The Pee Pee Perils of Pregnancy

You know how some pregnancy symptoms are grossly over exaggerated? Like the whole pickles and ice cream thing? I know some gestating female, at some point in history, had to have had this combination for it to be linked to a pregnancy craving. Personally, the thought of combining those two things just makes me want to revert back to the morning sickness phase. Unless they meant that women crave some weird things during pregnancy like ice cream comma pickles. (Not ice cream with pickles on top with some chocolate sauce.)

Then there are the things that aren't exaggerated. Like the part where your bladder must have gone through a shrinking process because you pee so much. (Yes, I could have said "urinate" and been all fancy and all that, but it's pee. I'm just calling it like I sees it.)

When you're freshly pregnant, your body is working overtime to flush the toxins out and you spend a lot of your new found pregnancy joy in the bathroom. (If you have morning sickness to boot, you're probably spending  more than half!) Then, you have a bouncing bundle of baby bouncing on your bladder. (Phew! That was some serious tongue twisting alliteration there! Say that one 10 times fast!) I think your sweet fetus thinks that your internal organs are there for their amusement with the bladder, of course, being the trampoline.

So, when you're about halfway through your second trimester and you get to combine phrases that should never be in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence (like uterus size and soccer ball), you start to become intimately acquainted with every toilet in a 20 mile radius. You know where they are at work,  stores, school, church, and family abodes. You probably even have a rating system for the public restrooms you've gotten up close and personal with recently. (Target scores an A- by the way, although they always smell like fruity pebbles and give me the strongest craving for Flintstones inspired cereal.)

So pregnancy is probably not a good time for one conveniently located bathroom at work, where I am spending 40 hours of my weeks, to go on the fritz, right? Yeah, it's awesome. Instead of waddling 10 feet from my office to the toilet, I get to waddle down a few hallways with the boy playing, "Let's see how hard I have to kick Mommy before she's stricken with sudden incontinence." Yay me! Because it doesn't matter if you peed 20 minutes ago or 2 hours ago; as soon as you stand up and that baby ping pongs down onto the organ o'pee, you're in desperate need of a bathroom break. STAT! (The real irony is that I've worked in this office for almost 9 years and there hasn't been a single out of order sign utilized.....until this year.)

Luckily, I work with a bunch of nurses so if they keep up the crap (pun intended) with the out of order toilet, I'm just going to ask for a catheter. Or a chux pad. Maybe both. Hey, it's my potty and I'll cath(eterize) if I want to.

White Dream Versus White Nightmare

Remember being a kid and all the simple things that came with the youth and innocence? Wouldn't it be nice if we could keep that joyful bliss in all things small? Instead we get old and curmudgeonly and cynical. If you've ever seen the movie "Grumpy Old Men", well, that's where we're heading folks. (Scary, huh?)

Yesterday morning there was a small coating of snow on the ground. Not much, maybe half an inch (if that). My youngest is now ecstatic. Literally jumping for joy. Why? To wear his snow boots, duh! And what do I do? I instantly pop his bubble, even if ever so gently, by pointing out that he doesn't really need to wear his boots for that itty, bitty amount of snow. I continue on that it's going to be a pain to change shoes at school and he should wait until he really needs it when we have A LOT of snow. Meanwhile, I'm mentally praying this goes over well and he doesn't choose now to be stubborn because we really need to get out the door so we aren't late.

It wasn't until later that the dreaded mom guilt set in. Now I'm thinking, "That poor child just wanted to wear his snow boots. Imagine getting so much pleasure out of a pair of boots and I callously squelched his happiness by talking him out of wearing his boots. What kind of mother does that?" (Seem overly dramatic? Remember the pregnancy hormones that make me weepier than a pubescent teenage girl after her first breakup? Yeah, tons of fun.)

The thing is, we DO lose that innocence. We see snow out the window and our thought process immediately turns to, "Ugh, now I have to let the car warm up even longer or go out there and scrape everything off. I better get the snow brush out of the trunk now. Where are the spare gloves?" Meanwhile, our children's thoughts are more along the lines of, "SNOW!!!! I can't wait to play outside. I wish I didn't have to go to school. I would play in the snow right now! I know, I'll wear my boots to school! It snowed and I'll need boots, not sneakers. My teacher said I could bring my sneakers and change when I get there so it's okay if I wear boots. I love snow!" (Some children may not be that ramble-y, but sadly, none of them belong to me.)

