Alcohol 3.0

I have decided that in direct parallel to the 3 traditional trimesters of pregnancy, there are 3 phases of mentality towards drinking.

In the first stage/trimester, you are so excited that you're pregnant and so intent on keeping it a secret that you make it your personal mission to look nonchalant while drinking an O'Douls from a frosted glass or pretending to drink a glass of wine at a wedding while your husband actually drinks it and begins his own personal pregnancy journey of drinking for 2.

 

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Sure, it's a little hard to go cold turkey but you have much bigger things to think about so it's not that big of a deal.

In the second phase of not drinking/2nd trimester, you are starting to show, still feeling pretty ill and tired, and have developed some sort of bodily 6th sense that tells you to hate the smell and taste of alcohol.  You actually start thinking about giving up alcohol altogether because watching people get drunk is pretty unattractive and you love waking up feeling refreshed and clear headed.  This is known as the easy, holier than thou phase.

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Then comes the 3rd phase/trimester.  You can no longer remember a social function in which you were actually drinking.  Your body's ability to ward off all desires of alcohol has vanished along with your waste line.  You hate all drunk and think they all have serious drinking problems.  And you want go into hibernation until a time in which you can come out and pop some mother f*cking bottles. Not a sip.  Not some bullshit 3 ounce pour that the Today show swears is good for your heart.  You want bottles and bottles of alcohol.  Actually, you want one of those cascading champagne fountains that you see at parties in Vegas on Keeping Up With the Kardashians.  But you want it only for you.  Sorry Scott Disick.  Get your own damn bottle service.  Mama needs her bubbles!

 

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I am currently in the trenches of Phase 3 and it is getting rough.  However, I am beyond excited to only have 2 months left and to be able bid adieu to all my restrictions soon.  But the next few holiday months will likely involve a lot of alcohol spectator sports for me and I'm not sure I'm emotionally prepared to handle it.

It's funny because last time I was pregnant I was the last of all my friends to get pregnant and deliver.  This time I'm the leader of the pack and some of my friends aren't even  pregnant with their second yet.  So after all this time I've been watching everyone drink their luscious glasses of red wine this Fall while I lurk around looking like this:

 

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Just wait for summer ladies.  This is going to be me while everyone else is still just hiding their little Zygote secret:

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But really I will have a 2 year old and an infant so I'll probably look just like I have the last 2 summers:

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Either way you best believe there will be a drank in my hand on the beach!

 

Caress Me Down

Today I got a prenatal massage.

You know what is awkward?  Getting a prenatal massage when you are 23 weeks pregnant from a woman who is 32 weeks pregnant...with twins.

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It felt so great.  But as always, my mind started to wonder...

Does she think I'm a bitch because I'm making her rub my back even though she is two months more pregnant than me, with twice as many babies?

I wonder where in Wilmington has the best Cookies n' Cream ice cream.

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I wonder if she noticed that I only shaved 3/4 of my legs before I came here.

Why is it that when you are pregnant you fart by accident all the time, but go poop on purpose basically never?

I wonder if that hard candy I saw at the front desk is any good?  I need to pick some up on the way out.

Why can't hours between your kid's nap and your husband's arrival from work pass as fast as hours spent getting a massage?  That would probably save moms so much money on wine.

Wine.  I miss wine.  And by wine I mean bourbon.

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I wonder if anyone will ever be as excited to see me as I am to see my husband come home each day. 

If my husband could just take a day off of work each week to give me a massage and play with our child while I sleep I would promise never to get mad about him using my soap.

But mostly I was thinking about how not hype the recording sessions are when they make wind chime soundtracks they play during massages and yoga.

I want more rubs. 

1 + 1 = Oh my wine

I am having another baby in January and, even though I don't usually believe in old wives' tales, I'm almost positive I'm having a girl.  Or a demon.

You see, I have been feeling like a giant pile of doo for the last several months.  Imagine headaches that last for days and running away from meals to go vomit in the bathroom.  Basically I feel like I'm back in college drinking room temperature donkey bottles of Vendage every night.  Which I did.  And still don't understand how I graduated.

