Since When is PJ Shopping Such a Chore?

Today I left the apartment - wild, I know - but I'm actually trying to get out at least once a day, just to retain a minuscule amount of sanity.

So what, pray tell, was the purpose of today's wild excursion?

I went out to buy "labour" gear.

As in something to wear while I'm gritting my teeth, cursing, sweating, and shooting my husband death glares as I try and bring our sweet little Butterbean into the world.

So why the need for special gear you ask? Well, here's the thing...hospital gowns have the tendency to bring out my bad side. They tie tight around your neck, they're horrendously ugly, and they gape open at the most inappropriate times and places - not to mention the fact that who knows who else has worn them going through who knows what.

Also, in my attempts at a natural labour I intend to do as much walking as possible, so something that flashes my ass at other patients and medical staff is not a particularly sought after look. I do intend on wearing a robe when I'm in the halls, but still.

In the different birth videos I've watched I've seen completely naked women, some decked out in a sports bra and nothing else, some wearing a hospital gown, some in flannel nightgowns...really, you name it, women have worn it.

My criteria for gear were simple; get something cheap, that should it get ruined I won't mind chucking in the garbage, and something that is easy for breastfeeding, as every woman who has crossed my path in the past 4 months has pointed out in a necessity.

Sounds simple enough, right?

Wrong.

I headed to Wal-mart, figuring I could get something that fit the bill, that I could live with. Alas, apparently the only people that buy pj's from there are either:

1. Hutterites straight from the colony, that wouldn't be caught dead in anything shorter than ankle length, lower cut than chin level, and with buttons and satin bows galore.

2. Teeny boppers who are all about the little tank tops and boy shorts, complete with messages like "Your Boyfriend is SO Going To Be MY Boyfriend" emblazoned across the chest - which, under normal circumstances would have been what I would have picked - but for the purpose of labour, having to remove shorts for each check of the vajajay would just be a waste of time and energy.

3. Super skankalicious whore-bags who can't afford to shop somewhere cute like Victoria's Secret, so instead settle for cheap, mis-stitched lingerie in an array of hideous colours.

After mumbling curse words for several minutes as I perused the racks, I finally hit upon gold. Disney gold that is. And by gold I mean total crap, but that would do the trick.

I ended up with a fluorescent blue and green nightie, spaghetti straps so it's cool on my skin, short enough that it's easy to haul out of the way, and cheap like borscht. Oh, and the real selling points? *Please insert a bucket's worth of sarcasm here* Winnie the Pooh and Piglet splashed across the front with the words "Bee Groovy", and of course, the ruffle along the bottom.

Oh, I will be a sight.

Fill in the Blanks

I stole this from a blog months and months ago because I thought it was such a cool idea. For the life of me I can't remember where it came from, so if the author should stumble across this post, then I, um ah...sorry!
My answers are in the purple - they were fun to come up with - I encourage you all to steal it from me and do the same.

If I could, I'd invent a Stupidity Chamber, and damn it, the world needs one because there are a lot of stupid people that need somewhere to spend eternity.

I sometimes buy books I feel I “should” read, because it is/they are more like the me I want to be than the me that I am.

If you came over to my house to hang and touched my hideous, hand-made quilt with blue flowers and blue yarn tied all over it I'd be a little bit mad at you for a while.

The colour salmon makes me want to shave my eyeballs with a cheese grater.

The colour/s of a sunset is/are so beautiful that when I see them, a beam of light comes down and I hear a choir sing.

Oysters make me gag, but the two times I’ve tried them, I feel it in my mouth for a minute, and then swallow it down rather than spit it out.

I might get sick or die if I touch or ingest: cat hair, or look at short, chubby, balding actors on tv. I have a very strong intolerance for people like Jason Alexander or Danny Devito.
(this is where you mention allergies or phobias)

The feel of terra cotta pots gives me the willies and I might need to consider a frontal lobotomy if I even think about it further.

I love the feel of my own hair so much I want to hump it like a puppy on a sofa pillow.

No one should have to watch me eat a Caramilk bar because then I might consider being polite enough to share, and I don't want to share it.

I'm a grown-up now, so I don't have to make my bed or pick my clothes up off the floor anymore, and you can't make me.

The song that randomly pops into my mind most often is You’re So Vain, I usually sing it out loud because I like to tease the husband about being vain…plus it’s a catchy tune.

If I could invent a way to permanently coat my nostril hairs with this scent, I'd be my own biggest customer: Body Shop Pure Vanilla Body Spray…I’m drooling on myself just thinking about it.

