Indulge Me

I really think I’ve been a good pregnant person so far.  I mean, I have my moments, but I’m typically an emotional wreck on a good day, so can you really blame me?  As cliché as it sounds, I really am blessed to be pregnant, and I promised myself I wouldn’t complain.  But I need to.  Just this once, I swear (please don’t hold me to this).

Its hot.  And its May.  I don’t do heat well.  I’m a sweater.  A big, gross, nasty sweater.  And my house gets hot.  It was 85 degrees in here at 5:45pm.  Did I mention that its May?  We have window ACs, but, aside for the bedroom, they don’t really do much good in a raised ranch.  At least I can be cool when I sleep.  But getting out of the shower into the heat and being and staying sweaty all day?  Kill me now.

The heat thing is something I dread every year, pregnant or not.  I just know that the bigger I get, the worse it will be.  And as I get bigger, it will get hotter.  I tricked myself into thinking this would all be okay.  I was incorrect.

The worst part is, I just can’t handle it.  I don’t know if I’m truly more emotional, or if I think its just okay to sob because I’m pregnant.  Case in point: Sunday morning, I get up, make coffee, do a few dishes.  J got up and started making us breakfast, so I started chopping some veggies to grill later.  I put them in a bag to marinate with oil & vinegar & spices, sealed the bag, and turned it upside down to distribute the seasonings.  And it opened.  All over the fridge, in a drawer, in the 7th circle of hell space between the stove and the fridge, in between my toes, on one of the only pairs of PJ pants I can squeeze my butt into, etc.  And I had a complete, sobbing meltdown.  This continued through Baxter trying to eat my toiletry kit from my gym bag (hey!  I went last week!) and me not being able to get him under the bed because my stomach was in the way, and through me fixing the screen door for the umpteenth time while Baxter peed on the floor.  At 10am (this was already a long morning), J put the air conditioner in the bedroom and put me to bed to cool down, literally and figuratively.

I may not make it through the next 13-1/2 weeks.  If I have to tell the dog to stop eating the couch one more time, or pretend to be so excited about a kibble ball again, I may send him back to the side of the road he came from.  Getting dressed is becoming more of an ordeal (and really, why sell spaghetti strap maternity dresses if you’re not going to sell strapless maternity bras?  Also, why did I have to get all size small race tee shirts?  Why didn’t my ego allow me to grab a large now and then?  And why are J’s tee shirts just as small?)  I’m becoming more and more tired as the days go on, and all I want to do is lay in bed and watch How I Met Your Mother re-runs.  And yes, I know this will all get worse.  People tell me this constantly.  Thank you, by the way, that really helps my emotional well-being.

OK, I’m done.

Professional Excuse Maker for Hire

In short, I suck at the gym.

A year ago, I joined a gym in the next town over from me.  I had high hopes, and, per usual, they fell short.  I went maybe once a weekend, almost never during the week.  It did come in handy for hot showers when we lost power for a week last summer.  But it just wasn’t convenient.  It wasn’t near the train, and it wasn’t on my way home from my job when I moved to RI.  Can you be a professional excuse maker?  Between that and worrying, I’m the best ever.

So, when my one year contract was up, I joined the gym at BAC.  Its cheap, and how much more convenient can you get?  Plus, I could run or walk during the day and shower before going back to work.  They even have towels and soap/shampoo provided.  Really, no room for excuses.

Ha.  Every Monday, I dutifully drop my bag off in the gym.  And every Friday, I faithfully pick it up.  It doesn’t move in the five days in between.  I open the door on Friday, and say hi to the girl at the desk.  When I do, I picture her thinking, “oh, good, she’s coming to work out.”  And then I feel as though I disappoint her when I slink out with my bag, avoiding eye contact.  I like to try to convince myself that she doesn’t know that I didn’t work out every day that week, maybe I’m just exhausted.  Maybe I spent 2 hours at the gym in the morning.  Who is she to judge?

But in the end, I head for my car (which is a long walk away, for the record.  And I take the stairs in the garage.  Take that gym judger) and home to my Chinese take out.  And I promise myself I’ll be better, yet cry a bit each month when the money for the gym is deducted from my checking account and I realize I’m averaging $20/visit.  I’ll go this week, I swear.