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In addition to hurling in public places, I've also been doing awesome stuff like this:

Was I even moving during this half hour??

This is what I call the "I Am Literally Just Here to Kill Time" workout".

I also, on more than one occasion, saw the commercial start for Jublia during Wimbledon and got all excited about getting my hands on some Cinnamon Toast Crunch before I realized the graphic I was seeing was a toe fungus gremlin and not a delicious cinna-square.   So that's clearly a new low.

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Basically as I always suspected, I'm just like the Duchess of York Princess Cate.  She's my morning sickness spirit sister.

JK, it's still Amy Schumer.

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And yes I'm very excited.  But I'm also very scared.  Two under two shant be easy.  But at least after January I close my uterus business forever and enjoy my only two kids for the rest of my non-pregnant life.

Acupucture Gone Terribly Wrong

Yesterday I watched a woman named "Bobbie" on the Today Show talking about her journey to get pregnant.  She is now getting acupuncture and doing cupping, along side her 3rd round of IVF, in her attempt to get pregnant.

 

First of all, I applaud her willingness to be so open about her struggles to get pregnant.  I have never understood why people feel the need and society reinforces the drama of keeping such a struggle a secret.  If anything, that is the time in a woman's life in which she needs more support and love then ever.  Not to feel like a shunned, barren, outsider with a dark secret.

 

All I ever wanted to say when someone was blunt enough to ask me when I was going to start having kids was, "Well, Nosey McGee, how much time do you have?  I've been trying for a year!  Thanks for asking.  Please allow me to tell you the emotional details."

 

On a related note, I think it should be fair for all women of child bearing age to ask, in response to people who feel your reproductive status is their business, "Well since we are getting personal, how much money do you make?  And how much did you pay for your house?  And how many people have you slept with?"  If my business is their business, you best believe I want some personal information in return.

 

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Back to my original point, I tried acupuncture when I was trying to get pregnant.  I also tried not eating gluten or dairy for like a day and that was wretched.  But I am finally ready to laugh about my absolutely, positively heinous acupuncture experience.  So here it is.

 

First of all, I had to wait for 40 minutes in the waiting room (which the doctor(?) blamed on her receptionist. LAME).  I hate waiting even more than I hate being late, which is A LOT!  And as I was for a large portion of this period of my life, I was just a general emotional disaster.  So add those factors to the 100 degree weather outside and my general nervousness about the procedure, and it was just a sweaty disaster waiting to happen.

 

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Which is exactly what happened. 

 

Within the first minute I broke down sobbing when telling her my struggle, because somehow saying sad things out loud makes them that much more true, and sad.  Then she poked me with the needles which didn't hurt at all.  And then I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  With the exception of her checking on me about 10 minutes into the process, I concluded at the end that she left me waiting in the hot room with dozens of needles in my body for approximately an hour and 45 minutes. 

 

The only thing I was more than nervous that they had actually closed the practice and forgotten about me, was absolutely LIVID.  At one point I was screaming at the top of my lungs, "HELP ME!  SOMEONE HELP ME!" over and over.

 

You see, I couldn't just get up and leave because I had needles in my arms, hands, face, stomach, etc.  I didn't know what my movement options were without making myself bleed out.  Well at least that was my first thought.  After I while I was positively fuming and I just started taking the needles out.  I took a few out and then decided I still better wait on the tardy torturer.

 

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She finally returned after over an hour apologizing for the wait.  I told her how extremely dissatisfied I was, that I had been screaming for help for 30 minutes with no response, and that I was going to be an hour late to a dinner with friends thanks to her.  She seemed not to care at all and still charged be $100 for my troubles.

 

I have a theory on being a provider of such services.  If you have to make people wait, which apparently you do because there is a wait at every doctor's office in the world seemingly, then don't pick the emotional, infertile disaster of a new patient to abandon for an hour and a half on her first session.  Maybe pick the old timer who actually already believes in your Eastern Medicine ways and take a risk with him or her.  Because now I will never, ever, ever go back!

