...and it's just pee your pants funny. And when this happens, I think it's REALLY important to give props to the hilarity by drawing attention to it.
Being very very new to this whole blogging thing, I've not yet listed out any sort of "top" anything blogs. I feel like that's best reserved for women (I saw women because I am currently following all mommy and baby blogs, and they are all written, at least predominantly, by women) who have put in their time. And who have established more than 13 followers (to my wonderful followers, this is not to say I don't cherish each and every one of you. I do. In fact, you are the reason I keep posting. I just mean to say, someone with 230 followers certainly outranks me in the world of blogging, and thus, has more authority). But I am starting to think I should so more with these blogs I heart, than list them on the side of my blog, so I'm starting here.
Anyway, I digress. Or well, can I call it a digression when I never even really got to my point? Whatever.
The point is, I found a new blog today. I found her because the FIRST ever baby (now a mommy) blog I found (which is still my favourite) blogger Blair, from The Heir to Blair was a guest poster. And anyone who loves Blair enough to get her as a guest poster, is clearly someone I want to "know" on the internet. So I went to peruse the site, and spent the next little while sitting alone, in my living room, laughing my ass off.
Not literally, don't worry, my ass is still in place. But I laughed a lot, and I thought this woman deserves some props. Even if it IS on my brand new, shiny, barely out there blog, it's still props. And all of YOU have lots of followers, who have followers who...well you know how this works, so this could help her permeate more mommy minds. And fill us with laugh out loud moments, at work, or on your iPhone at the doctors office, wherever you do your inappropriate blog stalking.
Her name is Jen, and her blog is "Maybe If You Just Relax".
Take a read, but do it on an empty bladder. Trust me, this site is Depends worthy.
Showing posts with label 26 Weeks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 26 Weeks. Show all posts
"Oh I thought it was a food baby"
So yesterday we moved offices. And this whole office move has been a clusterfuk of epic proportions. It started last week when our ISP turned off our internets and phone service 2 entire DAYS ahead of schedule. Yup, Thursday morning is the same thing as Monday right? Not quite. After hours of phone calls and frustration, we got the service back up and running. We're a consulting business so, lacking access to email and internet is not an option.
We were all set to move on Monday and then, our new office flooded on Friday. It's been empty for a YEAR and 3 days before we move in, it FLOODS. Too bad we had the movers all set and ready to move us, and all of our stuff packed before we knew. Not to mention that we had to get out of the old office, so, we set off to move into the dry portions of the office, and deal with the rest later. Our 10 people office is crammed into a board room and a kitchen. It's been overwhelmingly stressful, and I am glossing over about 100 moments that made me want to cry yesterday but, that's not what is important.
What is important is that the movers thought I just had a spare tire, and not a baby.
A spare tire. AND NOT A BABY. Are you hearing me?
It went something like this:
After hours of chatting mindlessly with the movers, and one of my close friends who also happens to work with me, and making countless mentions that I am in fact, with child, we had this conversation:
G: Oye what a day, we need some beer...or a lot of wine
Me: Well in 13 weeks, I'll take you up on that...often and A LOT
G: Yes, get that baby out of you and we'll get drinking wine!
Me: Sometime before my birthday we will drink again!
G: Ya I only got to know you for like, 5 months before you got knocked up
Me: Soon, I will be carrying around an external human, instead of an internal one, and I can have some drinks
Mover: Wait? You're really pregnant? Huh. I thought it was a food baby, not a real baby
Me: Um no, she's real, been in there 6 months now
Mover: Ha
So ya that's how it went down. And I guess I am not as big as I thought. In fact, I guess I am small enough that instead of looking 6 months pregnant, despite wearing form fitting pants and a cute, bump accentuating t shirt, I just look like I've been doing too many keg stands. Just when I thought I was starting to actually appear preggo to the masses, I am reminded I instead look like all those trips through the Wendy's Drive Thru have finally caught up.
I should however, take solace in the fact that this comment came from a less-than-25 year old, meatheadariffic dude, who makes his living with brute force. Did I mention he didn't appear to be the brightest bulb in the light bright? So perhaps I shouldn't take what he says to heart. I have to assume that the 3 movers, sharing their 25 brain cells and talking like douchebags gone wild may not be the best judge of exactly how pregnant or not pregnant a girl may be. If the fact that I look like a perfect size 4 from the back still didn't give it away. the protruding belly button should have. Or at the very least, the repeated comments about "my baby" and the fact that I kept saying I wasn't going to lift anything heavy, since I was 6 months pregnant.
Apparently, he thought all of this was just in reference to a food baby I'd been carefully and lovingly growing since early summer. A food baby I was worried about harming with the lifting of boxes, and the consuming of alcoholic beverages. A food baby I continued to rub, and call her.
Boys.
Even if he thought it was possible that I carried an extra 10 lbs. in the shape of a half basketball off my front, any smart man would have kept his mouth shut when he learned that, in fact, I was not. A smart man would have giggled silently to himself, and thought "phew dodged that bullet" after realizing he'd save himself the embarrassment (and potential kick in the balls) of accidentally calling a chubby girl pregnant. Or, worse (at least in my opinion) calling a pregnant lady fat. Yes, a smart man would have kept that tidbit to himself, and filed it under "I'm an idiot".
But not my mover. Nope. He called my darling little baby bump a FOOD BABY...and yet, he lived to bring down the general intelligence of the world another day.
Boys.
We were all set to move on Monday and then, our new office flooded on Friday. It's been empty for a YEAR and 3 days before we move in, it FLOODS. Too bad we had the movers all set and ready to move us, and all of our stuff packed before we knew. Not to mention that we had to get out of the old office, so, we set off to move into the dry portions of the office, and deal with the rest later. Our 10 people office is crammed into a board room and a kitchen. It's been overwhelmingly stressful, and I am glossing over about 100 moments that made me want to cry yesterday but, that's not what is important.