An inch of snow? It looks a lot like this in a kid's mind.

So, the moral of the story is this: Let the kid wear his (or her) damn snow boots! You're not the one who has to deal with hot, sweaty feet or dragging a heavy back pack that has your lunch box, homework folder, and sneakers all jammed into it. Nope, you get to be Super Mom, the one who let your child wear his boots so that the dusting of snow on the ground has zero chance of making his socks damp. Because honestly, wet socks just suck.

Overachievers Hit A New High

Okay, so you all know I hate those overachieving Moms who make us normal (tired and barely functioning) Moms look bad, right? Well, I've found a whole new branch of over achieving mom-ness this week: The expecting over achieving Mom.

Now, if you've ever been pregnant (especially in the last few years), you know that there are lots of things you can make a fuss over. From conception, to outing your pregnancy to baby gear and shower dates. Apparently, the OAM's in the world got together, had some hand made scones and fresh brewed chamomile tea, and decided to micromanage these womanly functions as well. Now there are picture cards to announce your pregnancy, gender reveal parties to announce your baby's penis or lack of a penis, (Okay, totally guilty of that one. But in my defense it was an excellent excuse to have a party, eat a lot of food, and get together with friends and family.) and themed baby showers.

Let me repeat that. THEMED baby showers. Apparently having a party for your unborn lovely in order to score free baby swag from your friends and family wasn't enough, now it has to have meaning. There has to be a theme of some sort and apparently it has to involve crafts, backyard barbecues, or onesie decorating.

Now, the original article that set me off on this tangent popped up in my Facebook feed from a site I follow called "What To Expect". I went online to their site to try and find THAT original article to post a link for all my disbelieving readers, or maybe the ones who are slightly amused on my behalf, and alas, could not find it. I did, however, find a plethora (I love that word, don't you?) of other related articles. Now I'm even more incredulous.

Not only are there themes for showers but there are ideas for cookie decorations (Sugar spindles? I tried to follow this description but without a picture my pregnancy brain just couldn't follow.) and even what to do for a boy shower when you don't want that old over used blue theme. (Try a celestial theme....really? Because stars and planets make me think of newborn babies? Um, ok.)

Probably the best article I found was "10 Budget Baby Shower Ideas For Girls". Now, I have no problem with the theme at all. I love budget friendly anything. But then this was the picture shown along side the article:

Budget friendly cupcakes? Mmm hmm.

Yeah, those look budget friendly, not to mention super easy making what looks like a perfect fondant flower to decorate each one. Aside from that, a few ideas were really cute. Using baby blankets for table cloths, using Mom advice for an ice breaker, and making it dessert themed. (Heck, you could make anything dessert themed and I'd be thrilled.)

Some things though, just struck me as less budget friendly. Like this one: Use your own cups and dishes instead of buying paper products. Okay, good, yup. Then it proceeds with: "One idea is to serve punch, champagne or cocktails in your stem ware. Then, tie a pretty pink ribbon around the base of each glass. Any ribbon will do from light pink to gingham and they don't all have to match." Okay, first of all, I can get behind using my own Corelle plates and cups, but busting out my special, potentially breakable stem ware? I'd rather splurge on the paper products. Not to mention that I have big issues with alcohol being served at a baby shower for cripes sake. Is the idea of my gestating so appalling that you can't get through two hours with me without some sort of libation? Also, isn't alcohol expensive? (Unless you're serving Gennessee beer in a punch bowl?) And who happens to have ribbons just lying around? So, isn't this really just another expense? Here's an idea. Go to the dollar store, buy pink paper products and then go to Walmart and buy a five or six 2 liters of their awesome Dr. Thunder or Lemon Lime drink or whatever the Sam's club generic is. It's all soda and it's under $1. Bam!

