It's Raining It's Pouring

I'd like to set the record straight about something. Something that I've been thinking about for a while.....Snoring. What's in a snore?

Growing up my dad snored. A LOT! Shake the house snores that would wake us up in our rooms DOWN THE STAIRS!!! And it just was. He was a dad. Our big cuddly teddy bear father who loved babies, loved his daughters, yelled in his sleep and snored like a grizzly bear. In my dating history I've known a lot of men who snore. One guy would snore so loudly, especially when he was drunk, and that was how I could gauge the depth of his sleep....or the depth of his inebriation. I'd hear my friends complaining about their husbands snores keeping them awake. My uncle would snore so much that it turns out he needed a machine to keep him from snoring because it made him stop breathing! Imagine an annoying sleeping trait actually being something that is dangerous. I never would have known.

One consistency about snoring? Men do it. Dad's, husbands, boyfriends, uncles...it's a manly thing to do! So it was a very shameful day when a few weeks after Mr. Bear and I started dating he said, "you snore. It's kinda cute.". "I know" I said...and I did know. There was always that awkward moment with a guy when they discovered that I, yes little ol' me, snored just like my pop (only maybe not so loud, and without the yelling). I had been a little congested and I assured Mr. Bear that I only snored when I was sick. Then I got pregnant. The snoring increased. "You see Mr. Bear, pregnant ladies get all this soft tissue in their nose, or something, and it makes them snore! I'll show you the article. Google it!". Then Spring hit and I made sure to let him know that when I had allergies it made me snore. And the rain! The rain was nice to listen to at night with the window open, but all the cold air made me stuffy and...you guessed it.....that makes me snore.

I could spend the whole year making up excuses for my snoring but it would be SO.MUCH.EASIER. to just say this one thing. Women snore too. Though you can imagine my delight on the days I get to roll over and say to The Bear, "you were snoring last night....". It's very satisfying to my womanhood (is that a word?).

I wonder if the Alien will snore like her Poppy too?

*Edit to say: Would you like to make a bet on how cute he thinks my snoring is now? Read: NOT AT ALL!!!

A Lump by Any Other Name....

I've been thinking that I would wait to blog until one of the following happened: I had some cool pictures to post and say "Ooo bright and shiny!" and that would be that, OR I actually had something really incredible to write about. You know the old clever, witty, funny trick that I used to be able to pull out of my magic hat. Alas, neither have happened and I realize that I just need to stop by my old stomping grounds and say that I'm alive.

These days I'm consumed with the fact that my bra hurts if I wear it for more than, OHHHH, 1 minute let alone the 10 hours a day I am required by fashion law to abide by. Or if we're really getting down to the nitty gritty details of what has become my life I should confess that sometimes (read: pretty much every day) I take my shirt off only to see crumbles of my after lunch snack tumbling down my big fat pregnant belly and onto the floor. I might stare longingly at those crumbs, notice the pink chunk mixed in, and sadly mourn that yummiest bit of frosting I couldn't manage to get into my mouth. Really those crumbs are remnants of the best parts of my day. Parts that don't include, "Ow, my back, I just...my legs, ugh, they are twitching...DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT IT HURTS TOO!!!" and just when I get comfy needing to get up to pee.

Mr. Bear might tell you what a delight I am to live with and how he really loves me more every day, and I agree that it's sweet, but unfortunately it's one big fat lie. I complain and whine and expect him to fix everything. I get tired just in time to skip out on dish duty and cleaning the toilet makes me sick (not a side effect of pregnancy fyi just regular life with me), I hog the covers, snore, sleep in a fortress of solitude, half fall in the shower leaving him to worry about my capability of walking without him standing behind to hold me up, and I gain 40 lbs so seeing me naked is no longer an enjoyable event. Also, I can't even reach into the washer so he had to change my laundry for me which is the worst part! But, on the bright side, my boobs have maintained their ginormous status and are likely to do so for some time to come, so I may be fat but if all else fails he can just look at my cleavage and know there is still an upside to this life with me.

In reality we are both really really looking forward to the day that the lump between our hugs is an actual fleshy child and not just a lump of hard belly. Things are bound to change but being able to snuggle, among other things, in comfort is one I will never take for granted again!

Reflection of the Overweight & Emotional

If I had to made an educated guess, and by educated I mean a guess with no formal research whatsoever, I would say that every pregnant woman hits a point in their pregnancy when they step back, look at their fat face in the mirror, and contemplate if being SUCH a bitch is really necessary. In my case I can't say that it is necessary, rather, it is one of those sticky situations I get myself into that is hard to recognize until well after the tears and erratic hand motions have ceased.

I'm the sort of girl that jumps the gun in getting upset. Time has trained me to assume that no man will have a calm discussion with you and so get the first word in, because it surely will be your last. I also require a certain period of time to dissect every word I said and think, "Hmmm....did I REALLY mean that I think his dog is a stupid whore?". Usually I don't. Unfortunately I have yet to discover a way to catch my mouth before it spins out of control.