What is important is that the movers thought I just had a spare tire, and not a baby.
A spare tire. AND NOT A BABY. Are you hearing me?
It went something like this:
After hours of chatting mindlessly with the movers, and one of my close friends who also happens to work with me, and making countless mentions that I am in fact, with child, we had this conversation:
G: Oye what a day, we need some beer...or a lot of wine
Me: Well in 13 weeks, I'll take you up on that...often and A LOT
G: Yes, get that baby out of you and we'll get drinking wine!
Me: Sometime before my birthday we will drink again!
G: Ya I only got to know you for like, 5 months before you got knocked up
Me: Soon, I will be carrying around an external human, instead of an internal one, and I can have some drinks
Mover: Wait? You're really pregnant? Huh. I thought it was a food baby, not a real baby
Me: Um no, she's real, been in there 6 months now
Mover: Ha
So ya that's how it went down. And I guess I am not as big as I thought. In fact, I guess I am small enough that instead of looking 6 months pregnant, despite wearing form fitting pants and a cute, bump accentuating t shirt, I just look like I've been doing too many keg stands. Just when I thought I was starting to actually appear preggo to the masses, I am reminded I instead look like all those trips through the Wendy's Drive Thru have finally caught up.
I should however, take solace in the fact that this comment came from a less-than-25 year old, meatheadariffic dude, who makes his living with brute force. Did I mention he didn't appear to be the brightest bulb in the light bright? So perhaps I shouldn't take what he says to heart. I have to assume that the 3 movers, sharing their 25 brain cells and talking like douchebags gone wild may not be the best judge of exactly how pregnant or not pregnant a girl may be. If the fact that I look like a perfect size 4 from the back still didn't give it away. the protruding belly button should have. Or at the very least, the repeated comments about "my baby" and the fact that I kept saying I wasn't going to lift anything heavy, since I was 6 months pregnant.
Apparently, he thought all of this was just in reference to a food baby I'd been carefully and lovingly growing since early summer. A food baby I was worried about harming with the lifting of boxes, and the consuming of alcoholic beverages. A food baby I continued to rub, and call her.
Boys.
Even if he thought it was possible that I carried an extra 10 lbs. in the shape of a half basketball off my front, any smart man would have kept his mouth shut when he learned that, in fact, I was not. A smart man would have giggled silently to himself, and thought "phew dodged that bullet" after realizing he'd save himself the embarrassment (and potential kick in the balls) of accidentally calling a chubby girl pregnant. Or, worse (at least in my opinion) calling a pregnant lady fat. Yes, a smart man would have kept that tidbit to himself, and filed it under "I'm an idiot".
But not my mover. Nope. He called my darling little baby bump a FOOD BABY...and yet, he lived to bring down the general intelligence of the world another day.
Boys.
My internal human is growing....
Sunday, December 20, 2009
I looked down this morning and thought to myself "I can't get any bigger than this, can I?".
And the scary thing is, I'm not that big.
The problem is, I am bigger than I've ever been in my entire life. And it's not the size, I realize I'm pregnant and I honestly feel beautiful and am thoroughly enjoying watching my little one grow. It's amazing. I am not however enjoying my inability to bend at the waist or remove my boots on my own. Honestly, I've almost called my girlfriend on 2 seperate occasions - once it took me 20 mins to get my shoes ON, before our Christmas party, and once as I sat, hot and sweaty, trying to remove slippery wet gumboots from my feet, and having a hell of a time (he hubs was not home to assist of course). The only negative to being pregnant in the winter is that flip flops aren't exactly the footwear of choice for the weather. Too bad, because they would be so much easier, especially considering your feet get suspiciously farther from your arms every day.
Doing seemingly easy things (see removing boots above) or bending over to pick up another piece of #&$&ing! tinsel which is plaguing my home (we had a party last weekend, and there was an ugly sweater, complete with tinsel. A friend of ours decided to wear it, and spread tinsel EVERYWHERE, in every crevice of my home. I've vacuumed 5 times, and picked up 100 pieces...it's procreating. I swear), has become increasingly difficult.
First of all, it hurts. I'd assume this is the result of round ligament pain and my internal human pressing into my organs. The ligament pain is a strange thing, because 98% of the time, I do not notice it. But when I do, it's like my muscles are rubber bands and I'm snapping them. It's electric. Electric pain in my uterus.
Second of all, it's hard to breathe when I'm bent over (or walking up the stairs for that matter). This is the result of a few things - my increased blood volume, my lowered iron stores, and, you guessed it, my internal human and her living room creeping into my breathing space.
Last of all, my balance. We've discussed this before, and it's not getting any better (obviously), so bending over or standing on one foot, not a good idea. Every time I bend forward to pick something up, blood rushes to my head and for a split second, I realize how dangerously close said head is to the floor. And the next second consists of me contemplating a head contusion, and hoping this isn't how it ends.
I realize that in the grand scheme of all thing pregnant lady, I'm whining about almost nothing. And I do honestly appreciate how lucky I've been. I barely felt any morning sickness, I didn't get the crippling fatigue I read so much about, and so far, I've escaped any midnight pickle and ice cream sandwich cravings. I'm peeing a little on the frequent side of the spectrum, but that's not all that new for me, and I haven't been starving all night. Mostly, I've just had awesome sex dreams, and that's not much to complain about.
All in all, I'm almost a little bummed by the lack of attention I'm able to garner from the hubs and others, because other than the hand free of a glass of wine, I've been exactly the same these last 6 months. My weight gain has (thank WHOEVER is responsible for these things...I don't believe in god per se, but there is a higher power out there looking out for me) been pretty manageable, I've had no cravings, low fatigue and, other than my balance issues, I've been pretty much the same (and let's face it, I wasn't so good with the balance before either).