Another one I had a problem with, and this very well could just be a "me" thing, was the substitution of a baby sitting certificate for a baby gift. Now, don't get me wrong, the idea is fabulous. New parents need some time to recoup with a nap or some adult conversation now and again. But honestly, I'm less inclined to hand my baby over to anyone outside my trusted three: Husband, parents, and best friend (and even then I might have to screen you before I feel comfortable leaving my progeny with you). I know you're my sister/aunt/cousin/brother/uncle twice removed, but I'm worried about your capability to handle my fussy newborn when you have a "Let them cry for 10 minutes before picking them up policy". Or when you think that kissing brand new babies on their mouths, possibly transferring germs they haven't had an opportunity to build immunity to yet, is an acceptable practice. And if the baby is breast fed and Mom doesn't want to have to pump for three days just to have an hour's supply of milk to go out and make sure there's still a world beyond her home, it's definitely not looking worth the effort. 

I'm not saying you have to get a gift. Come, eat, laugh at how fat I am or how I'm resembling a penguin because I waddle. If you want cheap gift ideas, get a $3 package of baby wipes. Or go to the dollar store and buy hand towels we can use as burp cloths. We will be eternally grateful that we have either thing at 3 AM when we're bleary eyed and trying to calm a crying newborn.

All The Crap I'm Thankful For This Year

Since today is the official day of giving thanks, I thought I'd take the time and reflect on the things that I'm thankful for this year. Her is my list, in no particular order, except that the most important ones are the top four. Oh, so, kind of an order but then no order, got it?

1. My kids....even when they're being annoying pains in the ass I love them to pieces.

1. My husband...I don't even have enough time today to list all the reasons why.

1. My health.....because raising the husband and children takes A LOT of energy.

1. My family, even if most of them ARE as crazy as I am.

Okay, now that we've established the important ones, here are other (mostly trivial) things that make me stupid happy but I'm also really thankful for.

2. My DVR, which so happily accepts that I don't always have time to spend with it and will just fill up with the shows I've set to record for future DVR date nights. Oh, and for being so easy to use that my six year old (or a half awake mom of three-almost-four) can use it.

3. My "besties", for being there when I need to vent about how under appreciated I am, or how the kids are driving me crazy, or how the husband just doesn't get it. And for sharing your similar stories so I know I'm not alone.

4. My kindle, which can be read with one hand so I can squeeze five minutes of reading in while I eat lunch, cook dinner, or do other Mom-ly multitasking tasks. Also, thank you kindle for being able to fit like a gazillion books on you and not taking up ANY space in my teeny tiny house. Well other than the space of a kindle. Which isn't big at all.

5. My teeny tiny house....because even though I lament the lack of two crappers and breathing room (Hopefully not breathing room IN the crapper!), I know we're lucky to have a roof over our head. Especially if the alternative is a cardboard box. Or a van down by the river.

6. Christmas movies for their ability to offer me a drug free instant pick me up.

7. Pregnancy boobs (and post pregnancy milk boobs) for making me feel Boobalicious. (Until I stop nursing and they go back to their normal size.) And thanks to my husband for telling me that more than a handful is a waste anyway. And not having Shaquille O'Neal sized hands.

8. The internet for giving me multiple means of time wasting opportunities AND a way to get Christmas shopping done without having to put a bra on and leave the house. I love you online shopping. And free shipping. And "Biggest Sales Of The Season!".

9. Netflix for making sure I see a current movie at least three times a year, which is about how often I remember there's a disc on the dresser waiting to be watched. And for having all the kids movies available for the rest of the times so I can occupy my kids for 90 minutes and escape to a corner of the house to read/breathe/stop pulling my hair out.

10. Baking, for giving me an outlet so I'm only mildly crazy and not straight out psycho. A special shout out to scratch made cakes for being so darn delicious and therapeutic. And cookies for always having my back and creating sweet (ha!) memories for my kids and how the cookie jar was always full.

11. Sweaters, fuzzy socks, and gloves. Because I HATE being cold.

12. Gestational gymnastics. Even when I'm pretty sure he's bruising several internal organs with his kick boxing, at least I know he's thriving and living the good life.

13. Pictures, even if I only remember to take them 3 times a year. At least I can document the kids growing up and give them tangible evidence that their parents were NOT boring and we DID do fun things and yes, we WERE cool parents (in our own minds at least).