 

I actually did end up getting pregnant shortly thereafter.  But I am hesitant to give any credit to acupuncture because if anything that experience was so traumatic that it set it back from high stress levels.

Still Pregnant

Sorry for keeping you in such suspense...I'm still pregnant.  I think I'm going to change Jack's full name to Jack NotInA Rush.  He obviously doesn't know what kind of anal host he's dealing with.  I like to say that the last time I was late to something was on my own birthdate.  The same better be true for this little fashionably late tot once he finally enters the world.

Although I take it as a high compliment to my womb that Jack still wants to be there, I take it as a major offense to all other parts of my body.  Like my new stomach horn, AKA "The artist formerly known as belly button".

But I don't want to complain per say.  I know I'm lucky to be pregnant at all.  Or, Pregnant Plus in this case.  So let me just leave you with this visual.  A snapshot of the daily email I get from other moms due in March, discussing their feelings and experiences to date.  Each of these subjects is a message board.

 

 

My feelings can be best expressed by the boards titled "I'm dead", "So Upset!", "Crying".

And they say women are dramatic!

Pregnancy in Review

Today is my official due date.  I'm either still pregnant.  Or I'm a mom.  I'm writing this in advance so please, please let it be the latter. 

 

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Once I finished my job and my real estate class I officially had nothing to do but wait for this baby to arrive.  That's a weird and scary feeling.  There's just no getting around that.

 

Maybe that's how this whole pregnancy thing works.  When the enormity of what about to happen finally hits you, you are so physically miserable that it becomes the lesser of two daunting situations so you have no choice but to embrace it.  I'm officially at the point where I'd rather be a scared, clueless, exhausted new mom than a barely mobile, un fun, whale of a human being. 

 

So let's hope that when this post comes out I'm either in the hospital with a baby that was right on time, or napping with him like two peaceful angels in the nursery because he decided to come on the weekend when it was just super convenient for everyone.  Hey, a girl can dream.

 

I thought that in honor of my due date I'd jot down a few things I learned during pregnancy so that I wouldn't forget next time (of which there will only be one next time).

 

1) Michelle Duggar is certifiably insane.  As are all other people who say they like being pregnant.  That's not a real thing.  I like knowing that I'm about to have a cute baby in my life forever that my husband and I made.  But I am not going to front and tell you I like having people stare at me, the constant urge to pee, the 30 extra pounds I'm carrying around, and hips and back that can only be described as "rotty".

 

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2) I never want to be overweight.  The people on the Biggest Loser talk about how emotionally devastated they are from being overweight and it's causes and effects, but they need to talk more about how hard it is to get up from a chair and pick up a dropped pencil.  That is the real shit of being large and in charge.  Every day activities are borderline impossible.

 

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3) I blamed too many things on alcohol.  As it turns out, I always look like shit on Saturday mornings and 5 out of 10 times I can barely remember what I watched on TV the night before.  Sorry white wine, I blamed it all on you when really I'm just kind of gross.  In related news, it seems that my face started eating my makeup during pregnancy.  So if you saw me looking ghostly and unkempt, it wasn't because I didn't try.  My effort just kept vanishing in the midst of my new found jowls. 

 

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4) Not being hungover ever is literally the best thing ever.  I am definitely going to incorporate more of that in my life post-pregnancy.  I did allow myself a glass of wine every now and then and I learned that a small glass really is enough to satisfy the desire for alcohol sometimes.  Who knew?!  A whole bottle is not always necessary.  I know, I'm shocked too!

 

5) Enough about alcohol.  Let's talk about the real drug in my life now.  SUGAR.  My name is Marilyn and I am addicted to sugar.  I used to not give a real rat's ass about dessert.  During the last few months of pregnancy if I didn't have dessert after every single meal, I got a little panicky", to put it mildly.  I'm kind of scared that the Fresh Market is going to go out of business now that I no longer work across the street and get bulk candy every single day.  This needs to stop ASAP.  Please, whatever you do, don't bring my desserts if you come to visit.  They stand no chance against my extreme addiction. 