However, this isn't to say it's not coming. Everyone I talk to and everything I read tells me that as of Wednesday, I exit the glory trimester and head into the third, final and apparently most difficult trimester there is. And so, as I look at my belly I think, it can't get any bigger than this? I mean, really, if my shoes are this hard to get on and off now, and if staying upright is this much of a challenge, then surely I'm doomed. But I know it's coming. I mean, my darling is growing by the moment in there, I can feel it. And no one has ever had a healthy baby after 3 months of non-growth. So it is inevitable (not only that, but it's anticipated and highly requested that she continue to grow her little heart out in there..I'd never pick fashionable footwear or grace over my baby girl). I will continue to grow, and apparently, more so than before. And I'm sure that I'll have some new and exciting symptoms as a courtesy of my internal human....
But at least it's great blog fodder :D
And the scary thing is, I'm not that big.
The problem is, I am bigger than I've ever been in my entire life. And it's not the size, I realize I'm pregnant and I honestly feel beautiful and am thoroughly enjoying watching my little one grow. It's amazing. I am not however enjoying my inability to bend at the waist or remove my boots on my own. Honestly, I've almost called my girlfriend on 2 seperate occasions - once it took me 20 mins to get my shoes ON, before our Christmas party, and once as I sat, hot and sweaty, trying to remove slippery wet gumboots from my feet, and having a hell of a time (he hubs was not home to assist of course). The only negative to being pregnant in the winter is that flip flops aren't exactly the footwear of choice for the weather. Too bad, because they would be so much easier, especially considering your feet get suspiciously farther from your arms every day.
Doing seemingly easy things (see removing boots above) or bending over to pick up another piece of #&$&ing! tinsel which is plaguing my home (we had a party last weekend, and there was an ugly sweater, complete with tinsel. A friend of ours decided to wear it, and spread tinsel EVERYWHERE, in every crevice of my home. I've vacuumed 5 times, and picked up 100 pieces...it's procreating. I swear), has become increasingly difficult.
First of all, it hurts. I'd assume this is the result of round ligament pain and my internal human pressing into my organs. The ligament pain is a strange thing, because 98% of the time, I do not notice it. But when I do, it's like my muscles are rubber bands and I'm snapping them. It's electric. Electric pain in my uterus.
Second of all, it's hard to breathe when I'm bent over (or walking up the stairs for that matter). This is the result of a few things - my increased blood volume, my lowered iron stores, and, you guessed it, my internal human and her living room creeping into my breathing space.
Last of all, my balance. We've discussed this before, and it's not getting any better (obviously), so bending over or standing on one foot, not a good idea. Every time I bend forward to pick something up, blood rushes to my head and for a split second, I realize how dangerously close said head is to the floor. And the next second consists of me contemplating a head contusion, and hoping this isn't how it ends.
I realize that in the grand scheme of all thing pregnant lady, I'm whining about almost nothing. And I do honestly appreciate how lucky I've been. I barely felt any morning sickness, I didn't get the crippling fatigue I read so much about, and so far, I've escaped any midnight pickle and ice cream sandwich cravings. I'm peeing a little on the frequent side of the spectrum, but that's not all that new for me, and I haven't been starving all night. Mostly, I've just had awesome sex dreams, and that's not much to complain about.
All in all, I'm almost a little bummed by the lack of attention I'm able to garner from the hubs and others, because other than the hand free of a glass of wine, I've been exactly the same these last 6 months. My weight gain has (thank WHOEVER is responsible for these things...I don't believe in god per se, but there is a higher power out there looking out for me) been pretty manageable, I've had no cravings, low fatigue and, other than my balance issues, I've been pretty much the same (and let's face it, I wasn't so good with the balance before either).
However, this isn't to say it's not coming. Everyone I talk to and everything I read tells me that as of Wednesday, I exit the glory trimester and head into the third, final and apparently most difficult trimester there is. And so, as I look at my belly I think, it can't get any bigger than this? I mean, really, if my shoes are this hard to get on and off now, and if staying upright is this much of a challenge, then surely I'm doomed. But I know it's coming. I mean, my darling is growing by the moment in there, I can feel it. And no one has ever had a healthy baby after 3 months of non-growth. So it is inevitable (not only that, but it's anticipated and highly requested that she continue to grow her little heart out in there..I'd never pick fashionable footwear or grace over my baby girl). I will continue to grow, and apparently, more so than before. And I'm sure that I'll have some new and exciting symptoms as a courtesy of my internal human....
But at least it's great blog fodder :D
"I'm never going to be like that"
Saturday, December 19, 2009
I had one of those moments today. The one I'm sure every first time mother to be has, where she is standing in some store, watching a poor mother struggle with her purse, the diaper bag and a stroller, while her child has a magnitude 10 breakdown. And just when it seems like she's almost done and free from the store, she drops her wallet, and cards and money go spiraling everywhere. The one where you think to yourself "OMG, is that what I'm in for?" and that follows.
I went to Toys R Us today, because I am a glutton for punishment and felt the need to punish myself hard. It's 6 days before Christmas and I live downtown, so you can imagine how pleasant it was in there. I think there have been natural disasters that were better organized (and somewhat cleaner) than that place was today. I only went because I needed 1 thing, and I knew what it was. I figured I could be in and out in a few minutes, and blissfully tick SOMETHING off my ever growing to do list. And you know, from my perspective, it wasn't that bad. I didn't have to walk mindlessly up and down the aisle, trying to figure out what a 4 year old would like (why are there not lists for this in the toy stores, honestly?), or if my sister would hate me for buying her child a drum set (side note, the answer to that question is always YES!). I just needed to grab one small thing for my niece, and be on my way.
