Head, the ouchness of

I don’t know why I have a headache, but I do. I woke up with it and it’s just sort of continued to set in and be a bother. It’s one of those foggy, I feel weird, I may be getting sick sort of headaches. Oh my GOD, I can’t handle being sick again. I am still getting over being sick from 3 weeks ago when Andrew brought the plague home. I’m too pregnant for this. Don’t the germs recognize this?! Psh, it’s really quite inconsiderate. I’m bringing a whole new person into this world for germs to crawl all over.

Dear Germs,

Give me a break while I gestate your new playground, will you?

XO, Jennie

Maybe I shouldn’t have started scouring the whole house yesterday. I went to Target, bought a bunch of cleaning supplies and a shiny new bucket, and went to work cleaning the baseboards, the doors, the stair railings, the blinds, the windows… I need the house to be dirt free for the new baby. Apparently, I have lost my damn mind. I mean, having the house super-fantastically clean will be nice, but the fact that I have to do it all might end up hurting more than it’s worth. If I get sick right now, I have nothing and no one to blame except my cleaning panic, and maybe Shannon. I saw her for five whole minutes the other day, and she was getting sick. That would be just my luck. Gah.

For now, I’m going to go upstairs, put Alaina down for her nap, then take a shower and hope that burns off some of the yuck that I’m feeling right now. Then my sister and I are going to lunch, and maybe she’ll hang around and make Valentines with Alaina and I. Yesterday I thought I would clean the whole house AND make Valentines with a toddler and glitter glue, because why? Because I am apparently super Jennie these days. Hahaha, aren’t I funny? Now all I REALLY want to do is sleep.

Lock master

As in, I am totally not one. Alaina just locked herself in her bedroom, and it took me an embarrassingly extended amount of time to get her out. I finally resorted to googling ‘how to unlock an interior door’, and after reading a four sentence paragraph, it was easy. I’m just glad she was locked in her bedroom, which is totally toddler-proof. It also helps to know that she sat in her room, on her bed the whole time, telling me that 1) no, she would not open the door, and 2) she wanted some ice cream. I think the emotional scarring is minimal (for her, at least).

Spider slaying and such

As my due date draws closer and closer, I get more and more determined to clean everything we have ever owned, organize it, and then sit down and bemoan the fact that I had to DO something, my GAWD. I am pregnant and should be laying down with a layer cake right now. Today I decided I should get out all the Big Stuff and make it shiny and clean. BIG MISTAKE. Not only do I have a newfound loathing for my husband, but I also had to vanquish an unusually large, unusually hardy spider that had taken up residence in the baby swing. I tried spraying it with bathroom cleaner, because I know I would die if I was in a pool of bleach and other various stinky chemicals. It curled up and felt sorry for itself for a minute, then marched out of the cleanser puddle as if nothing had happened. So I plucked up some courage and let Mr. Spider meet the underside of Mr. Shoe. Then threw the shoe onto the back porch for good measure. Can you tell I have a slight spider phobia?

I collected the baby gear from the garage and dragged it into the house, toddler in tow. Curious about everything, and she probably didn’t understand why I kept telling her NOT TO TOUCH ANYTHING, ew DIRTY. The only thing I couldn’t find was the infant car seat. Which? GREAT. I sort of (really) need that. I found it mocking me from the recesses of the over-stuffed under-the-stairs closet. Superb.

I also decided that I needed my maternity clothes out of the under-the-stairs closet, because dammit, I am 32 weeks pregnant and have been surviving with a remarkably small wardrobe thus far due to lack of husbandly willingness to unearth my maternity clothes. So I dug everything out of that closet, my maternity clothes are now in the washer, and the infant seat is ready for scouring. My dining room is also a horrible, terrible mess now, and my back hurts like a mother. Oh, the joys of pregnancy.

32 and a half

Alaina and I got up bright and early this morning and headed to my OB/GYN’s. I was so glad to be out of there in a mere 45 minutes, as last time I waited a grand total of two hours and my appointment was less than ten minutes long. Anyway, I’m measuring nicely, not gaining too much weight, blood pressure is good, and the baby’s heart rate is perfect. Healthy healthy healthy, thank goodness.

I’ve been getting Braxton Hicks contractions lately, which I found a little odd since I didn’t get them at all last time. Maybe that means I won’t have to be induced this time… but I somehow doubt that. I did realize that I mostly get BH contractions when my mother-in-law comes in to town. I really need to stop letting people stress me out so badly, my goodness.

So after my appointment, Alaina and I got lunch and then went shopping at Target. BIG mistake, as usual. I can never, ever get out of that place without spending $100+. I went in for diapers, and left with diapers, socks and shoes for Alaina, a complete home-from-the-hospital outfit for the baby (onesie, sleeper, mittens, hat, socks, blanket) and a few other odds and ends I needed. Target gets wayyyyy to much of our money. Oh Target, why are you so wonderful and evil at once?