Three things I like that anyone might like: fresh sheets, s’mores and getting presents.

Three things I like that nobody else in the world likes: Cottage cheese mixed with sunflower seeds, belly button smell and popping blisters.

I have TOO MANY/TOO MUCH OF: pairs of panties, and not enough...follow thru when it comes to things that I really want to do before I die.

If you want to sex me up, your best chance for success is to stand behind me and whisper my name close to my ear, it makes my legs shake.

Okay, we know the best things in life aren't things, but these are the best things in life if there are going to be best things: unexpected flowers, down filled duvets, Ikea, jewelry, and tools.

When people have kind, sweet and nice things to say about me, they're usually talking about: my big, loud laugh and my happy personality.
When they say I'm foul-mouthed they're usually right too.

It's true, I'm a little on the emotional side. I used to feel embarrassed about it but now, I'm learning to be proud of it.

If I could have any talent in the world, I'd choose the ability to find things and use it to locate all the little things I’ve lost in my life like my Malibu Barbie sparkle bikini, my Ontario Wilderness loon t-shirt, and my sanity, plus all the “weapons of mass destruction” so we can all just get along.

You are given a day and a no-limit credit card to spend in one of these places, childfree. Choose one, or write your own:

• An auction, where you never know what you want until you see it, and then you want it more than anyone. It's all about the adventure and the atmosphere.
• A picturesque neon-lit bar, where a couple of swank cocktails and a friendly bartender might lead to a Chandler-esque story. It's all about becoming a character yourself.
• A craft show, because you really need to find something attractive to cover your spare rolls of toilet paper with, and then, you want to maybe glue some paper to some more paper. It's all about making and doing.
• A gourmet food store, because you are what you eat. It's all about feeding yourself and your soul.
• A hoity toity boutique, because you'd rather have the experience of shopping gracefully than anything. It's all about quality time.
• I would buy an undiscovered island in the Caribbean (that is somehow safe from all tropical storms, tsunamis and idiots), hire a crew to make it livable, then fly my entire family and friend base and their families to live in paradise with me.

And: If I could suggest that you read only one post from my archives, this would be it.

I Could Really Use a Sex Dream About Now...

Oh Lord. The dreams. They have been so vivid, so complex, so intricate, that when I wake up I'm usually out of breath and thinking they're real.
And no, I'm not talking about sex dreams - but damn do I wish I was!
Over the past 3 or 4 nights I've been pummeled with these dreams. About the baby, some of you, some people from work, things from my high school days - the weirdest combos. Of course, some of the details have faded from my mind by the time I catch my breath again, but I figured I'd share a couple with you:

Last Night:
I dreamed of Reggie, Gigi, the Bean, and myself. Only, the Bean was actually their baby, and Gigi kept having to leave to buy jewelery and horses, so I was pretty much taking care of the baby.
They lived on a massive cartoon ranch in the middle of who knows where. It was cartoony, like nature is sometimes portrayed in really bad movies: the trees are all alive, the flowers and sun are greeting everyone, everything is bright, primary colours, and there is singing going on all over the place...by the flowers, birds, sun, trees, animals, etc. They were singing some gay-ass song about it being a wonderful day - I wanted to tell them to shut up, but Reggie and Gigi seemed to love it.
Anyways, I was walking across this field when I saw this huge acreage with a moat around it - imagine my surprise when Gigi came prancing up beside me on a beautiful horse to tell me she'd been waiting for me for hours! So I climbed on the back of the horse, and we flew over the moat. Yes, flew.
We landed gracefully beside the barn where Reggie was dressed in jean overalls, and he told me the baby was sleeping in the barn, so I could go get them and come in the house for lunch. Then Gigi had to literally see a man about a horse, and then was going to a jewelery expo in town and would be back later.
I spent the day helping Reggie move hay from one pile to another, watching the baby, and sidestepping the 103 horses that were walking everywhere. And yes, there were 103 horses, I asked Reggie.
I woke up panicked because I lost their baby in one of the haystacks...