I must have been in there for 30 mins, because as a 6 month pregnant lady, I can't resist the urge to peruse the baby stuff, and in the time I was in there, I witnessed a few things I wish I hadn't. I guess Toys R Us at Christmas is where you go, when you want to study parenting, and what not to do (as an aside, this part of my story has nothing to do with the aforementioned poor woman above...I'll get back to her later).
First, I was in the infant/toddler toy area, grabbing what I needed, and I saw a cute little girl, daydreaming, walking up the aisle, fingering the shiny pink plastic toys that are all at her level. I smiled at her, and she shyly looked away. I try not to creep other people's kids in the toy store, so I moved away from her a little bit. I didn't see her parents around, but surely they were close by, because she couldn't have been much past the age of 3. She didn't seem overly concerned by the lack of parents either so I didn't think much of it. A few moments later, as I stood trying to decide between 2 seemingly the same toys, a woman comes up, frazzled and sweating, and yells in a shrill and unnecessary voice "Arianna, what the hell are you doing? I told you we were going to the check-out. We're leaving. Stop daydreaming and GET OVER HERE".
I'm one of those people who has a hard time biting my tongue and I really wanted to snap back at her "you expected your 3 year old to know what the check out was? And did you seriously just say HELL to your child? And you want her to stop daydreaming? STOP? That's the best part of being a little girl you troll". But I didn't. I just gave her one of those dirty looks, that indicated I was less than impressed, and watched her drag her poor child away by the arm, walking faster than her daughter possibly could, practically ripping her arm from the socket. At this moment, I took a breath and made a mental note. I filed this under "remember how that looked and felt" and thought to myself, "I'm never going to be like that".
Now I'm not on a high horse. I clearly don't have a child yet, and I don't know what the background was here. I don't know the pressures of shopping with a daydreaming toddler, 6 days before Christmas, with the heat cranked up to scorching, and the noise level at a steady 11. But I do know that asking my 3 year old "what the hell" is never appropriate. Ever. And I have mega potty mouth. There are so many things wrong with the scenario, that I could go on about. But let me just say, that was the first (but not last) time in Toys R Us, I thought "I'm never going to be like that".
There was a series of other events that happened over the next few minutes. I watched a lot of angry parents give their children grief about being distracted and not paying attention. I mean, it's not like you brought them to a giant toy store 6 days before Christmas with 1500 other children, so I can imagine why you'd expect them to be focused. I heard a lot of people use "if you don't smarten up, I'm going to call Santa and tell him not to bring you anything!" in an attempt to negotiate with their kids on a fear based level. And we know this will never happen, because at no point ever in history, has a parent cancelled Christmas for their child because they asked for a package of Pop Rocks 17 times. And I saw a lot of tantrums, but those are unavoidable. And while I watched the pandemonium, I thought to myself several times "I'm never going to be like that". Except, in these instances, I am not so sure I can guarantee this. I know things happen, and again, I've haven't yet been there, so I'm sure I'll be one of these parents at some point, that someone else looks at and says "I'm never going to be like that".
I think the most painful thing I saw was a woman, with her sheepish and clearly doormat like husband, timidly carrying packages while she ran off at the mouth about how bad the food was at the neighbours party last night. She had with her 2 sons, I'd guess around 6 and 9. And one of them yawned, clearly bored of her trash talking story, and of being in the pretty princess section of the store. She stopped, looked right at him, and without missing a beat, said loudly and clearly "I told you to cover your mouth when you yawn. That's DISGUSTING. None of these people want to see your disgusting mouth. Grow up". And then continued on, bashing her neighbours meatballs.
Now, I don't know about any of you, but I guess I missed this part of etiquette school. Are we actually supposed to cover our mouths when we yawn? I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of times I definitely do not. And other than perhaps not wanting to show the world my fillings, I don't really see the issue. And is it that disgusting? The yawning and his mouth? I mean, really, his yawn did not affect me in any way shape or form. Her bitching did. I was embarrassed for her children, and her husband, and I felt a little sorry for them. Not just for her outburst, but for the simple fact that she was such a hag. And I again thought to myself, and this time I KNEW, I'm never going to be like that. I'm not. I can't imagine talking to my family in that tone, in that manner. I cannot imagine telling my son he's disgusting, and I certainly can't imagine embarrassing my family that much. If it was really that much of an issue for her, she could have quietly said something constructive, and saved us all the awkwardness. Me and another family in the aisle shared a look or pity and anger, and quietly walked away. Again, in my mind I was telling her she should grow up and stop being such a bitch but, I was trying to stay in the Christmas spirit.
Now, for my last poor mother. This was a situation where, I didn't think "I'm never going to be like that". It was a situation where I thought to myself, "I hope that never happens to me". As I mentioned, she was alone and struggling through the store, stroller, diaper bag and purse in hand, carrying a basket full of toys and trying to console her hysterical child. There she stood, in the long long line, probably so close to being done her shopping she could taste is, and just trying to survive the next 10 mins. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she stood, sweating in her coat, trying to figure out how to manage all the stuff she had with her, while getting a bottle of of the diaper bag. And no one was helping. No, in true Christmas spirit, instead of the guy in front of her clearing his 1 item off the counter so should could use it, or the person behind her backing up so she had a bit more space to maneuver, people just stood there. They stood there with asshole face, looking down their nose at her and whispering to each other about the state of her son.
Now I have no idea what prompted the child's outbreak, but I'm sure there was some toy negotiation gone wrong, and he was now just sulking. Well, not sulking, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. And she was at a loss. Missing that ever needed 3rd arm, she struggled to find a way to soothe him, and hoping the woman at the check out would just STOP pontificating and buy the damn Barbie (why do people do this, ever, but specifically at Christmas? Stand at the check out, contemplating the pros and cons of 2 items? Do that in the aisle people, do it IN THE AISLE), so she could move ahead 1 space and get this over with. The look on her face was one that screamed "I'm sorry" to those around her. She knew her son was causing some headaches, but at some point, what can she do?
