Reflection

Today I am sitting at work, entirely overwhelmed and under productive, waiting on a miracle my boss to return so I can finish up this one pressing item on my urgent "to do" list (not to imply that him returning would be a miracle, rather getting any work done in our current state of software disarray would be a miracle), and rather than move on to one of the many other items I could be working on I find myself thinking of another "to do" list that I've greatly neglected in my recent state of pregnant exhaustion. I know Mr. Bear feels that I constantly talk about the baby, or how not ready we are, or what it will be like, or "ARE YOU SO EXCITED(?!?!?!?!)" but in reality I haven't done any of the things I wanted to do.

I wanted to take some time to connect, which I haven't done because if it doesn't involve connecting myself to the bed, or connecting a fork to my open mouth, I don't have the desire or energy for it. I don't know what I was expecting to connect with but I felt like pre-outside of the womb baby and I should have some special time and that would make some kind of difference. I hope I was wrong because we connect over ice cream (she likes it) but nothing much deeper than that.

I wanted to write. Not sarcastic complaining blogging writing but some serious words. I wanted to let the Alien know what these past 9 months have been like for me. I wanted to write about how scary, but amazing, it was to meet someone, find out you are having a baby with them, fall so in love you can't believe how lucky you are and proceed to gain 60+ pounds in anticipation of her arrival. I wanted to write about how I felt each day; how my back would ache and I would lay in bed with a hot water bottle watching television before dropping into a coma and waking The Bear with my snores, how strange, but reassuring, it was to watch my body morph into a walking Sci-Fi movie expanding farther than I ever thought possible, how I would lay in bed and watch her alien movements crawl across my belly and how I knew it was special because I was the only one who could see (it required too much patience for The Bear to watch), how someday she ought to buy me a closet of shoes because all mine are too small now....and that is a lot of shoes to grow out of.

I wanted to make everything perfect. And instead The Bear's condo is frequently a mess with my unfinished projects, unwashed laundry, disregarded dishes.....it just all became too much. I'm jealous of women who get to spend their working hours focusing on these things instead of sitting at a desk unable to do much else other than bookmark more junk from Etsy than any one person could ever need.

And now....now I have less than 4 weeks until that day the doctor has deemed my "due date" and I can't figure out where the time has gone. We haven't toured the hospital where this Alien is supposed to be born (and I'm sort of grateful because I'm dreading it, don't ask me why) and I haven't packed a bag just in case she makes an early entrance (please no, I don't have enough diapers or any clothes that would fit!). I don't know the number I'm supposed to call when I go into labor and I don't know what exactly we are supposed to do. I suppose I've been hoping for some divine intervention on all of this, but fear not, we tour the hospital tomorrow and I'm sure The Bear will think (hopefully) of any questions we should be asking. Me, I'm just overwhelmed by it all because 3 1/2 weeks isn't a lot when you think about the past 9 months and I am in complete shock.

I hope I remember how to hold a new born. It would be mighty embarrassing if I've forgotten.......

Grind My Bones to Make Your Bread

This past week Mr. Bear and I traveled to New England for a much needed and HIGHLY anticipated vacation. I didn't really have any expectations for our trip so it easily met all of them. Sleeping in until 10 and only feeling a little guilty, overdosing on carbs, dessert every night...the list goes on. Alien loved it too I am sure as she was wiggling up a storm the entire time.

Since I've returned she's taken to waking during the late evening/nights which is VERY UNWELCOME! Hear that baby? I do not care if you distort your body into every shape imaginable all day long. I do not care if when I eat you try to physically reach your hands out of my stomach so you can grab a bite for yourself. I do not even care if you get the hiccups on and off for 30 minutes distracting me from my work. HOWEVER I very much care that you have decided that 11 PM isn't good for sleeping but is very good for wiggling! I thought we had an understanding. You are officially grounded.