Saturday Night:
Many of the details of this dream are vague up until the end.
I was still at work, but work was somehow located in my old high school in Ontario. I dreamed that there was an earthquake, and I somehow ended up in the principal's office trying to hide from the tremors, along with one of the women I work with. For some reason we got locked in the office and I started having contractions, but my water would not break.
The woman I was with had me lie down on the floor and checked to see what was going on down there - apparently I have no problem showing people my hoohoo in dreams - nice.
Anyways, she determined that the only thing to do was to break my water (how she knew this I have no idea, she's a sales manager!) and started looking around the office for something to do it with.
Seeing the determined look in her eye I started to panic, telling her I didn't think it was a good idea, and that maybe we should just wait to be rescued!
She reached up onto the desk, grabbed a pen (which just happened to be the naked man pen that Krista brought me from Amsterdam a couple years ago - lol), looked me dead in the eye and said "trust me". Then she pressed the button on the end of the pen to make the little inky part come out - like that extra two millimeters was going to make a difference - and poked me in the crotch while I started screaming!
Just as I heard this loud gush I woke up, screaming of course, and had to feel the bed to make sure it hadn't really happened!
That was traumatizing. Holy shit.

I have no idea what either of those dreams mean, but I think I'm starting to sub-consciously worry about labour, and perhaps what kind of mother I'll be.

I vaguely remember waking the husband up last night just to ask him if he thought I'd be a good mom, then going back to sleep when he told me I'd be the best mom ever...hmmm.

*Update*

Apparently I have caused some concern to Logziella, after not posting since Tuesday - sorry T.

I managed to avoid the hell raiser coming over - turns out that he, his new brother, and his mom have all come down with a bronchial infection, so there was no question about them not coming. The last thing I need is to get sick!

I have been taking it very easy, maybe leaving the house once a day, just for peace of mind. The nurses have come every day so far, except today and tomorrow (unless my condition changes) just to give me a break. So far my blood pressure is high - apparently it won't go down now till Butterbean is born - but is staying sort of consistent.

Had my doctor's appointment on Thursday, baby looks good, got a perfect score for measurements and stuff, and they think the Bean will be just under 8 pounds if I make it to my due date.

And speaking of my due date, they'll probably induce me before that...if my bp goes up any more they'll induce right away, and otherwise, as soon as my um, (sorry boys) cervix opens, they're inducing anyways. So, I'll be checked again next Thursday and we shall see, Butterbean may be here before we know it!

Anyways, sorry for any worry, love you guys!

Having a Hell Raiser for Tea

One of my girlfriends wants to come by for a visit on Friday. Awesome. Fantastic. Wonderful.

She also has a one month old son that I am itching to get my hands on, so that's even more of a reason for me to want her to visit.

However...she also has a three year old son. He just happens to be hell on wheels. He's not an awesome listener, he's into everything, and to tell you the truth, he's kind of a brat. He's that kid that will punch you in the face, then his mom will say "Hey now, that's not nice..." and that's about it. Then he'll run away and pout, but come back a minute later and do it again.

But hey, if I wouldn't get in trouble for punching someone in the face, I'd probably do it too.

Having people over in general usually stresses me out. I mean, I'm slowly getting over my people will see my messy apartment phobia, but I am nowhere near cured.

Krista and our friend Adrienne are supposed to be coming over for a visit Thursday, but I'm not worried because I know they really don't care about the state of my house. I'm supposed to have a date with Princess sometime this weekend, and though I really wouldn't mind if she came over either, I'll probably suggest we go out, just for the sake of me getting out into the real world for an hour or two, so long as things are looking good on the health front.

But, with my friend recently having a c-section, she'll also be bringing along her mother for help. That's all well and good, but having someones mom hanging around (her mom is 65) is a little dampening on a good girly dish session. And with the hell raiser child around I know he'll be into everything.

Usually when he's coming over I make sure that there is nothing around he can get into - the entire table is cleared, all the plants are out of reach, Ramona is hauled to the bedroom, etc. But since I'm not supposed to be doing any of that stuff, it's causing a bit of a problem.

I feel like a bitch asking her not to come, but I just can't deal with 4 extra people around right now, especially when one of them is a three year old monster with little to no discipline. But she's the sort of person that would get offended if I told her the truth-ish, and she's not really the type of person to take a hint - so besides making something up, I'm not really sure what to do.

Any suggestions?

Odds and Ends

Yesterday I watched Lars and the Real Girl. It's a movie about a man that falls in love with a blow up sex doll, and how the community he lives in come to accept it because of how much they love him. I was so disturbed with it at the beginning that I was very close to turning it off, but decided to stick it out. I'm glad I did, it turned out to be incredibly heart-warming, and even a little funny. 4 out of 5 stars.