I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to help. Unfortunately, I was 3 aisles over, suffering my own pregnant lady hot flash and wishing the stinky dirty man behind me would STOP COUGHING in my hair. I shot her a sympathetic look, and watched in pain as she finally reached the counter, only to drop her wallet as she fumbled to get it from her purse, sending the contents flying everywhere. Coins bounced and rolled, cards skidded across the floor and receipts fluttered to the ground. And she looked like she was going to cry. And once again, no one helped her. Her son screamed louder, and I thought for sure she was going to lose it. If anyone deserved to, it was her.
But you know, she surprised me. She actually laughed. She threw up her hands, and laughed. Now, perhaps that was the incident that pushed her over the edge, and she has just completely gone bananas, but, I don't know. She picked up a card from the floor, handed it to the cashier, and let her process the payment as she proceeded to pick up the contents of her life. Her hands free, she handed her son a MumMum, giving him something to focus on that actually turned his screams into hiccupy sobs, and she composed herself. Some kids helped her get the remaining AWOL change, she pushed her flattened, frazzled hair from her shiny red forehead, grabbed her bags, and fairly calmly pushed her son out of the store.
And for the first time that day, I thought to myself "I hope I can be exactly like that".
I went to Toys R Us today, because I am a glutton for punishment and felt the need to punish myself hard. It's 6 days before Christmas and I live downtown, so you can imagine how pleasant it was in there. I think there have been natural disasters that were better organized (and somewhat cleaner) than that place was today. I only went because I needed 1 thing, and I knew what it was. I figured I could be in and out in a few minutes, and blissfully tick SOMETHING off my ever growing to do list. And you know, from my perspective, it wasn't that bad. I didn't have to walk mindlessly up and down the aisle, trying to figure out what a 4 year old would like (why are there not lists for this in the toy stores, honestly?), or if my sister would hate me for buying her child a drum set (side note, the answer to that question is always YES!). I just needed to grab one small thing for my niece, and be on my way.
I must have been in there for 30 mins, because as a 6 month pregnant lady, I can't resist the urge to peruse the baby stuff, and in the time I was in there, I witnessed a few things I wish I hadn't. I guess Toys R Us at Christmas is where you go, when you want to study parenting, and what not to do (as an aside, this part of my story has nothing to do with the aforementioned poor woman above...I'll get back to her later).
First, I was in the infant/toddler toy area, grabbing what I needed, and I saw a cute little girl, daydreaming, walking up the aisle, fingering the shiny pink plastic toys that are all at her level. I smiled at her, and she shyly looked away. I try not to creep other people's kids in the toy store, so I moved away from her a little bit. I didn't see her parents around, but surely they were close by, because she couldn't have been much past the age of 3. She didn't seem overly concerned by the lack of parents either so I didn't think much of it. A few moments later, as I stood trying to decide between 2 seemingly the same toys, a woman comes up, frazzled and sweating, and yells in a shrill and unnecessary voice "Arianna, what the hell are you doing? I told you we were going to the check-out. We're leaving. Stop daydreaming and GET OVER HERE".
I'm one of those people who has a hard time biting my tongue and I really wanted to snap back at her "you expected your 3 year old to know what the check out was? And did you seriously just say HELL to your child? And you want her to stop daydreaming? STOP? That's the best part of being a little girl you troll". But I didn't. I just gave her one of those dirty looks, that indicated I was less than impressed, and watched her drag her poor child away by the arm, walking faster than her daughter possibly could, practically ripping her arm from the socket. At this moment, I took a breath and made a mental note. I filed this under "remember how that looked and felt" and thought to myself, "I'm never going to be like that".
Now I'm not on a high horse. I clearly don't have a child yet, and I don't know what the background was here. I don't know the pressures of shopping with a daydreaming toddler, 6 days before Christmas, with the heat cranked up to scorching, and the noise level at a steady 11. But I do know that asking my 3 year old "what the hell" is never appropriate. Ever. And I have mega potty mouth. There are so many things wrong with the scenario, that I could go on about. But let me just say, that was the first (but not last) time in Toys R Us, I thought "I'm never going to be like that".
There was a series of other events that happened over the next few minutes. I watched a lot of angry parents give their children grief about being distracted and not paying attention. I mean, it's not like you brought them to a giant toy store 6 days before Christmas with 1500 other children, so I can imagine why you'd expect them to be focused. I heard a lot of people use "if you don't smarten up, I'm going to call Santa and tell him not to bring you anything!" in an attempt to negotiate with their kids on a fear based level. And we know this will never happen, because at no point ever in history, has a parent cancelled Christmas for their child because they asked for a package of Pop Rocks 17 times. And I saw a lot of tantrums, but those are unavoidable. And while I watched the pandemonium, I thought to myself several times "I'm never going to be like that". Except, in these instances, I am not so sure I can guarantee this. I know things happen, and again, I've haven't yet been there, so I'm sure I'll be one of these parents at some point, that someone else looks at and says "I'm never going to be like that".
I think the most painful thing I saw was a woman, with her sheepish and clearly doormat like husband, timidly carrying packages while she ran off at the mouth about how bad the food was at the neighbours party last night. She had with her 2 sons, I'd guess around 6 and 9. And one of them yawned, clearly bored of her trash talking story, and of being in the pretty princess section of the store. She stopped, looked right at him, and without missing a beat, said loudly and clearly "I told you to cover your mouth when you yawn. That's DISGUSTING. None of these people want to see your disgusting mouth. Grow up". And then continued on, bashing her neighbours meatballs.