14. Chocolate. Enough said.

15. Music, for keeping me sane when I couldn't bake. And for just being awesome.

16. Coffee, for getting me through the day without slapping, maiming, or murdering all the idiots I may come into contact with. And for helping me stay awake during 9 AM meetings. (Or after all nighters in my "youth".)

17. Co-workers, for making my non-lotto life of having to be a working woman not suck as much as it could. (Like say if I was a rectal thermometer tester or a podiatrist.) And for being my "second family" who I probably see more than my real family now that I think about it.

If I've forgotten anything, I apologize. There are probably many things I'm thankful for that I don't even know. (Like clothes, for not making me have to walk around in a post-child bearing body naked. Thank you VERY much for that. Or a husband who actually still gets excited to see this post-child bearing body naked. Thank you VERY, VERY much for that!) I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving. May your turkey be tender and juicy and your cranberry sauce be can shaped with lines!

I Don't Mean to Rush You But....

Thanksgiving is probably my most favorite holiday of the year. There is just something about the smell of turkey cooking in my house, the parade on television in the background, and the excuse to be a gluttonous, tryptophan filled hog for a few hours that makes me deliriously happy. But honestly, this year I'm a little eager to start the next chapter.....Christmas movie season!

There's just something about a Christmas movie that lifts the spirits. (Well, unless you're watching those sad, I-need-a-miracle-but-don't-get-one-to-teach-a-miser-the-spirit-of-Christmas type of  movie. I tend to stay away from those.) Holiday hi-jinx, cuddly Santas with jolly laughter, couples finding love on Christmas Eve, and families being brought together by some miraculous, um, miracle. All wrapped in a neat, two hour package. In 120 minutes there are no more problems, everyone loves each other, and they even get presents.

The best Christmas movies are the "It's a Wonderful Life" type where the ungrateful jerk gets plucked from their life that they loathe/are miserable in/take for granted and plopped down in an alternate reality where they weren't born/didn't meet their spouse/chose a different career. After a miserable trip through the "new and improved" life, they wish they could go back to the old life but there's always some sort of glitch that makes it seem like it's impossible. Then, just in the St. Nick of time, (see what I did there?) they get back to their old life where they shower love, money and/or appreciation on everyone they come into contact with for the final 10 minutes of the movie. You know how it ends up, but you want to see it anyway.

C'mon, it's a classic! How can you not love it?

I also enjoy the Scrooge type movies where the Super Rich Mega Jerk gets taken through their Christmas past, present, and future and they finally realize the error of their ways and spend the last ten minutes of the movie showering love, money, and/or appreciation on everyone they come into contact with. Who doesn't love to see a jerk repent and turn into Mr. Nice Guy again? (Or Ms. Nice Gal if you will.)

But it's not only the Christmas movies that I love. It's the whole season that seems to make everyone be a little bit nicer, a little bit happier, and a little less douche-y. Kids are sucking up for Santa to bring them something super awesome, adults are planning secret Santa gifts, and holiday parties are in full effect. Eleven months of the year people can pretty much suck, but that one month, we can come together and kick ass as a species. Not to mention the Christmas cookies, the wrapping paper, the smell of Scotch Satin Finish Gifting Tape, the lights, and the sight of the huge tree that you haul into your house for 4 weeks every year. If we could bottle that bubbly happiness that wells inside us at the joy of our 6 year old opening a gift that they "always wanted" or hearing the laughter of our families as we gather and celebrate, we could have the cure for world peace.

So this season, make it a point to find a sappy, funny, or heart warming Christmas movie. Make some cocoa or wrap some presents and feel the cheesy, celluloid love. After all, it's only a few short weeks before they yank them back out of our reach and leave us with regular, non Christmas movies. Unless you have a really big DVR. Then those big idiots who think they're pulling all the strings will see who's laughing now, won't they? (Insert evil Christmas laugh here.)