Each morning I get up, shower, eat breakfast, and wait for the nurse to get here. And then after she leaves...the most bizarre thing happens...I slowly begin to lose my clothing!
It starts with kicking off my slippers, then I lay down and my t-shirt twists around me and gets annoying, so off it comes, then my pants are bunching up around my knees, so they end up on the floor, and before you know it there is no underwear to be found. It's quite the phenomenon - and it usually takes for me to realize that it's 7:30 and the husband will be home soon, and that because of the shift in light people are going to be able to see inside the house pretty soon, that I realize "Holy crap - I'm naked!" and have to run to the bedroom to put something on. Very peculiar.

And no, this guy doesn't end up wearing my underwear on his head, but I thought the picture was funny...forgive me :)

I thought I was okay with not having any pregnant belly pics of myself. Not the ones I've taken sporadically throughout the months, but really nice ones. It seems I'm not actually okay with it. I think because I'm realizing how quickly my pregnancy is going to be over, I'm starting to get nostalgic. It was a miracle that I got pregnant at all, so the idea that I won't have any pictures I can share with Butterbean of them in my belly is getting to me. I just may have to do it...in the very near future...but man I am a suck...

The new Fratelli's album: Here We Stand, comes out in June (the day after my birthday) - I am stoked! If you've never listened to them I highly recommend it. Their stuff makes you want to dance and flail and shake your ass till you're dizzy and out of breath.

And that's about it...tomorrow I'm allowed to have a short "outing", to see how my bod and the Bean react. Hopefully I'll have something more exciting to blog about...

Bedrest Criteria = Insane Pregnant Chick

Bedrest is defined as 10 hours of "rest" a night, then 5 more peppered throughout the day.

Rest is defined as laying down (sitting doesn't count), preferably on my left side, and anything less than an hour it doesn't even count.

I'm taking my blood pressure 4 times a day with the machine they left here for me, plus the nurse visits for an hour each day where she takes my blood pressure twice more, then uses the doppler to listen to Butterbean's heartbeat, and feel them out to see where they're laying. Then she checks me out for swelling, headaches, vision problems and that sort of fun stuff.

Note: the terms "them" or "their" when referring to the Bean are only used because sometimes it's the only option I've got, short of telling you all what we're having. Rest assured there is one baby in there - I repeat - one baby.

I'm only allowed to stand in the kitchen long enough to make myself toast, or stir soup if I'm feeling really good. I'm not supposed to drive myself anywhere, and in all actuality I'm not supposed to go anywhere.

I can't do any laundry, wash dishes, vacuum, or clean.

Essentially I can eat toast, lay around, sleep, and, um that's about it. And I know, people are like "Why are you whining about that? You can rest and catch up on movies, bad daytime television, reading..." I get it. Believe me. It's not the worst thing that could happen. But just think of a month, laying down, more often than not by yourself. There is only so much tv you can watch, or books you can read before you're going a little crazy.

Anybody feel like taking a little vacation to come hang out with me? You'll have to get yourself a drink, and make me snacks, but whenever you're tired I've got a king size bed you can snuggle up in...any takers?


All right, now that the pity party is over...

Lunch today was great. Have I mentioned before that I love my co-workers? I'll miss everyone, but of course Krista, Zig and James have a very special place in my heart. Love, love, love those three and I'll miss them everyday.

But I feel really bad for Krista - since she's essentially the only girl now she'll have to listen to a lot of dumb "boy talk"...at least she's coming over next week for cheesecake and a visit - yay!

James I might see occasionally since he and the husband hang out once in a while, but I guess I can always make random stops to the office to keep him in line.

Zig I'll still see, since the husband and I hang out with him and Alyssa. And, the Bean will need someone to corrupt, why not Rachel?

*mwahahahaha says a tiny voice from inside my belly*

When I got home from my lunch today the husband had flowers and a card waiting for me, which of course made me cry. Then after we had an awesome steak dinner he went out and rented a whole wackload of movies for me since I'll essentially be on my own the next three days.

I've decided if I can entertain myself for three days on my own, then I should be able to figure out some sort of routine for myself - something to keep the crazy level at a minimum...wish me luck!

So Much for Friday Being the End...

Went to the doctor again today. My blood pressure was up - again. Higher than on Monday. Doctor was not happy, sent me to the women's hospital (which is where Butterbean will be delivered) for monitoring. Blood pressure got checked every 15 minutes - stayed higher than usual (but not too alarming yet)

So I'm on bedrest. Blech. So much for finishing out the week at work, then spending the next few weeks finishing little things, going for lunch, and having some last minute fun. Now I'm confined to the house, and more often than not, bed.