Now, I don't know about any of you, but I guess I missed this part of etiquette school. Are we actually supposed to cover our mouths when we yawn? I mean, sometimes I do, but a lot of times I definitely do not. And other than perhaps not wanting to show the world my fillings, I don't really see the issue. And is it that disgusting? The yawning and his mouth? I mean, really, his yawn did not affect me in any way shape or form. Her bitching did. I was embarrassed for her children, and her husband, and I felt a little sorry for them. Not just for her outburst, but for the simple fact that she was such a hag. And I again thought to myself, and this time I KNEW, I'm never going to be like that. I'm not. I can't imagine talking to my family in that tone, in that manner. I cannot imagine telling my son he's disgusting, and I certainly can't imagine embarrassing my family that much. If it was really that much of an issue for her, she could have quietly said something constructive, and saved us all the awkwardness. Me and another family in the aisle shared a look or pity and anger, and quietly walked away. Again, in my mind I was telling her she should grow up and stop being such a bitch but, I was trying to stay in the Christmas spirit.
Now, for my last poor mother. This was a situation where, I didn't think "I'm never going to be like that". It was a situation where I thought to myself, "I hope that never happens to me". As I mentioned, she was alone and struggling through the store, stroller, diaper bag and purse in hand, carrying a basket full of toys and trying to console her hysterical child. There she stood, in the long long line, probably so close to being done her shopping she could taste is, and just trying to survive the next 10 mins. Overwhelmed and frustrated, she stood, sweating in her coat, trying to figure out how to manage all the stuff she had with her, while getting a bottle of of the diaper bag. And no one was helping. No, in true Christmas spirit, instead of the guy in front of her clearing his 1 item off the counter so should could use it, or the person behind her backing up so she had a bit more space to maneuver, people just stood there. They stood there with asshole face, looking down their nose at her and whispering to each other about the state of her son.
Now I have no idea what prompted the child's outbreak, but I'm sure there was some toy negotiation gone wrong, and he was now just sulking. Well, not sulking, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. And she was at a loss. Missing that ever needed 3rd arm, she struggled to find a way to soothe him, and hoping the woman at the check out would just STOP pontificating and buy the damn Barbie (why do people do this, ever, but specifically at Christmas? Stand at the check out, contemplating the pros and cons of 2 items? Do that in the aisle people, do it IN THE AISLE), so she could move ahead 1 space and get this over with. The look on her face was one that screamed "I'm sorry" to those around her. She knew her son was causing some headaches, but at some point, what can she do?
I stood there for a moment, wondering what I could do to help. Unfortunately, I was 3 aisles over, suffering my own pregnant lady hot flash and wishing the stinky dirty man behind me would STOP COUGHING in my hair. I shot her a sympathetic look, and watched in pain as she finally reached the counter, only to drop her wallet as she fumbled to get it from her purse, sending the contents flying everywhere. Coins bounced and rolled, cards skidded across the floor and receipts fluttered to the ground. And she looked like she was going to cry. And once again, no one helped her. Her son screamed louder, and I thought for sure she was going to lose it. If anyone deserved to, it was her.
But you know, she surprised me. She actually laughed. She threw up her hands, and laughed. Now, perhaps that was the incident that pushed her over the edge, and she has just completely gone bananas, but, I don't know. She picked up a card from the floor, handed it to the cashier, and let her process the payment as she proceeded to pick up the contents of her life. Her hands free, she handed her son a MumMum, giving him something to focus on that actually turned his screams into hiccupy sobs, and she composed herself. Some kids helped her get the remaining AWOL change, she pushed her flattened, frazzled hair from her shiny red forehead, grabbed her bags, and fairly calmly pushed her son out of the store.
And for the first time that day, I thought to myself "I hope I can be exactly like that".
Dear Gluocodex...I did not know you were akin to magic mushrooms...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What a strange and unusual thing you are Gluocodex. A sickly sweet and painfully potent cocktail of sugar, water and orange flavoured sugar.....did I mention the sugar?
This morning I drank you. I drank 500 ml's of you, and sat, and waited for the longest hour of my entire life, I waited. I am not sure what I was waiting for, but the nice ladies in the blue scrubs and dangerously comfortable shoes assured me I needed to wait. I had an hour to pass, so I thought to myself, I shall read my book. I should have known better.
My book is close to 600 pages long. In tiny font. I'm reading Wicked for the book club and I've only a month left to get through the remaining 460 pages...with Christmas and New Years peppered in there for distraction. So I thought 1 hour of uninterrupted reading time - PRIME. Even better that it was occurring during the day, when I was supposed to be at work.
But I neglected to realize the psychedelic effect that much sugar would have on my body. I'm not a sugar person by nature. Sure here and there I indulge, and over Christmas there have been many an opportunity to do just that. But overall, I am not a sugar eater. And regardless, that is more sugar than any human has ever ingested willingly, in one sitting. And this includes the time my sister stole a box of Pot of Gold chocolates from under the grandparents Christmas tree, and ate the evidence in an hour, before anyone could find out. Too bad for her, she neglected to also eat the box and wrappers.
As usual, I digress. Whatever is in that cavity inducing beverage (at least they chill it for you, but no vodka) made my head spin. And not in a "I'm feeling a little dizzy" type way, but in such a bad way, I felt the need to reach up and make sure it wasn't literally spinning like a top. It wasn't, but it felt like it. The lights got brighter and dimmer, and I started to see things I'm pretty sure weren't there. Between the sparkly lights of the clinic waiting room, and the medicinal smell, I started to wonder if I'd passed into another realm.
So I sat, pretending to read my book, praying that this would not be the first time in my pregnancy I needed to uncontrollably vomit. Something about that orange syrup mixed with this morning Cheerios, spewed all over the shiny white floors seemed uncivilized.