The Blackest Day of the Year

Well folks, it's almost that time again. When people put the turkey in the fridge and get ready to do the marathon of spending. Yep, Black Friday is upon us. 10 days til the consumerism smacks us right in the face with its "Best Deals of the Season" and "Lowest Prices Since the Nixon Administration". (Okay, I exaggerated that last one but you get my point.) All the retailers strive to out do the others with fantastic prices and gobs of people trampling each other to get them. (Sadly, that's not even an exaggeration anymore after the Wal-mart stampede a few years ago.)

The thing is, I hate shopping on a good day. Black Friday just takes everything that I hate (massive amounts of shoppers, crowded aisles, and slow customer service) and jams it into one handy package. The problem is, I like the deals they roll out to entice us poor schmucks into shopping at their stores. (Face it, who doesn't love a good deal?) Sometimes I don't even need to be shopping, I just want to see what sales they're having so I can say to myself, "Wow, that's a really good price." Only to pay $20 more 2 weeks later when the crowds aren't claustrophobic anymore and I can handle being in the store.

And being America, we HAVE to hype something 3 months before the actual occasion arrives. Remember when Black Friday was the official start of the Christmas season? I was in a store a few days before Halloween and they were already playing Christmas carols. (Tell me those employees won't be stark raving mad by December 25th!) Halloween isn't even over yet not to mention they're breezing right over one of my personal faves, Thanksgiving, to skip straight to Christmas.

Just a quick digression into a personal rant: I'm pretty ticked now that they aren't even giving T-day its due because all the hype is on the day after. A perfectly nice, plump 24 pound turkey died just to make my family gluttonously happy and dammit, we're going to enjoy every single gravy soaked second!

They do the same thing to Black Friday now too. It used to be all the stores opened at the ass crack of dawn and people lined up around 2 in the morning, freezing their asses off for a $200 flat screen. Now stores are opening on Thanksgiving Day itself, hurrying people through their pumpkin pie so that they can gorge on Christmas spending for their families. Then the whole "Cyber Monday" came into play for the hermits like me who can't stand braving weather, traffic, or crowds but still love a good deal. I have found that some of the online deals are way better than trying to shop in actual stores. (Plus, it comes right to my door where I open the box, wrap it up, and stick it under my tree. How is this not a win win situation?) Yet even this has gotten out of hand as my email inbox fills up with "Pre-black Friday deals" and "Early Cyber Monday" crap weeks before the events occur.

Just for the fun of it, I'm going to spout some "Black Friday is the anti-Christmas" conspiracy crap to get everyone riled and arguing amongst themselves. Then when they're not looking I'm going to snatch that last $15 blender right from under their noses. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm probably not leaving the comfort of cyber space for my holiday shopping. You can't beat shopping in your pajamas at 9:30 at night while watching the latest crime show and planning your Thanksgiving extravaganza. That's the life!

Guys And Their Junk

Why is it that guys always have to have their hands on their "junk"? Is it reassuring to know that it's still there? Is it habit? Are they aware that they have  a deep, psychological need to touch the twig and berries every 75 seconds?

You don't see women doing this. Maybe the difference is that our junk is an "innie" and guys is an "outie"? Although, women still have breasts and you don't see us adjusting our bra cups every half hour or pulling on our nipples. We're okay with our boobs just being, am I right? We know that we put 'em on every morning because they never go anywhere. Sure, they might shift the direction of their gaze from "straight ahead Captain" to "I'm making sure your path on the floor is illuminated my friend". But they're always there.

So, is it a reassurance thing for guys? That they just have to know nothing has fallen off and dropped out the bottom of their pants leg when no one was looking? Because this leads me to ask: Has this been a problem from previous generations that was passed down the line? "Well son, you have to make sure that your wrench and sockets are still where they need to be every so often because Uncle Johnny's fell right off and he lost it! Didn't even know til he went to take a leak two hours later. Tragic."

My second question would be: When exactly is this training taking place? I have yet to see my husband have the Uncle Johhny talk with my baby boy and yet even he occasionally has to check that things are still there. And he's only six!

So maybe it's a caveman response? "Uh, feel good to touch small stick between walking sticks?" Ugh, I can't even go there. That means there are millions of cavemen like men out there playing with the pretzel and peanuts just for the hell of it. (Everyone knows cavemen sell car insurance!) I'm going to choose to think it's a matter of comforting oneself to know that they aren't missing any vital parts.