 

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6) Not being able to sleep in whatever position you want is a special kind of hell that I never knew existed.  Once I have this baby I am going to get really creative with my sleeping positions just because I can.  I don't really know what that means, but I know that it won't involve a semi-permanent imprint of my underwear in my hips from being forced to sleep on one of two sides every night for nearly a year.  Side sleeping is SO last trimester.

 

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I think that's all for now.  I'm sure when I am up at 4 AM in the morning with dookie on my face and a screaming baby in my ear that I'll look back at these trivial lessons and laugh, even wish I was able to be that fat sleepless idiot trying to catch a REM cycle on her right side while clutching a body pillow for dear life.  But for now, assuming that when this publishes I am with child (on the outside of my body), I'm going to be a blissfully happy camper.

Well, that's intimidating

And likely not true:

 

 

 

Alternately titled:

 

Dude, Where's My Mucus Plug?!

Driving Miss Obnoxious

Today is the last day of my very last post-licensing class to become a full provisional real estate broker.  Right in the nick of time to leave my job and any immediate chance of being able to use it. 

 

But that is neither here nor there.  I'm happy I have it, I plan to use it in the future, and I can still get referral fees in the meantime.  Hint, hint ;)

 

Let me add that this is the last 30-hour class of 3 30-hour classes.  For a total of 90 post-licensing hours.  In addition to the 75 hour pre-licensing class that I took in 2012.  For a whopping 165 hours in all.  That is just so, so many hours of my life spent sitting in a chair.  I don't even like to think about it.

 

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The first day I walked in the class (last Monday), the teacher actually yelled out, "WOAH, mama is close!"  Now every day subsequent to that I think all of my classmates are terrified that my water is going to break at any moment and cause a ruckus.  It's kind of fun to watch the fear in their eyes when I make any sudden movements.  But also really scary because I myself am terrified my water is going to break at any moment as well.  So, there's that.

 

I think today is the day that I go into dramatic faux labor.  I've gone 9 months without trying to punk anyone into believing it is happening.  Now is my time to shine.  And by shine I mean scare the shit out of perfect strangers.

 

I haven't played a cruel joke on true strangers since I was 15 years old in Drivers' Ed Class.  I took the class at Page High School and I was the only student in attendance who did not actually go to Page High School.  All of my high school classmates took Drivers' Ed from some private guy named Charlie Brown.  My mom thought that was ridiculous so I went public.  And it took about 2 classes before one clever fellow started calling me "Day School" and it stuck with the whole gang. 

 

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As it turned out, that clever fellow was in my practice driving group of 3 people that got to cruise around various parts of town and practice parallel parking, driving no the highway, and generally not killing other drivers. 

 

On the last day of class/practice driving I'd had just about enough of this "Day School" crap.  So when it was my turn to be dropped off at home, I went ahead and directed them to the biggest house that I knew of, maybe the biggest house in Greensboro, and got them to pull right up the driveway to "my house". 

 

The look on the name caller's face as his jaw dropped to the floor was priceless.  Suddenly "Day School" wasn't so hilarious after all!

 

But I only let the shock last a few beats before I told them I was kidding and actually lived elsewhere.  Good times.  Good times.

 

Moral of the story: Don't call people names.  They might just end up being a tricky little bitch who is going to temporarily school your ass at the end of Drivers' Ed.

Head Scratcher

Today I got a prenatal massage.  I got it because my _____ hurts (fill in the blank).  I got it because I have officially developed a clicking noise in my spine when I walk.  But mostly I got it because I have a gift card to a spa so I got it for free.  Definitely mostly that.

 

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It was so relaxing and nice, but as warned it didn't really do anything to alleviate my lower back pain.  I'm pretty sure the only thing that will achieve that is birthing this little boy who for 9 months has resided only on the right side of my body.  I'm no doctor but my intuition tells me that his love of the right side + my aching, throbbing right hip has something to do with the clicking in my back.

 

Nonetheless, it was heavenly.  I got some back massage, hot stone action, foot rub, and head scratching.  A head scratch might just be my favorite physical pleasure of all time.  I can't even wait to tally up how much money I can save on massages when my kids are old enough for me to trick them into scratching my head for extra toy store money.  I'll make it seem more noble than that though...I've got time to devise a plan.