Starting tomorrow I have a neo-natal health nurse coming to the house to check my blood pressure and check in on me. Then she'll be here everyday till next Thursday when I get to leave the house to go to the hospital (oh, woohoo) to get another assessment, measure up Butterbean and I to make sure I can actually deliver them, then off to my doctor's office for my weekly checkup.

The nurse told me today that if my blood pressure stabilizes a bit then they'll only have to come every 2 days...until the baby is born. If it doesn't stabilize I'll be admitted to the hospital to keep me there till Butterbean arrives, and if it gets too high they're going to induce me. Sheesh. Can I do nothing without drama?

Apparently this baby has been blessed (or hindered, depending on how you look at it) with not doing anything quietly as per their mother - so I guess it's payback time for me.

One good thing though? I pouted in the hospital about missing my goodbye lunch at work tomorrow, and the nurse called my doctor and sweet talked her into letting me go, so long as I go for lunch and get my ass right back home - yay!

mishmash

I swear to God I saw Sammy Davis Jr. downtown waiting for the bus this morning. He was wearing an old ski jacket and a red and black striped toque, but I'm sure it was him.

I haven't slept more than about 2 hours a night in the past week. The husband is wearing his nasal strips (FYI - the last missing one was found on his boxers in the morning, which were laying on the floor, lol) but is still snoring. I'm thinking it might have something to do with spring/allergy season making it's appearance but I can't be sure.

At my doctor's appointment yesterday she found that my blood pressure was up, and noticed swelling in my feet and hands - which has been happening the past week or two - and sent me for all sorts of fun tests. I have to go back on Thursday for more tests, and she wasn't impressed to find out about how many headaches I've been having. Then she gave me the lecture about going home and resting everyday, that I need to be putting my feet up and all that junk.

On a similar note, everyone else in my life keeps telling me that I'm not resting enough too. And I do realize that I have someone else to think about besides myself, but do you know how hard it is for me to relax? Sitting around has never been one of my strong points. And even if I can force my body to lay down, my brain never shuts off, so I'm exhausted one way or another.

I am having one of those days when I alternate between bitchy and happy - sort of like split personalities. I've been entertaining ideas of punching a certain person at work's eyes out, just for kicks. I seem to have a lot of pent up anger these days.

Yeesh - that sounded a little scary, didn't it? Rest assured I just need a good night's sleep. I'm showing the not so attractive twin of my Gemini self today.

The other day when the husband and I were walking around Osborne Village (a funky little part of Winnipeg with some cool but expensive stores) we found one of the funniest t-shirts ever. It had a picture of a big hamburger on it, and there was a bubble about the hamburger's face that said "I want to be inside you" - the husband and I laughed pretty hard at that.

That's it...I need a nap.

I Just Peed Myself

It's April 13th people - APRIL 13th!!!!!!

That means that Butterbean is due in exactly one month!!!!!!

Never mind the pee - I think I just shit too...

The What in the Whatnow?

This happened a few years ago, but I came across this story while I was up for my standard heartburn induced Tums-a-thon tonight.
It gave me one of the worst shudders ever (I can't even imagine what you boys will actually do) followed by several incredulous rounds of "What?!?!" yelled at the computer, then followed by laughter.

Happy Friday!

Pencil in Penis Backfires

A Serbian man needed emergency surgery after sticking a pencil inside his penis to keep it stiff during sex.

Zeljko Tupic, from Belgrade, told doctors he had experienced erectile difficulties in the past.

So as he prepared for a night with his new lover, he decided to insert a thin pencil into his penis.

Tupic had to cut his sex session short when the pencil shifted and became lodged in his bladder, forcing him to call an ambulance, the daily Kurir reported.

Doctor Aleksandar Milosevic from Belgrade's Zvezdara hospital, who successfully removed the pencil, said: "At first the patient did not tell us what really happened, but x-rays proved the truth.

"Tupic said he had no idea there were things like Viagra available but agreed that in future he will try pills before he takes any more chances with pencils."

Dear Husband,

Happy 30th Birthday!
I just wanted to let you know how much I love you.

Even though we're still quite young, we've been together a long time, and those days when I feel as though I couldn't love you more? The very next day - I do.

Watching you anticipate the arrival of Butterbean makes my heart melt into a goopy puddle at my feet. I never expected you to be quite so excited, and it makes me realize just how wonderful a father you are going to be.

