a friend with the hopes of moving things along. What a mistake that was!
Mid-way through our walk I could feel a familiar tingling in the portion of the sciatic nerve that runs in front of my shins. Now, the tingling doesn’t bother me as it’s not painful and is really just more of a nuisance. It’s when I bend slightly and the tingling turns to a shooting pain that I get distressed. After the first mile I was walking like a baby taking his first steps. At the two mile mark I was walking like a zombie: big clomping steps with legs straight, no bending at the knees. My friend, in her infinite kindness, pretended not to notice.
I can’t help but resent my body a little for its betrayal of me. This is the first time in my life that it has refused (with a vengeance) to do the things I command of it. Even yoga, the activity I do when I am feeling lazy, leaves me breathless and fatigued. I’m mad at my body for aching when I don’t think it should ache and giving out on me after only one hour of being awake (especially after a peaceful night’s sleep!). I once read that with pregnancy you learn a whole new respect for your body. This is true.
Yesterday I woke up with some light contractions but hopped out of bed anyway to brush my hair and my teeth. The hairbrush got caught on a tangle so I jerked it slightly to undo the knot. The hairbrush held fast. I jerked the brush again but still it did not move.
“What the…” I asked myself as I leaned forward to inspect the knot in the mirror. I spied something blue. Picking up the clump of hair, I brought it around to eye level only to find that somehow, in the dark recesses of the night, a clump of blue mass got stuck in my hair. I brought it to my nose and sniffed. Peppermint gum. My first thought was that I do not chew blue gum. My second thought? Husband.
“Did you by any chance chew blue gum last night?” I asked Husband, somewhat amused.
“No,” he said, looking up from his newspaper and coffee.
“Are you sure? No blue gum? No blue breath mints? Nothing blue?”
“No—you were with me all night. You know I didn’t eat any gum or candy. Why?”
I showed him the clump of blue stuck in my hair. He burst out laughing while I busted out the peanut butter.
How the blue gunk got in my hair is still a mystery, but I figured it was good preparation for motherhood as I imagine there will be many a time that I find some foreign, icky substance attached to me somewhere. Just as long as it’s not boogers. I can’t deal with boogers.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Mom, Why Did You Make Me Return that Mood Ring?
When I was approximately five years old (1976?) my parents took me and my older brother and sister on a trip to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC. It was there in the first floor ladies' room that I found an elegant mood ring forgotten on a sink ledge. Thrilled with my discovery, I excitedly raced over to my mother and proudly presented my findings. My exuberance was quickly dashed, however, when my mother glanced at the ring and said in the same breath, "That ring does not belong to you. We will have to turn it in to the lost and found."
Dumbstruck, I numbly followed behind my mother and silently handed my precious ring over to a kindly security guard. Tears welled as I watched him place the ring in a box under his desk. Even at that tender age, I knew that if the owner never came forth to claim her ring, I still would not be named its rightful heir. I cannot remember anything else about that day for I was so upset by my great loss.
I have been obsessed with jewelry, specifically rings, ever since.
This past Saturday morning found me sleeping in until the delicious hour of 10:15. I padded downstairs to greet Husband and The Dogs Three. I put a pot of coffee on to brew and checked my phone for new email. Scrolling through the messages, I found one from my auto loan company. Since they send me a statement every month, I barely paid attention as I scanned the dollar amount applied to our loan. Then I did a double-take.
"Um...honey--did you pay off the car loan?" I asked Husband, eyes still glued to the contents of the email.
"No, why?" Husband asked.
"Because they sent an email saying that we paid "X" amount on the loan which almost pays it off," I replied. We have three years left on this loan so the amount is significant.
"It's a phishing email," Husband responded all-knowingly, "just disregard it."
"Hmmm...I don't know. It doesn't look like a phishing email..."
Way ahead of me, Husband pulled out his laptop and logged into the financial website.
"The check was mailed in so it's not like they drafted it from our bank account accidentally," he reported. "They must have applied someone else's check to our account by mistake."