 

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The whole time she was scratching my head, in between fits of ecstasy, I was thinking, I wonder how such accepted professions came to be.  For instance, who was the original person who first had the disposable income and the gall to say to a pal, "Hey buddy, I really trust you and you look like you have strong hands and a major need for cash so, no disrespect at all, but I will actually give you money to rub my entire body for an hour.  With oil.  Oh, and throw in some head scratches while you're at it"?

 

That had to have been awkward.

 

But, like the first person to ever see a pineapple and think, "Oh this is a good idea, let's definitely sink our teeth into this!", this trail blazer has enriched my life in ways I can never reciprocate...or truly justify.

 

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I  massages.

 

The End of an Era

This week marks the beginning of the end of a few monumental things in my life.

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For starters, it is the last week of my 20's.  I turn 30 this Saturday.  

Do you want to know a good way to not give a rat's ass about turning 30?  Be 9 months pregnant on your Birthday.  Suddenly getting older seems a lot less significant than the human being that is about to exit your body and enter your life.  Forever.

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It also marks the end of my illustrious business career in real estate and beyond.  I'm officially retiring this Friday.  Most people who retire when they are 29 are super rich Internet bubble geniuses who are going to sit back on their mega yachts and count their monies.   I, on the other hand, am going to stock up on Ramen Noodles and nearly expired meats and start couponing my ass off.  I shall consider it my greatest challenge to date.

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 I don't even know if the people at my office know I'm leaving, but I'm sure they don't really care. When the most frequently asked question you get at your workplace is why you have hot sauce on your desk, rest assured, you will not be that missed by the end of the next week. 

And finally, this week, and today specifically, mark the end of my prenatal yoga experience.  Thank the yogi gods above that today's class was the last class of my yoga package, because I simply cannot salute the sun anymore at this size.  

You know it's time to temporarily hang up your yoga pants when you are involuntarily making the following position modifications:

Downward Down ---> Paralyzed Polar Bear that has just been hit with a tranquilizer dart

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Child's Pose ---> Depressed, defeated sumo wrestler

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Happy Baby ---> Actual woman giving birth

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It's not even so much the size of my stomach standing in my way as it is the sensation of a 20 lb bowling bowl hanging right in and around my pubic bone.  The pain is real.  And it is increasing by the minute.  

One more modification that is temporarily permanent in my life:

TGIF ---> TGIOHTMWLTGA (Thank Goodness I Only Have Three More Weeks Left To Go...Allegedly)

We Run the World Girls

Recently I went to a party and had a pretty revealing encounter with two separate individuals.

One came up to me unprovoked (never seen her before in my life), and told me that parenthood was a total emotional roller coaster...and that she hadn't slept in two months, felt like a zombie, and had never worn so much concealer under her eyes in her life.  She had a 9 week old.

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I guess my plump stomach serves as an "Advice Wanted" sign so I don't have to wear an actual one.  But the girl was cute and it was a really nice encounter.  And a tiny bit scary.

Then as I was leaving the party, I got more advice from a man outside who also saw my invisible sign and told me, "Having a baby is the best thing ever.  It's so much fun!  I have a 9 week old and it's just great."  His take on being a parent was drastically less dramatic.

My womanly instincts told me this might be the laid back baby daddy to that exhausted woman inside.  I asked if by any chance he had a 9 week old.  He said yes.  I told him I just talked to his wife who said she was exhausted and hadn't slept in 2 months.

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His response, "Well, sure, she does 90% of the parenting duties.  But it's really fun for me!"

Their markedly different states of parenthood and its effects did not go unnoticed.

I have a feeling this is only the beginning of a lot of perceived parenting injustices in my future.  If you do the crime you have to do the time.  And if you have the boobs in free time and sleep you lose! (Patent pending on that expression).

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I'm ready!

Asian Relaxation

The future of relaxation is here.  And it is called Asian Relaxation Center, located at Racine Commons.