The Business of Being Baxter

When we got Baxter, I knew it wouldn’t be cheap.  He hadn’t had any shots and wasn’t fixed, and we had no dog supplies at all.  So I knew, roughly, what to plan for.  These were the things I didn’t expect:

 

One trip to the ER after John stepped on a nail chasing Baxter through the woods, plus antibiotics and a trip to McDonalds to ease the pain: $175

 

One phone call to the Pet Poison Hotline when Baxter ate an undetermined amount of my pre-natal vitamins: $65

 

Shoes of various kinds and sizes: $50 (Luckily, I like cheap shoes)

 

One dog bed, lifespan of 2 weeks: $15

 

Two harnesses, chewed off in desperation by the poor soul left alone for hours in his crate: $30

 

Three retractable leashes that proved no match to the strength of a 15 pound puppy: $15

 

One Build-A-Bear Puppy, who was humped shamelessly before he had his face chewed off: $30

 

One butter crock and one piece of pottery from our honeymoon to Costa Rica: $30 (plus tears)

 

He is really, really, lucky he’s so cute.

Once Again, I’m Back and I’ll Be Better

Did you miss me?  Here’s what’s been up in Beer Me Strength-land:

This little baby ball of fur:

Is now this giant beast:

Baxter now weighs around 45 pounds, and we think he’s a boxer/shepherd mix.  He’s about 5 months old, and very much a puppy, despite his growing size and strength.  He’s not even a little bit graceful – he’s just a big, clumsy mutt.  If he wants to be somewhere and you’re in his way, he walks right into you.  He barks at the doorbell on TV, he runs into walls, and he thinks lotion on someone’s legs is a special treat.  He loves other dogs, and especially loves the dog park.  He’s still a lot of work, we have to watch every little thing he does, but he is growing up and getting better and smarter.  He graduated from Puppy Kindergarten,  knows some tricks, and loves his crate (unless Uncle Greg is babysitting).

Aside from chasing after Baxter constantly, some of the things while I’ve been on hiatus include:

• We rang in the New Year with Chinese food, Baxter and Dick Clark.  Look how thrilled he was:

• My BFF had her twins in January, and after a stay in the NICU, they’re home screaming their baby heads off.  They’re adorable, and clearly love me the most.
• After a few months of being a stay at home dog dad, J found a job he loves, and we’re all adjusting to a regular schedule once again.  Baxter stays in his crate all day and wreaks havoc at night, J & I are back to sharing household responsibilities (rather than him doing 90% of them) and I am getting used to starting my own car in the morning.  Okay, I was a little spoiled by his work hiatus, but he’s really happy to be back at work, and its working out well.
• Since J has a new job and doesn’t want to take vacation yet, we took a weekend trip to Burlington, VT, to eat, taste beer, and hang with the dirty hippies.  We left late on a Friday night, and didn’t get there until midnight.  I hate long car rides, and was not thrilled.  But we had a blast Saturday and Sunday, eating gingerbread pancakes, cheese and bread, and awesome pizza.  We did a lot of walking, and took tours of Magic Hat and Ben & Jerrys.  It was an excellent fatty vacation.  And probably our last, since Baxter was so poorly behaved we lost the one person willing to dog sit for him.  Oh well!
• I’ve probably been doing a million things since I’ve been absent from blogging, but the biggest one is creating life.  From the mouth of Baxter:

Look how excited he is!  Someone new to torment & harass (and hopefully not eat, we’re working on that!)

J & I are thrilled that our baby girl will be here at the end of August.  I’m a little freaked out by the thought of a mini-me running around and treating me the way I treated my mother when I was a miserable teenager, but I’m trying to not look too far ahead.  I’m focusing on the important details, like: What color dress will she wear home from the hospital?  Will owls in her room scar her for life?  Why is it so hard to find bedding I like?

Focusing on the little things helps me not worry about every little pregnancy detail.  I’ve had a remarkably easy pregnancy so far, no sickness, no exhaustion, no excuses not to make dinner.  Everything is going well, I’m just a professional worrier.  And pregnancy is proving just how crazy worried I can get.  Aside from the fact I’m 90% sure I’ve gained too much weight (is this a surprise?  That fat kid inside of me loves this excuse to not diet, and she loves ice cream, so its kind of a given), the anxiety is the worst side effect I’ve had, so I’ll take it!

As I always promise when I’ve been away for a while, I’ll be better.  And I also promise the following will not happen now that I’m pregnant/about to have a child:

• You will not see the inside of my uterus via ultrasound pictures
• You will not see those weird 4D ultrasound pictures (because I won’t shell out the money for them, they creep me out)
• There probably won’t be a birth story, and if there is, it will be vague and leave out any details that would make you cross your legs
• After the baby comes, I won’t tell poop, puke or pee stories in graphic detail
• This won’t be a baby blog.  This will be a blog with a baby character.  I will still do/write about fun things that don’t revolve around the baby.

So there you have it.  I’ll be back to whine next week when my doctor puts me on a diet!  WIsh me luck!