Mostly About Food

I woke up hungry this morning, which I don’t usually do because I hate waking up hungry so I make sure to stuff my face before bed. I think my great aversion to waking up with a growling belly comes from two pregnancies where that is absolutely NOT allowed, unless I would like to try to hold my vomit in long enough for the pregnant morning pee (you know, the one where you have to pee SO BAD). Because throwing up into the bathtub while you sit on the toilet is probably the least most glamorous thing EVER, unless of course you are a rock star and can pull it off because, heh, you are a ROCK STAR, baby. That’s just how it’s done. Anyway, I’m completely off the subject here. I woke up hungry and still tired because I did end up getting that much-wanted nap yesterday, so when Andrew got up to leave for work, I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep for awhile. Though I was tired, I decided to do something completely uncharacteristic of me and actually cook something for breakfast. I made pancakes, smothered them in butter and syrup, and enjoyed them without thinking pancakes = widening ass. If you can’t do these things when you’re super pregnant, when can you? Never. So, I indulged. Alaina, on the other hand, had a chocolate chip pancake, which she declared to be both “nummy” and “gud”. Score. Since there is only the two of us and I had plenty of extra batter, I made a bunch of toddler-sized pancakes, put them in baggies two-by-two, and popped them in the fridge. Voila, snack or breakfast for the munchkin when I’m feeling more like my usual lazy pregnant self. Now I’m going to clean up my breakfast mess and start dinner, so there’s less work for me to do later when I’ll be more tired. I’m trying a new meatloaf recipe (with ground turkey instead of beef), and then I think I may make the Gooey Butter Cake that Linda suggested, because I just happen to have all the ingredients on-hand and it sounds too delicious to resist.

Who are you, you crazy cooking, cleaning woman? I think Andrew working late every day this week is having some sort of profound, bizarre effect on me.

Oh, Elusive Sleep

This is why I don’t clean. I just cleaned the kitchen, top to bottom, and I am EXHAUSTED and in desperate need of a nap. Or some Ben & Jerry’s. Or a massage. Or all of the above, ooh yeah. Alaina is perched in her highchair, eating “nummy ‘cine” (also known as fettucine alfredo) before noon, so hopefully she’ll take a long, long nap. Then perhaps mommy can charge her batteries a little bit. I’m actually thinking of lying in bed, watching some crappy daytime TV, and then passing out during a commercial. Yes yes, sounds like a plan.

Fetus Update: All of a sudden, she’s getting big in there. I used to be able to sort of ignore the fact that I was pregnant in order to tend to other things, like Alaina or household chores or sitting down comfortably. Now, when I sit, she presses herself into my upper half. As if to say, “Excuse me, mother, get your fat organs offa my house.” Then she’ll kick me in my hips as some sort of attack mode, closely followed by getting a bout of hiccups. Oh, little baby girl. I know you’re not comfortable, and neither am I. If you could just get your big sister to stop making so many messes, I would promise to do nothing but lie down and eat cookies for the next 8 weeks or so. Or maybe even just persuade her to not run so fast and get into absolutely everything. Since I don’t think that’s very likely to happen, we’ll just have to co-habitate as nonviolently as possible. Ergo, I won’t eat pickles, and you won’t kick mommy in her cervix. Deal?

Rantastic

I’m nearing 31 weeks pregnant now, with so much to do that I can barely wrap my brain around the daunting list I’ve written out. It also doesn’t help that I keep thinking of things that need to be added to the list. You know, I think that it won’t hurt my feelings too badly to realize that while I would love to scour the stair rails before baby number two arrives, it’s really more important that I get that pedicure I keep fantasizing about. I mean, people are going to have to see my feet, and I don’t want that it’s winter, I’m pregnant, and I don’t remember what my feet even LOOK like thing going on. Because… eww. There are PLENTY of other less than savory things going on in a delivery room, I don’t need that ever so natural shade of I-stopped-caring nail polish to be one of them. Maybe it will make me feel more human and less aquatic mammalian. In any case, after nine months of gestation with one hell of a finale on the agenda, I think that (just maybe) I deserve it.

Especially after a string of recent events that makes me feel bitter, oh SO BITTER. Last weekend was Alaina’s second birthday party, which was mostly fun. The not so fun part was when I put Alaina down for her regular noon nap, before the party guests had arrived… well, all except the in-laws (dun dun dunnnn). I scheduled the party for noon, assuming people would be at least an hour or so late. Everyone was, except for my in-laws, who were right on time, and my sister-in-law and her boyfriend, who were damn near two hours late. Which, you know, was fine, considering that I had planned around all the late-comers. That is until I hear that mom-in-law and sis-in-law are having a shit-talking pow wow all hush-hush like in the room adjacent to the party. I’m upstairs, curling my hair and listening for an awake party girl, since she was due to wake up any minute. Why did she have us come if Alaina’s not even awake? You know? If it’s that big of a deal to be at your niece’s birthday party, don’t come. No big deal, because instead of enjoying your company, I was pissed at you. How can someone have the audacity to be almost TWO EFFING HOURS late to a party, and then think they have room to bitch? GAH. Thennnn mom-in-law comes upstairs to tell me that, you know, I should really wake up Alaina now because people are upset and saying that they’re going to have to leave soon. Which was a big fat lie. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell that woman that Laina is only two years old, she still really, really needs her nap, and she is a cranky devil child if I wake her up early. Then later that day, she let me know that I look so much cuter from the back than from the front. Wow. Thanks a BUNCH. If that woman gets any more tactful, I just don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Honestly, I’m not exactly exempt from having my foot in my mouth, but I don’t try to make people feel like crap about themselves. Ladies and gentlemen, Marie Barone is my mother-in-law.