So, our week long vacation came to an end much too quickly and we headed home carrying with us a nasty cold. I spent the last 2 days with the sniffles but by the time we got home Stephen had been hit with a much more severe version of the same. He coughed up most of his internal organs and it is taking some time to get them all back in place. In the meantime I've had to hand over my place as pampered princess in order to nurse him back to health. This has been easy enough since he mostly requires a couch, a tv controller, and a reminder to take some medicine but trust me in 2 years when he groans about getting me a drink of water after we've both already gotten into bed (which he probably would never do) I will NOT hesitate to remind him of that time when he was so jealous of all my pregnancy attention that he got sick and ALMOST DIED FROM COUGHING just so he could feel special like me. It certainly wasn't easy for me to watch television while he rested all day Sunday. I can't do this forever you know!!!

I'd post a picture of us from our time together....but we didn't take any. Not even one! Mostly due to the fact that I am fat and hate my face and also due to the fact that Stephen was doing all the picture taking of pretty things like water and buildings. There are a few of me, looking ornery, but I won't post those either because MY FACE IS IN THEM!

We are back to the grind and can't quite figure out how we didn't win the 152 million dollar lottery (we forgot to get tickets doh!!!) so that is our goal for the next year.

♥ have an Alien
♥ win the lottery and NEVER WORK AGAIN!!!!!!!!

6 weeks. 6 weeks. 6 weeks. I'm not nearly prepared enough and I still scratch my head and wonder when all this happened and was I present when it all began? Because it just doesn't feel REAL. My doctor says that it is but I am not so sure. I think the beer just caught up to me.....

Melissaurous

I wanted to add two things relating to the events of yesterday.

One: If you are making a dinner for one and the food happens to be ravioli NEVER overcook it!!! It explains clearly on the package that overcooking ravioli means imminent death. I know this because it was capped and italicized TWICE on the package. Pretty sure this is how the dinosaurs became extinct.

Two: If you are pregnant and in need of a snack might I suggest a little treat I enjoy? Frosting...and chunky peanut butter. Yes. I only wish I'd helped myself to a glass of milk. If overcooking ravioli doesn't kill me my snacking habits surely will.

A Repeat

What's a girl to do when left alone for 3 days? Well, after suffering from immobilizing back pain for most of Sunday evening and throughout the night and then waking up exhausted with a migraine....that answer is sleep. A message to my boss, re-fluffing of the pillows and I didn't move from my bed until after 1 in the afternoon. Most people would be ashamed to admit this extreme laziness, and after a weekend no less, but I'm growing a human so I get a break. This growing business catches me a lot of breaks these days. A list? I think perhaps....

♥ eating chocolate at any point during the day
♥ eating chocolate MULTIPLE times during the day
♥ waddling....walking is way harder when you are holding a baby IN YOUR BACK!
♥ stains on every shirt I own. I still haven't figured out the dynamics of this belly.
♥ getting fat. Not only do I get away with the excess fat on my ass but people actually fall over themselves to tell me how great I look HA.
♥ sleeping all the time.
♥ crying. Mostly Mr. Bear has to deal with this, bless his angry bear heart, but I have to give props to the brother of the bear, and my own family. They all excuse the moods on a regular basis.

So, after prying myself from bed, I took an hour and half long bath reading trashy romance novels, watched re-runs of crappy tv shows, and ate a lonely dinner. And yes, I managed to spill a few drops on my PJ clad belly.

As if there could be any question, I miss Mr. Bear terribly and cannot wait for Wednesday night to be here. It seems I post these same sentiments every time he leaves, and I'm sure I'll continue to do so throughout my life (the traveling isn't likely to stop any time soon). But after many many years of bad marriage and bad dating I've finally realized what it's like to actually LOVE being with someone so much that even an afternoon without him is lonely. So I guess being sad without him is a reminder of how lucky I am to be happy with him around!

Over and out....I need to end my evening with more bad television and some peanut butter. Score.

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?