I love how you remind me on a daily basis that we are having a baby, as though I might forget unless you keep telling me. And when you talk about watching Bomber practices on your day off, you in your jersey, and Butterbean in their itty-bitty one. I love when you talk about how life will be with them at birth, when they're 2, or 6, or 10. And I love how even though you cringe, you manage to laugh when you think of your beloved tv being smeared with dirty little handprints.

I watch you go to work everyday with little twinges of pain, but then come home limping. You are constantly apologizing to me for that - why? It seems you feel guilty for being in pain, which I can never quite understand. Do I wish I could make you feel better? Definitely. Do I cry sometimes at the amount of pain you're in? You know it. But do I think you're one of the toughest people I know? Hell yes. You deal with that kind of pain better than I expect most people would, and you should never feel bad about how you're feeling.

And...you know, you deal with me so well when I (insert sarcasm here) have the occasional, rare mood swing. When most sane people would have left me for being such a loony toon by now, you continue to hang around, which I have to admit, surprises me sometimes because of how dramatic I can be.
All of these things just reinforce what I have known since we got together almost 14 years ago, that you are the one for me, that I can depend on you all my life, that you will be a wonderful father, and that there is no one better for me than you.

Have a wonderful day, and I can't wait to see you when you get home tonight.

Alison

P.S. You have been snoring since your head hit the pillow - is your nasal strip already stuck somewhere unmentionable?

Some Random Things

I just watched the ticket guy that I had the "discussion" with a few weeks ago give two more cars tickets. I called him names and flicked him off from my third floor office window.

As of yesterday I can no longer do up any of my pre-pregnancy jeans. I pulled them on as I was running out the door, and stopped dead in my tracks when I realized that the two pieces of fabric were about 1.5 inches apart. I stopped and looked down at them, thinking I had picked up a pair of husband's jeans instead (aka - no hip jeans) but was shocked to see that they were, in fact, mine.
I let out a gasp followed by a loud wail. *sigh* I guess I had to grow out of them sooner or later.

If I am lucky enough to be blessed with another pregnancy in the future, I will tell no one that I know the sex of the baby should we decide to find out again. Us knowing that information has been more hassle than I expected.
My parents are irritated that we know because they think we'll slip and then they'll know - they want it to be a surprise.
Husband's parents are irritated because we won't tell them - they want to be able to buy either pink or blue right NOW!
I finally freaked on my parents last time I was home - it seems that several people had been congratulating my dad on me having a baby boy. He had a hissy fit because he took that to mean that we had slipped to Chris' parents and that they were telling people.
I have told them a million times that no one knows the sex of the baby - they still don't seem to believe me.
Husband finally freaked on his last night, after his mom told me she "would never forgive me for this" because I still won't tell her. She says that everyone she talks to says I'm being entirely unfair, to which I replied that I would just have to deal with that.
He told her that her not knowing now is no different than if we had never found out, so to get over it already.
We'll see if any of them bring it up again. I'm about ready to tell them that because of them all being such assholes about it that we won't be bringing the baby to see them anyways, so what's the difference.

I have slowly started to get rid of things in my office. I can't bear to do it all at once.

As you all know, the husband snores. And snores and snores and snores. And there is no longer a bed in the other bedroom for me to kick him out to, so he's resorted to wearing Breathe Right strips on his nose.
He has this bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and peeling the strips off his nose - the end result being that we find them in the sheets, on the bedside table, stuck to our socks, etc. This morning when I went to wake him up he was having a hard time making himself get out of bed, but I finally found him sitting on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed. I flicked on the light and started to laugh - his strip was stuck to the middle of his forehead!
Poor husband, in a sleepy stupor with his eyes still closed, and me peeling the strip off his head, laughing hysterically. It was a good pick-me up for the morning.

I am on a yogurt kick. Mmmmm, yogurt - especially the Yoptimal Peach and Mango blend. Mmmm, I want some now.

*groan*

We were supposed to finish the Bean's room this weekend.
We didn't.

I was supposed to go to Princess' Pampered Chef party this weekend.
I didn't.

We were going to tackle our bedroom, the last room that needs to be completely gutted before the Bean gets here.
We didn't.

We were going to go out on a movie date tonight.
We didn't.

What did we do?
Got groceries.

Which is a miracle all in itself.

The rest of the time we napped.

I'm achy and tired and going to bed.

xo

Heartburn and Resignations

It's 2:13 am - surprise! I'm awake. My chest is burning with the worst case of heartburn my poor little body has ever had to experience and I think I may have just over-dosed on Tums. So after checking blogs, checking all my email accounts, looking at Facebook updates, peeing twice in half an hour, and realizing that I'd rather do my taxes than get horizontal again and encourage even more acid to travel up my already scorched throat, I decided to clear out some of my old files on the computer instead.