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 Let me start by saying that my dogs haven't just been barking recently.  They have been positively whimpering in pain.  This is my only real pregnancy complaint, but it is real and it is freaking painful.

I have had two people suggest this Asian Relaxation Center to me so I went to check it out last weekend.  It is basically like a walk in spa for massages.  I made an appointment an hour in advance but me thinks that if you just showed up they would be down with that as well.

At first you might think it's a happy ending sort of place.  You go back to a dark room with little to no explanation in English and just wait for someone to come tend to you.  Real talk: The first time I went the anticipation was killing me.  But it's not that sort of establishment...You perverts! 

But then you realize that the only happy ending you are getting here is the most legit, heavenly foot massage of your life, without any of that pesky, "Make yourself comfortable, get under the sheet when you're ready" BS.  

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This is very much a wham, bam, thank you Asian man situation.  And it's my new everything.  I actually went back the very next weekend and thought I'd died and gone to heaven with the foot rub.  I also got a neck/head massage which was really nice, but not as relaxing since laying on your back while pregnant makes you feel like you're going to vom, and explaining that to someone who doesn't speak English makes you feel like you are taking crazy pills.

The foot rubs are the ticket.  I'm sticking to those.

Nonetheless, go to this place.  You can basically get any half hour increment of time you want.  It's typically $1/minute.  Certainly more than I've ever made!  But totally affordable if you just get a half hour ($25/30 minutes for foot).  I might go back every weekend until I have this baby :)  Sorry I'm not sorry at all.  My feet feel like that of an old crippled 600 pound lady and they need to be rubbed.  A lot.

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My Eyes Deceive Me

You know what is kind of cray cray about being pregnant?  Besides the tiny human growing where once there was only boneless buffalo wings and miscellaneous fruits and veggies?

Your vision changes!  At least mind did.  I recently had to change my contact prescription because I couldn't see anything far away.  And I just got confirmation that this is real thing in my daily "What to Expect" email - an email that comes once a day to either convince or reassure you that your body going haywire is a totally normal part of the process.

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"But wait…are your eyes actually deceiving you…or at least, playing tricks on you? Many women discover that their vision seems less sharp during pregnancy, or that their contact lenses are less comfortable than they used to be.

Pregnancy hormones do more to your body than meets the eye, yet they also do plenty to your eyes. They affect not only your digestive tract and your ligaments (not to mention your reproductive organs), but also cause a decrease in tear production, leading to eye dryness, irritation, and discomfort. What's more, the same fluid buildup that causes your ankles to swell can also cause the curvature of your eye to change."

Yay.  More fun shit.

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This is really NBD because changing a prescription is easy peasy if you have an available eye doctor that you trust.  Which I do...now.

When I lived in DC I thought I was suffering from the worst case of pink eye since lower school contagion.   For like a year.  After going to no less than 4 eye doctors, it turned out that I was just allergic to my contact solution and never hard pink eye.  I guess that's what you get for going to eye doctors at the mall.

One of the doctors I went to I found like I found all my awesome care providers when I lived in DC - by cross referencing insurance covered providers with proximity to my office...whichever office that was at the time.  Oh me of many jobs and little pay.

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While I was delighted at his proximity to my office and the fact that he was not located in an underground mall like the last man, I was none to pleased when I came to discover upon our first meeting that he was deaf, cross eyed, and, most offensively, had a pony tail.  

 

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 I think it's great to be different and imperfect, but when it comes to service providers that actually work on one of your 5 senses, I think it's actually OK to discriminate to the extent that such a provider must actually have all 5 of their senses fully functioning.  

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I eventually learned my lesson and became one of those ridiculous adults who waits until they go back to their hometown to go to the doctor.  But not before trying 3 dentists (one who gave me a filling without numbing me first and making my sister cry on a separate occasion), 2 gynecologists, and 4 eye doctors.  That was all in 3 years.  

3 years, 4 jobs, 9 medical care providers...am I sure I'm not crazy?  'Tis a wonder I'm not running a small Government faction on Capitol Hill with that track record!