Then? Andrew got sick. Closely followed by Alaina. For a minute, I thought I was going to get away without it, and then I would do some sort of goofy, triumphant I-got-a-flu-shot-aren’t-I-fabulous dance. So of course, I am now sick as a dog, praying I don’t get bronchitis because how much fun would THAT be?

To top off the best week ever, my car broke down today. It’s probably the starter. Wooooo.

Universe: 365168735139
Jennie: Goose Egg

Tally

I’m 26 weeks pregnant, and so far I have done the following ridiculous, completely brain-dead things:

• Not been able to understand plain English when my OB was explaining… something to me at my last prenatal appointment.
• Forgot my own middle name after previously mentioned appointment when the (somewhat snarky) receptionist was calling in a prescription for me.
• Left to go Christmas/grocery/whatever shopping and returned home to find both my front door and my screen door wiiiiiide open, and not because I happened to return while someone was robbing my house.
• Left my bank card in an ATM. I have cash now, no more need for plastic! Dum de dum…

Those are the main things so far. I don’t know how I’m going to make it these next few months without forgetting who I am, where I live, or to take Alaina out of the shopping cart at the store BEFORE I drive away, wondering why she is being so quiet.

By Any Other Name

I’m going to be so thrilled once Christmas is over. THRILLED. Not because I’m a Scroogey McGrinchpants (although, that may also be true), but because the strain of Christmas shopping and Christmas dinner and Christmas wrapping paper and Christmas sparkle may kill me. And because my in-laws are dead set on us going to Andrew’s grandmother’s on Christmas day. It’s a two hour trip there, and back. Frankly, I don’t want to go. I’m six and a half (oh, the half totally counts and don’t you defy me) months pregnant and I just want to lay on the couch and take pictures of my baby toddler (tear) playing with her new kitchen. Also, Alaina is going to be pissed when we remove her from her beloved new toys to make her sit in the car for a couple of hours, then spend a bunch of time with people she’s only met maybe once (Andrew’s grandmother and aunts). Wee. Excitement.

My other current gripe is that there are no good baby names in the world. In the WORLD, I tells ya! Andrew is uninterested with helping to name baby the second since I was such a lovely woman last time and pointed out why each and every one of his suggestions was horrific. He’s not completely detached from the naming process; he vetoes every name I come up with. It’s almost enough to make me stop caring and just name her Toaster Oven or Rainbow Sunskittle. Almost. Alaina’s name is just so perfect, so perfect for her and so pretty. How can you manage to do that twice?

On the agenda for the rest of the afternoon is gift wrapping, house cleaning, and baby wrangling followed by Christmas decorating, and possibly even more cleaning. Followed by some much-needed cajoling with the wonderful Shannon, who is delivering garland for my stair rails because she rocks. Maybe I’ll even make some brownies for us to stuff our faces with while we decorate. Fa la la la la, chocolate is the answer.

R.I.P., Dear Bissel

Alaina and I spent most of yesterday hiding under the covers of my bed, reading books and watching TV and hoping that Mommy wouldn’t have to throw up again. I didn’t, and even managed to eat macaroni and cheese last night (what I’m going to consider a solid) without engaging my upchuck reflex. Go me!

I also started to clean my room, but when I tried to vacuum, the vacuum up and died. I have no idea what even happened — it started making an awful noise so I turned it off, and then a bunch of dirt and a couple of screws fell out of it. I am. So confused. For two reasons: first of all, I was vacuuming cracker crumbs from my beloved little one smooshing graham crackers into my carpet, not big chunks of black dirt. Secondly, I definitely was not vacuuming up copious amounts of screws. Which brings me to my conclusion: the vacuum is in serious trouble when it starts spitting out screws in an attempt to die. I asked Andrew to fix it last night, to which he replied that he would “Have a look at it”. And then of course, he didn’t. So now, I want a new vacuum for Christmas. Really, how sad and domesticated is that? Though I would give my right arm to have a good vacuum that I can use on the wood floors downstairs. My vacuum just kind of sends cheerios and little bits of whatever spinning wildly around the room, AWAY from the vacuum. Niiiiice. I have one of those Swiffervac thingamabobs, but you have to charge it, and then it dies partway through the downstairs. Or at least loses most of it’s power. I find that if I leave it plugged in all the time, it lasts longer. I can’t plug it in while it’s in the closet though, and if it’s not in the closet, I run the risk that Alaina will unplug it and I won’t know until I try to use the thing, and it laughs in my face. I need a REAL vacuum.

Today I need to get down to the post office to send some birthday gifts and Christmas cards, and well… we’ll see. I’ve been in a funk lately. Maybe a nice, long, toddler-free shower will help shake off the funk, maybe not. At the very least, my hair will smell nice.