One of the things I came across was the letter below - a blog I used to read (that no longer exists) had posted one day that she was looking for the best resignation letter people could come up with, as the blogger was going to be resigning from a company she loathed.

After reading some of the ones people were posting I decided to write my own, which I ended up liking so much that I kept a copy of it. I've pasted it below, and though it's gross, it's exactly the kind of resignation I would love to have left in her situation, it still makes me laugh.

Dear Ms. Tightwad,

Effective immediately I will be terminating my working relationship here with Jacobs, Heche, Johnson, Turner, Wainwright, Lipshitz, Jensen, Tightwad, Roberts, Turnbull and Associates.

It has come to my attention that I do not, in fact, enjoy working here for such a bunch of hoity-toity, troll face cheapskates.

I apologize for not realizing this sooner so as to save you the uncomfortable and shocked silence when I tap-dance into your office buck-naked and staple this to your forehead.

I also apologize for my illogical behaviour upon realizing that in fact I hate you and everyone else who works here. If only I had realized sooner I may have been able to stop myself from vomiting into an empty coffee can and putting it somewhere in the duct work of the office. That isn't going to be pretty come the winter months and the heat pumping through the vents.

How uncouth of me as well to bring in my cat for company while you were all away on that cruise. He really can't do anything about his uncontrollable bowel movements. Poor thing, I think he might have actually gotten some excrement into the open box of Russell Stover Truffles on your desk.

I do apologize.

I have been offered a fantastic job (at a company with a far shorter name to repeat each time I answer the phone) where I'm sure my efforts to be the best-darn mail delivery girl this country has ever seen will be appreciated.

In closing I would like to say thank you for the opportunity and to inform you that I've sent that picture of you and the janitor making out at the last Christmas party to your husband, parents and priest.

Sincerely, Ali M.

P.S. I'm going to list you on my resume as a reference.

Bwahahahaha! See? Wouldn't you love to leave a letter like that at a job you really and truly hated, so long as it wouldn't ruin your chance of ever getting another job?

I encourage you to leave your resignation letter in my comments - who cares if it's ridiculously long? Or post it on your own blog. It's actually quite therapeutic to write out.

Updates

Tuesday night was the third of our six prenatal classes. It was the one where we watched birth videos and then heard about the different things you can do to get through labour - ie: mental calming, breathing techniques, medical interventions, etc.

For those of you who don't know, I will not be having an epidural. Go ahead and tell me that I'm crazy, and that I'll change my mind once I'm in labour, but I can guarantee you it won't be happening. Not that I think less of people that get one - not at all. But the possibility of infection and paralysis, and all those other scary things is enough for me to know that it's not worth it.

I'm not ruling out drugs completely, but I'm going to try my absolute damnedest not to take anything. But only time will tell.

The other day I sat down with Zig and we went through what I've got for holiday time and banked hours. Since I've got two weeks holiday time for this year, plus over a week of banked overtime hours, we've decided I may as well use them, so my last day at work will be April 18th. I can't even begin to explain to you how surreal that is. Sitting in his office I clapped, then got teary, then laughed, then got teary, then excitedly ran back down to my office, then got teary...you get the idea.

I recently wrote an article for a magazine I freelance for - it turned out to be one of my favourite pieces ever. I think because the subject was such a happy one, and showed that there really are some wonderful and decent people left in the world, it really struck a chord with me.
Anyhoo, I went to check my freelance email account yesterday, and there were two emails waiting for me - one from the president of the business, and one from the director of their foundation - both sent to my editor at the magazine and the owner of the magazine. They were both saying how thrilled they were with the article, and with me, and that they would recommend me to write on any topic.
It made my whole day. I guess it just shows that when your heart is in something you always do the best job you can.

Misunderstandings suck. I've been having more and more of them as of late. I know it has to do with my extremely heightened sense of reaction to anything and everything. Suddenly something someone says is the meanest thing I've ever heard - then there are tears and hurt feelings. Then someone will say something that seems so funny, it's hard for me not to pee my pants - though I haven't done that yet, fingers crossed.
I know that pregnancy has a lot to do with it, but I do hate when someone blames everything I say on being pregnant. Guess what? You really were just being a jackass. And that last joke you told? It was incredibly funny.
But sometimes people really don't mean something the way I take it, and for that I am sorry.