Countless jokes ensued about how we should quickly pay off the remainder of the loan, get the title, swallow it, then plead ignorance. We even called my dad to see if he paid off the loan (as if he could--he's got six kids and doesn't exactly have the means to go around paying off all of our car loans nor is he given to favoritism). No answer from Dad but we knew what the answer would be. My mind flashed to that day at the Smithsonian.
"Dammit--looks like I'll be calling the auto-loan company on Monday," I declared. "No sense in bringing our son into the world with a pair of felons for parents." Husband readily agreed.
I called the financial company today and the customer service rep was wonderfully helpful. "Wow--you're so honest. I've never run into this situation before but I will remove the payment immediately while we research this."
My mood was sour as I silently cursed my parents for teaching me not to steal.
"Hey--has anyone told you about our rewards program?" the customer service rep asked me.
I brightened. "No, no they haven't," I replied. Rewards program? Were we going to get a reward for our honesty? Would it be money? That is so cool!
"Oh yeah," the rep expanded, "we have a credit card that gives you a reward with each purch..."
Disappointed, I tuned her out. In no way did it ever cross my mind that we would get a reward for doing the right thing, but I wasn't expecting a sales pitch for a credit card either.
As I type this I can think of only one way to feel better about my two great losses: Mama, I want my mood ring!
Dumbstruck, I numbly followed behind my mother and silently handed my precious ring over to a kindly security guard. Tears welled as I watched him place the ring in a box under his desk. Even at that tender age, I knew that if the owner never came forth to claim her ring, I still would not be named its rightful heir. I cannot remember anything else about that day for I was so upset by my great loss.
I have been obsessed with jewelry, specifically rings, ever since.
This past Saturday morning found me sleeping in until the delicious hour of 10:15. I padded downstairs to greet Husband and The Dogs Three. I put a pot of coffee on to brew and checked my phone for new email. Scrolling through the messages, I found one from my auto loan company. Since they send me a statement every month, I barely paid attention as I scanned the dollar amount applied to our loan. Then I did a double-take.
"Um...honey--did you pay off the car loan?" I asked Husband, eyes still glued to the contents of the email.
"No, why?" Husband asked.
"Because they sent an email saying that we paid "X" amount on the loan which almost pays it off," I replied. We have three years left on this loan so the amount is significant.
"It's a phishing email," Husband responded all-knowingly, "just disregard it."
"Hmmm...I don't know. It doesn't look like a phishing email..."
Way ahead of me, Husband pulled out his laptop and logged into the financial website.
"The check was mailed in so it's not like they drafted it from our bank account accidentally," he reported. "They must have applied someone else's check to our account by mistake."
Countless jokes ensued about how we should quickly pay off the remainder of the loan, get the title, swallow it, then plead ignorance. We even called my dad to see if he paid off the loan (as if he could--he's got six kids and doesn't exactly have the means to go around paying off all of our car loans nor is he given to favoritism). No answer from Dad but we knew what the answer would be. My mind flashed to that day at the Smithsonian.
"Dammit--looks like I'll be calling the auto-loan company on Monday," I declared. "No sense in bringing our son into the world with a pair of felons for parents." Husband readily agreed.
I called the financial company today and the customer service rep was wonderfully helpful. "Wow--you're so honest. I've never run into this situation before but I will remove the payment immediately while we research this."
My mood was sour as I silently cursed my parents for teaching me not to steal.
"Hey--has anyone told you about our rewards program?" the customer service rep asked me.
I brightened. "No, no they haven't," I replied. Rewards program? Were we going to get a reward for our honesty? Would it be money? That is so cool!
"Oh yeah," the rep expanded, "we have a credit card that gives you a reward with each purch..."
Disappointed, I tuned her out. In no way did it ever cross my mind that we would get a reward for doing the right thing, but I wasn't expecting a sales pitch for a credit card either.
As I type this I can think of only one way to feel better about my two great losses: Mama, I want my mood ring!
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