Luckily, for all of the involved, I haven't acted on my VERY STRONG desire to throw things. This is an urge I've had to resist since I was a kid; crying uncontrollably in my room, woe is me my parents hate me because I'm fat and it makes me want to KILL LITTLE BUNNIES, so instead I'm going to throw this wood bunny REALLY HARD. And when it cracks against the wall the tears just turn to emotional self mutilation....woe is me my parents hate me because I'M PSYCHOTIC AND BREAK SHIT....you get the point. Now, when I'm angry, I just think about how damn good it felt when that cute little bunny left my hand and how if I can just find the nearest *searching searching* item *searching* that I can actually pick up *searching* I can get that same satisfaction.... but I have learned a lesson or two in my life, and I remember clearly that throwing things only makes one look crazy, not in control, and usually doesn't make me feel better. As a side note I should mention that I have no desire to throw things AT someone, just in the general direction of a wall.

So, this is my public apology for being a crazy bitch.

Also, may I gently remind those that I love that it has been about 4 1/2 months, 18 weeks......or 127 & a HALF days since I've had any Tequila. Or Xanax. Not that I'm keeping track. If you love me you'll remember this next time you see me desperately searching for a cotton ball to throw while I cry and mumble obscenities concerning your dog and her whoreness. Or is that my dog?

Poor Mr. Bear

Week 23 of being with "Alien" has arrived and I couldn't be more.....ornery about every damn thing that goes on. Sunday our breakfast server was a jack ass. Why? Because he was. Isn't that reason enough? The cashier had an annoying voice, and by annoying I mean incredibly cheerful, but paired with her spiky hair it was just THAT MUCH worse. The people behind us had a cute little girl who dared to talk loud enough for me to overhear, "WHY can't people control the mouth's of their 3 year old? We're in public for Christ's sake!!! NO TALKING ALLOWED!!!". It was hot outside. Fucking weather. Doesn't the sun know I'm pregnant and ornery as hell? Apparently not because it just kept shining. People drive too slow, or too fast, the sun shines at the wrong angle, my blanket got twisted, I forgot to turn the air conditioner off/on and I'm UNCOMFORTABLE, someone is getting married/divorced and wants to talk about their emotions (I'm not the only one with those things?), someone is having a conversation and IT REALLY IS BOTHERING ME!!! You see where I'm going with this?

Poor Mr. Bear.

We've gotten the itch, like many other expecting families have been known to do, to make the most of our small space by re-organizing. This includes down sizing furniture which actually costs money (SURPRISE!!!) although in the long run it is totally worth it. Naturally as first time parents we have a lot of things we'd like to invest in for the baby, and ourselves, and it's frustrating to see how many items hold a price tag over $100.00. At first it seemed like just a few specific items....now, in addition to furniture & accessories that is all expensive even for a good deal, we have baby decor & clothes and clothing for me, which is totally overpriced. $50.00 t-shirts??? I don't even spend that much on shirts normally! Alas I keep getting fatter, something about growing a child, and 5 multi-colored shirts and tanks that no longer cover my bulging belly just aren't enough to keep me feeling positive about the way I look. Poor Mr. Bear has enough reasons to keep me from crying and hating myself every morning shouldn't have to be one of them. So, we buy, and buy, and buy. A lot of money, and a lot of effort later, the condo is in shambles and I still cry a lot. It feels like it might never end and I seem to find more and more to add to the already huge list of things to do. Walking 3 flights of stairs at the end of a work day and then feeling like the whole place is out of order is really exhausting, for both of us.

I wish Mr. Bear and I could just jump on a very air conditioned plane and fly away to the beach somewhere....and that it could be free. I deserve it because I'm fat and tired and growing an Alien. He deserves it more because he is carrying a much bigger, and much less adorable, load than I.

Poor Mr. Bear. But lucky me, I couldn't wouldn't want to do it without him. Yes lucky me, and very lucky Alien.

Happy BIIIIIIRTHDAAAAAY Mr. President

Today is my very favorite person's birthday. Mr. Bear is turning 18! Finally our relationship is legal!!! Having a baby with an underage man was really an emotional burden for me.

In all seriousness....Mr. Bear is the most wonderful man. He makes every day a joy. Because I love me a good list I'm going to list all the things I love about him, and being with him (in no particular order of course):

♥ He makes me laugh. Out loud. A lot.
♥ He knows how to rub my back, not too hard not too soft
♥ He is a great housekeeper! (haha)
♥ He tells me I'm beautiful and wonderful every day
♥ He loves to cuddle
♥ He's really sexy
♥ He never forgets me when he's out of town
♥ He makes me a better person
♥ He always tries to be a better person too
♥ He loves my family
♥ He loves his own family, SO much
♥ He feels comfortable leaving creepy messages on my sister's voice mail
♥ He drinks beer just to prove he's a real "man"
♥ He holds my hand when we walk
♥ He is super smart! I'm always learning new things from him.
♥ He has nice handwriting
♥ He tolerates my eating habits (from veggies, to sushi, to peanut butter in bed)
♥ He will let me have a pug *wink*
♥ He has made so much room in his life for me, even though it isn't always easy

And FINALLY.....
♥ He actually wants to get old with me (and I believe him, kind of)
♥ He will be the most wonderful father in the whole entire world, and I couldn't be happier.