Lucky for me, I manages to avoid projectile vomit, but that hour was no more tolerable for it. I spun, got dizzy and of course became increasing hungry. I wanted to lie down, or at the very least curl up on the chair, but I couldn't. I couldn't because those chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and lets face it, a lot of sick people sit in them. The uncomfortable nature of this mornings events were further compounded by my inability to cross my legs. Well I mean it's certainly not that I CAN'T cross them, but I'm trying my hardest not to. These road map spider veins aren't going to get any better on their own, and I'm doing my best not to further anger them. But have you ever tried to not cross your legs? As a woman I find it easier to stop blinking or breathing that to avoid the natural tendency to cross my legs. I hate it, I just want to cross them, but I also want to wear skirts again one day, so I have to suffer a little longer without it. I'm hoping I break the habit all together by then, but so far it's not looking good.
The only one of us who seemed to enjoy this mornings adventure was the little one. She sucked that sugar back like the drug it truly is, and spent the better part of the hour getting her groove on. I'm not sure where she learned her dance moves, but it unfortunately feels like she learned them from Elaine on Seinfeld. Here's to hoping she gets some of her fathers musical aptitude after all. She is now resting, after such a high, and so she should. I'm just jealous I have no where to curl up and sleep. I feel like I'm doing all the work in this relationship, but I suppose in her defense, she IS working on becoming a fully functional whole person, so I'll cut her some slack.
In any event, there I sat, baby girl kicking me fiendishly from the inside, my head swimming, my heart racing. I sat - dizzy, tired, hungry and uncomfortable, watching the seconds tick by. I swear at least twice I saw them stop ticking all together. When it was all said and done, the nice lady took my blood and sent me on my way. And that was it. An hour of time spent, and a 30 second test.
I've got to wait to find out the results, but I'm crossing all my crossables (with the exception of my legs, those are virtually crossed) that I don't have to go back for the dreaded 3 hour test. Because if I have to see spots like that for 3 hours, I'm surely going to puke. And I haven't puked since I was a kid.
This morning I drank you. I drank 500 ml's of you, and sat, and waited for the longest hour of my entire life, I waited. I am not sure what I was waiting for, but the nice ladies in the blue scrubs and dangerously comfortable shoes assured me I needed to wait. I had an hour to pass, so I thought to myself, I shall read my book. I should have known better.
My book is close to 600 pages long. In tiny font. I'm reading Wicked for the book club and I've only a month left to get through the remaining 460 pages...with Christmas and New Years peppered in there for distraction. So I thought 1 hour of uninterrupted reading time - PRIME. Even better that it was occurring during the day, when I was supposed to be at work.
But I neglected to realize the psychedelic effect that much sugar would have on my body. I'm not a sugar person by nature. Sure here and there I indulge, and over Christmas there have been many an opportunity to do just that. But overall, I am not a sugar eater. And regardless, that is more sugar than any human has ever ingested willingly, in one sitting. And this includes the time my sister stole a box of Pot of Gold chocolates from under the grandparents Christmas tree, and ate the evidence in an hour, before anyone could find out. Too bad for her, she neglected to also eat the box and wrappers.
As usual, I digress. Whatever is in that cavity inducing beverage (at least they chill it for you, but no vodka) made my head spin. And not in a "I'm feeling a little dizzy" type way, but in such a bad way, I felt the need to reach up and make sure it wasn't literally spinning like a top. It wasn't, but it felt like it. The lights got brighter and dimmer, and I started to see things I'm pretty sure weren't there. Between the sparkly lights of the clinic waiting room, and the medicinal smell, I started to wonder if I'd passed into another realm.
So I sat, pretending to read my book, praying that this would not be the first time in my pregnancy I needed to uncontrollably vomit. Something about that orange syrup mixed with this morning Cheerios, spewed all over the shiny white floors seemed uncivilized.
Lucky for me, I manages to avoid projectile vomit, but that hour was no more tolerable for it. I spun, got dizzy and of course became increasing hungry. I wanted to lie down, or at the very least curl up on the chair, but I couldn't. I couldn't because those chairs are plastic and uncomfortable, and lets face it, a lot of sick people sit in them. The uncomfortable nature of this mornings events were further compounded by my inability to cross my legs. Well I mean it's certainly not that I CAN'T cross them, but I'm trying my hardest not to. These road map spider veins aren't going to get any better on their own, and I'm doing my best not to further anger them. But have you ever tried to not cross your legs? As a woman I find it easier to stop blinking or breathing that to avoid the natural tendency to cross my legs. I hate it, I just want to cross them, but I also want to wear skirts again one day, so I have to suffer a little longer without it. I'm hoping I break the habit all together by then, but so far it's not looking good.
The only one of us who seemed to enjoy this mornings adventure was the little one. She sucked that sugar back like the drug it truly is, and spent the better part of the hour getting her groove on. I'm not sure where she learned her dance moves, but it unfortunately feels like she learned them from Elaine on Seinfeld. Here's to hoping she gets some of her fathers musical aptitude after all. She is now resting, after such a high, and so she should. I'm just jealous I have no where to curl up and sleep. I feel like I'm doing all the work in this relationship, but I suppose in her defense, she IS working on becoming a fully functional whole person, so I'll cut her some slack.
In any event, there I sat, baby girl kicking me fiendishly from the inside, my head swimming, my heart racing. I sat - dizzy, tired, hungry and uncomfortable, watching the seconds tick by. I swear at least twice I saw them stop ticking all together. When it was all said and done, the nice lady took my blood and sent me on my way. And that was it. An hour of time spent, and a 30 second test.
I've got to wait to find out the results, but I'm crossing all my crossables (with the exception of my legs, those are virtually crossed) that I don't have to go back for the dreaded 3 hour test. Because if I have to see spots like that for 3 hours, I'm surely going to puke. And I haven't puked since I was a kid.
WTH Wednesday - spider veins, fashion and trying to sell my washer and dryer...
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Even though it's 6:43pm on Wednesday, I am going to WTH Wednesday anyway...it's before midnight so I get points for that.