I asked an expert on the situation: My husband. (I figure heaving the equipment in question makes him more of an expert than I can be without it at least. Besides, he gets to be an expert without years of training and studying so it's a bonus for him too.) He says guys are "adjusting" themselves. Um, ok. I guess since I don't have floppy bits in my drawers, I can't comprehend the need to rearrange things in there. Even if I could comprehend it, why is there a need for so much rearranging? You'd think that this universal problem would be addressed and corrected by the United Council of All Things Guy Related. (They have that, right?) Perhaps some under garments that are comfortable and leave you confident enough not to have to move things around every so often. That could even be their slogan. "Underwear that leave men confident enough that he doesn't have to touch his Johnson every 30 seconds!" I think it's a wiener. I mean winner.

So ladies, if you're married to an Al Bundy and worry that your man loves his recliner and having his hand down his pants just a little too much, don't despair. There's a meeting of The Council next week to discuss the issue. I'm sure we're just one catchy slogan away from the problem being solved.

Zi-can't Take It Anymore!

Have you seen the Zicam commercial with the big, mucous-y goobery monster chasing a sniffling woman through the city streets? Apparently it's to illustrate that the "pre-cold" that's chasing you can be "shortened" by taking their product. (Although the goober gets run over by a Zicam bus at the end so I kind of feel like that sends a message that the product kills the pre-cold and contradicts their words. But I digress.) I feel like I'm the woman in that commercial. Yes, I have a pre, well, something coming on.

Yeah Zicam, that's a pretty picture. Thanks for this.

I don't know why I don't see it coming. The two boys have taken turns the last few weeks to see whose cough can last the longest. Since it just seems annoying at this point without any other symptoms to point to an actual illness, I figured allergies or perhaps a small cold. They've still been acting normally, eating and drinking and being the fart-tastic knuckle heads that they usually are.

But it's November. And we've made it this far without any serious health issues (knock on wood) so I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone came up gunky in my house. I just didn't think it was going to be me. I'm taking prenatal vitamins for cripes sake! Aren't they some sort of cure all or something? They should be. I shouldn't have to have a sore throat or a headache dammit. And I hate sore throats. They are one of the worst ailments because they're so difficult to relieve. (Do they still make Sucrets throat drops? Those things were like sucking on a cherry flavored battery but they did seem to work.)

Well, whoever's in charge needs to realize that I don't have time for this! There's only 16 days until Thanksgiving. Believe you me, T-Day is a major BFD in my household. It's like the world series of dinners with a parade and football. I want to stay hale and hearty for the big occasion. Not to mention that we have a girls night out next week and the first grade parent teacher conference where I'll find out how awesome my 6 year old has been.

So take notes people, I ain't got no time for being sick! November is too busy. Then there's December and Christmas and I don't have time between shopping, wrapping, baking, and family parties. January might be the first possible time I can be sick. Why don't you have your people call my people and we'll see if we can't schedule something for mid-January, okay cupcake? I appreciate it.

The Big To Do Over The Big Reveal

If you want to piss people off, tell them you're pregnant and opting to wait until the birth to find out the gender. I'm not sure why this is a hot button issue. I'm not saying YOU can't find out the gender of YOUR baby. Conversely, they also get accusatory if you plan on waiting and then change your mind. "I thought you weren't going to find out?" Apparently fetus gender is an extremely sensitive subject.

Originally hubby and I were going to wait for the sweet surprise at delivery, but the more we thought on it we decided we did want to find out. Since this is absolutely, most definitely the final child that will ever be housed inside my uterine walls, we figured we'd go all out and have one of them there fancy gender reveal parties that are all the rage nowadays. So we had the ultrasound technician seal the verdict in an envelope that we gave to a friend of ours who colored the inside of the cake either pink or blue.