This isn't all, or even close to all, of the wonderful things I could say about him. But it's a good start. I noticed that a lot of my list includes the word "me" and maybe that is the thing I love the most. That there IS a me in his life. And even though there are easier women (no pun intended) in the world, he put up with my shit long enough for me to realize how LUCKY I would be to include myself in a list of his wonderful things. I wish everyone could hug a Bear today....I know I will.

What's in A Name???

Girl Alien has an ETA of September 12th, 2009. Mr. Bear and I are anxious for her arrival. I don't know if I'm more excited for the Alien herself or to work on getting my body back (kidding, I'm totally more excited for my body). Surprisingly it doesn't matter how much you cry, tears don't burn ass fat. I guess eating ice cream doesn't either.

Mr. Bear is a man wonder. Honestly, I don't know how anyone does ALL of this with a lesser man. He couldn't be any more kind or sensitive (in a very manly way) with me and all of my traumatic emotional breakdowns. He COULD have been better at getting me curly fries when I wanted them...but, it's too late now, I don't want them anymore. Lets see how he fixes all the insensitive things that people at work say (ex. "you're just getting fat all over"). If he still loves me at the end of all this I will be truly impressed.

And, to save any nosey people from the questions:

♥ No, we won't be getting married (I don't need a paper document to justify my desire to have a child with this man)
♥ Yes we're excited
♥ Yes I will keep working
♥ Yes I will give birth in a hospital with pain reducers (and my sister and mom are totally ok with this)
♥ Yes, to all those questions that end in the idea of whether or not Mr. Bear and I will do what is best for our Alien in every way. The questions may vary, but we only want the best so yes is our answer.

♥ & NO I don't think she is getting a complex because I call her an alien. Now, if I called her a big headed alien (which she is) I would expect to catch some grief. Assuming she cannot read my blog and cannot read my mind I think we're safe because I only talked about her big head out loud one or two times.

♥ Oh and really, I shouldn't have to say this, but of course I'm more excited for an alien. Totally worth the fat, and I get big boobs. Get with the humor program.

April Showers (of snow)

Wow. I mean, wow. It's April. Mid April even! That means there has been.....A LOT of weeks this year! I don't know how to express my awe at the passing year in any sort of intellectual way.

We've already had our first BBQ which is pretty amazing considering that today it just snowed again (once again, MID April). A note about BBQing: Apparently you shouldn't let a vegetarian prepare your meat, we don't know what we're doing. Additionally you should not let a meat eater prepare a veggie burger; they do not take as long to cook, veggies are good "medium rare" too!

April is a really exciting and/or exhausting month (mostly exhausting). It's the official family birthday month. 6th, 7th, 8th, 14th.....If I told you about the day Mr. Bear and I spent birthday shopping I'd have to take a nap, and it's almost my bedtime.

My baby sister turned 18 this month!



I love this girl. I mean, I really REALLY love her. Mr. Bear generally endures a 10 minutes gush session, on all the things I love about her, at least once a week. Don't even get me started on Baby Cake (nickname). Let's just say that fuzzy brown babies are way cuter than "blonde" ones. This fall she will hopefully be working for us while she goes to COLLEGE! (probably didn't need an exclamation...) I can't wait. Also, this is the only one of my sisters who's love for Pugs comes anywhere close to my own. She kisses their tummies and puts them in the bath. On second thought, I think she loves them more because I won't even do that. Happy Birthday Cake! And happy birthday rest of my family...and all the friends who have April birthdays too.

Monday we had my niece and nephew for the evening. I learned that my nephew likes to lay on the floor of RC Willey and say he's dead. There is nothing you can do about it. People may or may not look at you strangely as the step around him. He also likes to turn the lights on inside my car, drink rootbeer and touch Mr. Bear's television with sticky fingers. Oh, and he cuddles A LOT (love it!). I also learned that my niece smells much nicer after a bath (who knew a 5 year old needed at least one bath over the weekend), is very good at the grocery store checkout, & will totally blame her brother when she gets in trouble. I only cried for about 10 minutes when the left because I'm pretty sure I'll be a terrible mother. Shit.

I'll close this lengthy and pointless update with one thought. Colbert rocks. That probably qualifies as FACT and not just a thought. Also, snow is an ass hole.

*edit: change all the "the"'s that don't make sense to "they". I'm too lazy to do it myself.