The husband and I are trying to get back into having more dates. It seems that now especially, with me feeling so damn tired all the time and suffering from some wicked backaches that more and more often we just end up hanging out at home. That results in watching tv, playing on the computer, and napping - so that even when we're home together, we're not really together.
Our solution? More dates. Even if we just go out for coffee together in the evening, it forces us to sit across from each other and talk, which we both love anyways.
It's something we're going to try and keep up once the Bean is born, and though I know it will be hard in the beginning to get out, we're going to try really hard to do it.
Currently plans are in the works for an Imax date...husband, aren't you proud of me? I'm the one suggesting it for once - yay wife!

My dad and one of his friends came into the city yesterday to bring in the crib (mine from when I was a babe) and to pick up the bed that was in the Bean's room, so that there is actually a spot for the crib.
As my dad is an engineer for CN Rail, he is basically on call all the time. Always. So basically he called me Tuesday night, said I'll be there tomorrow (on literally no sleep, since he was coming in off the road and jumping in his friend's truck to come here), got here while I was at work, the husband let him in our apartment, and he was on his way back to Ontario within 20 minutes.
The point of this whole little story was to say isn't it funny, that at 27 years old, and that after living on my own since I was 18, that I still panic about the state of my apartment when my dad is going to stop by for 20 minutes? The funniest thing was that as soon as I told the husband he was coming, he walked into the kitchen and started cleaning! Hmm, maybe I should tell him my parents are coming over more often...
But anyways, once he left for the night shift I stayed up for hours and cleaned like a crazy person! It was so clean that husband actually called me at work yesterday to comment on just how clean it was.
I wonder if I'll ever grow out of that?

Dream a Little Dream...of Rock Chef?

On Sunday night I had the most interesting dream...

I dreamed it was Christmas - maybe not Christmas day, but that couple of days after where it's still festive and you don't have to be back to work yet.
I was at my grandma and grandpa's house in a teeny little town not far from my parents house. The husband wasn't there and about three quarters of the rest of my family were missing too, but we were celebrating anyways.
After supper I went to lay down on the couch to try to sleep off some of the junk I'd been eating when there was a knock on the back door. My grandma Annie went to answer it and I heard her talking to a man. Odd - I thought I heard an English accent. Ah well, I closed my eyes anyways until I heard someone standing over me saying "Ali?" in that same voice.
"Yeah?" I asked as I flicked my eyes open.
"It's me, Rock Chef!"
I stared at him blankly for a second and then jumped off the couch and started shrieking, asking him why he was there and how he got here from England so quickly.
Apparently he and I had been talking via email that day and had some sort of argument, so he hopped a plane to Canada to explain his side of things. Never mind that my grandparents live in the boondocks of Ontario and the closest major airport was 4 hours away.
I don't remember what we were arguing about, but I remember my mom and grandma fussing over him and making him a big plate of food. My grandpa just kept smiling and nodding while I tried to explain that I met John over the internet, and that we both had blogs. He had no idea what I was talking about.
After John was finished eating he asked me if he could lay on the couch, having traveled so far to explain things to me, he was very tired. (Apparently somehow through him eating turkey and cabbage rolls we telepathically worked out our little issue - who knows.)
So he laid down on the couch and my grandma covered him with a blanket. My mom walked out with the camera and asked if she could take a picture of the two of us together since she had never met a real "English person" before. (I promise, my family is very well educated in real life, and half of them have been to England for god's sake!)
John asked me if I could just come sit on the couch beside him because he was so tired he couldn't possibly sit up for a photo. I was a little cranky at this, but my mom was all gob-smacked by his accent and told me to quit being so snotty and to go sit beside him so he could rest.
Next thing I know I'm waking up on the other couch, and I can hear my mom and grandma talking to John, telling him he was just the sweetest man for coming over to explain things, and that sometimes I'm too dramatic for my own good (that's family for ya).
So I jumped up to find out what was going on and met John in the hall, all dressed to head out into the snow and head off in his rental van - which was a hideous teal Pontiac Trans Sport van with bald tires.
He explained to me that he had a dental appointment he couldn't miss in Atikokan - which is another small Ontario town where I used to go to the dentist - and that he had to be there soon or his plane back to England would leave without him.
I begged him to stay, saying that he could come back to Winnipeg so we could visit and he could meet some of the rest of the gang, but he leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and said Clare was already mad he had come to Canada anyways, plus, he had a cavity.
He left me standing at my grandma's crying.

Now...what do any of you make of that little dream? Sheesh.