For the entire time that lead up to the party I was so excited I'm surprised the baby didn't send an S.O.S. telling me to calm myself down. I was utterly convinced that this baby was a girl and it was another shot at frilly dresses, hair bows, and braiding her hair. (Those days are long past with my 13 year old daughter.) Besides, it would even the score in my house to 3 boys and 3 girls. Having a boy was so far from my mind that when we cut the cake and it WAS blue, I was devastated. Now, you're never supposed to admit that you want a specific gender. You can only demurely smile and say, "As long as it's healthy, we don't care what we have." Well, I call bullshit. I wanted a girl. There's enough testosterone in my house already. I need a reprieve. Not another person on Team "I just farted" tee hee hee.

Mothers, however, aren't supposed to feel this heartbroken over something as trivial as gender. We are supposed to be truly appreciative of this miracle we are carrying. Mothers are supposed to be perfect and never express disappointment. We are supposed to radiate hope and love and enfold our children in our warm embrace. So now I'm crushed AND guilty for having these thoughts. Before you put on your hate hat, please realize that I adore my two boys. Scraped knees and fart smells and all. But this unexpected baby was surely meant to be another little princess for Mommy and Daddy to coo over and the baby sister my daughter wanted our youngest to be all those years ago.

I'm positive that when this baby does come, I'll love it as much as the other three. But I deserve to have a chance to mourn the child that isn't going to be before I can celebrate the child that will be. I don't see the shame in that. I don't think mothers (or even fathers) should be made to feel like a social pariah for having emotions and hopes for their unborn child and being upset when they don't come to fruition. Yes, the baby is healthy and that's the ultimate goal, right? I'm sure I'll get used to the fact that (sigh) this one has a penis too, even if I cope by hiding pink onesies under his clothes for the first few months.*

*I would never do this to my sweet, baby boy. (and if I did, I wouldn't announce it to on my blog!)

If You Want Me To Glow, Give Me a Damn Glow Stick

Don't you love how people say that pregnant women "glow"? I think it ended up being something nice that people could say that wouldn't make the hormonally challenged gestating woman cry or punch you in the face. (Hey, YOU try having a surplus of chemicals swirling in your body for nine months and not turn into The Hulk.)

Honestly, I just want to know how they managed to come up with that specific term. If you want me to glow during pregnancy, give me one of those glow stick necklaces or dip me in a vat of radioactive goo. Because if there is one thing I am not managing to do during pregnancy, it's glowing. Bloating? Sure. Floating in urine, or so it feels like at least. Absolutely. But glowing? Not so much.

In fact, I am probably the antithesis of glowing right now. I feel so un-glowy that I should get automatic rights to hate any pregnant woman who does fit the description. Just on principle. Any woman who's barely making it through the procreation process should be able to hate the women who float through 40 weeks of pregnancy with barely a hiccup and can wear their pre-preggers jeans home from the hospital deserve the derision of us poor, pathetic women whose fetuses drain every iota of beauty and humanity from us.

Now, before you think I'm cruel for hating on the Disney princess type women who sail through the miracle creating process, let me explain something. All my pregnancies came with super fun things like: bloating, , nausea, morning sickness, gassiness, fetus feet jammed in ribs, morning sickness, some more nausea, indigestion, headaches, tums by the gallon, swollen everything, water retention, and oh, some nausea and morning sickness. I think that qualifies me to lament the total lack of Stepford-ness in my pregnancies.

If, however, you do meet one of these wrung out, strung out, exhausted gestating creatures, do not, under any circumstances mention her limp hair, ruddy skin, or circles under her eyes. Don't ask if she's obviously exhausted from making midnight (and 3 am and 6 am) bathroom trips or give tips to help with her oily/dry/blemished skin. Do not say stupid, insensitive things like, "Wow! You got huge!" or "You look really tired today." or "Are you sure you're not having twins?" Don't mention the machine gun walking farts coming from her maternity tent pants because she can't help that pregnancy brings some super tooting abilities. Don't ask if she showered today because her hair looks like it was in a fight with a 90 degree humid day and lost.

With all the don'ts, you might wonder what IS safe to say to someone who is hormonally challenged. Say lovely things like, 'Wow, you're pregnant? I didn't even know!" or "You make pregnancy look good!" or "Those maternity jeans make your ass look fantastic!" Yes, we give you permission to lie. Anything to boost our self esteem. Believe me, the next person who would have been blubbered on/yelled at/punched in the forehead will definitely thank you for your consideration.