We've been trying to sell a brand new washer and dryer on Craigslist for about a week now, and while I've had an obscene amount of emails, I've had no buyers. Lots of people ask me if they are still available, and when I reply with my phone number, that is where the correspondence ends. I had one guy, make a 2.5 hour drive in the snow, to take one look at it and say "it's too small".The thing is, the specs are ALL on the posting. Every one. The width, depth, height, and ALL the manufacturers details about how many pairs of jeans it'll fit, the whole shebang. They are brand new, never even hooked up, and in perfect condition. I talked to his wife not once, not twice but FIVE times on the before she sent her husband all the way out here to look at it, AND the ad clearly states the set it stackable. So WTH? 2.5 hours IN THE SNOW, to look at it for 2 seconds and leave without it. WTH? I had another woman tell me she was very interested and ask me not to sell them without calling her, and then disappear. WTH? I'm not putting shit on layaway over here.
That boring tidbit aside, some of my other WTH moments pertain to this strange body I now carry around and pretend is mine. Since I clearly have no control over it, with a protruding belly button and a hiccuping vagina, I've decided it belongs to my daughter. I am nothing but a host for this being, and this becomes increasingly apparent as I notice strange and unusual things happening.
One of these such things relates to fluids which have been exiting my body. Now, I promised I wouldn't blog about this, because I'm pretty sure no one wants to hear it but, honestly, I don't get it. And so, this WTH moment will start and end with just that. WTH fluids, what....the.....HECK?
The next thing I don't understand is why it looks like I've fallen down a flight of stairs. I've got bruises on my arms, bruises on my hips, bruises on areas of my body I am sure has never touched anything else? My legs are the worst. And I mean, we know I'm a total klutz, so these ones are less of a surprise. But to have one bruise melt into the other in such a way, that there is an area the size of a big mac (ok I've only had one big mac in my life, at 4am, after a lot of drinks, at the age of 27 but, I've seen them on TV) that shows no skin tone, is disconcerting to say the least. I considered making a doctors appointment to look into this, but then I'll just get swine flu in the waiting room and have him look at me in that "is this chick for real" way, so I'm opting out. A simple solution would be to stop falling down and walking into things, but, let's face it, if that was an option I would have exercised it long ago. So, I will just go on looking like I fell down the steps, or like DH is beating me, discretely below the knee, until this baby is born. And then I'll likely go back to my regularly scheduled bruising. Even though I've accepted it, I'm still going to say WTH bruises? WTH?
And while we're on the topic of strangely coloured, blood related things making my body look strange, can we look at my spider veins? What am I 97? Who gets a road map of spider veins on their legs so ugly and convoluted it looks like a never ending tour through some backwoods mountains? I mean, I know these are common in pregnancy, but I've never had one before, and I honestly didn't anticipate them taking over my legs. Especially since they are all roads that lead to bruises? WTH?
I could what the heck my bulging belly and widening arse but, let's face it, that isn't interesting at all. However, I will WTH my skirts, which are all now riding up in front and making it difficult to wear them. I've been trapped between maternity clothes and my regular attire for what seems like an entire lifetime (when in reality it has been about 10 weeks) and I'm not sure when I'll be able to comfortably fit into either end of the spectrum. My regular clothes, while a great way to show off the bump, also do nasty things like flash midriff at the office (gasp, midriff. Not since I was 16 was this acceptable, and even then, it was questionable) or stretch into bizarre shapes which look so much more awkward than flattering. My pants provide the unwelcome combination of being tight around the thighs (that's water retention right, RIGHT?) and the full frontal wedgie...I'll let you think about that one for awhile. My regular wardrobe also does it's best to accentuate my protruding belly button, and the fact that the tights or legging I am wearing are cutting across my belly like a too small rubber band trying to contain a pillow. WTH.
Now my maternity clothes, they are often a better option - comfort wise. Not so much in terms of fashion and appearance. I've complained about this before, but this isn't even about the ugly patterns and cheap scratchy fabric. This is about my body and it's usual issue, nothing fitting it properly. I've always struggled with pants that are too short and gape in the back, or shirts that are either too short or too big. So why I thought this would change, I don't know. So here I am, in maternity pants, trying to put on a belt. Yes, a belt in my maternity jeans. You see, that panel, while comfortable and oh so sexy, does nothing to help keep my pants on. So in an attempt to conceal my ever widening butt crack, I am forever pulling them up. So maternity pants, WTH? What am I supposed to do? Shoving myself into my old pants is like trying to get my sleeping bag back into the bag in which it came, it ain't happening with any ease. WTH? And shirts, well shirts, I'd like to know how my boobs can be too big, and my belly be to small to satisfy your weird shape. Honestly clothes, WTH? The only thing still cooperating with me are my shoes. Which is good, because I love my shoes in a slightly unhealthy way and I don't know what I'd do if they betrayed me.
So that's my WTH for today.
Now my maternity clothes, they are often a better option - comfort wise. Not so much in terms of fashion and appearance. I've complained about this before, but this isn't even about the ugly patterns and cheap scratchy fabric. This is about my body and it's usual issue, nothing fitting it properly. I've always struggled with pants that are too short and gape in the back, or shirts that are either too short or too big. So why I thought this would change, I don't know. So here I am, in maternity pants, trying to put on a belt. Yes, a belt in my maternity jeans. You see, that panel, while comfortable and oh so sexy, does nothing to help keep my pants on. So in an attempt to conceal my ever widening butt crack, I am forever pulling them up. So maternity pants, WTH? What am I supposed to do? Shoving myself into my old pants is like trying to get my sleeping bag back into the bag in which it came, it ain't happening with any ease. WTH? And shirts, well shirts, I'd like to know how my boobs can be too big, and my belly be to small to satisfy your weird shape. Honestly clothes, WTH? The only thing still cooperating with me are my shoes. Which is good, because I love my shoes in a slightly unhealthy way and I don't know what I'd do if they betrayed me.
So that's my WTH for today.
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