Fantasizing.

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Yesterday I shrieked, I am so sick of being fat!!!! to Husband in the middle of Target. It seems I have hit a new low.

I’ve taken to looking at old pictures of myself when I wasn’t 50+ pounds over my normal weight. Here I am on Christmas morning 2007, right after I got a positive pregnancy test for the baby that would become ONE. I have on no makeup and I’m wearing Husband’s sweats, but look at my arms. And my boobs for that matter.

They look so small.

I’ve been fantasizing about my weight-loss plan of attack after TWO gets here … and … also obsessively considering plastic surgery. Husband has agreed that once I’m done having children (TWO is not our last) that we can evaluate our budget and if we have the money (we likely will not), then I can have some things done. I do not take offense that he is supportive.

Let me just say here that I am not a fan of messing with one’s face or parts that aren’t truly, well, a mess. But I can assure you that after I lose all of the weight from TWO (I will. I will. I will. I will.), then possibly have more children and continue that cycle, I WILL BE A MESS. 

I dread hearing what my family will have to say. It’s not like you can buy new boobs without notice, though. And a new stomach, and possibly a little lipo. But I really feel that nothing is wrong with being One Hot Mother.

This Is What Generosity Looks Like.

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May I present … the diaper tower.

 I didn’t expect to have any kind of shower for TWO. After all … I just had a boy three years ago. But my co-workers ignored me (I told them nothing was needed) and threw me one anyway.

Let me tell you something about my work place. It’s crazy. Not really the fun kind … more like the OMG … this place is actually crazy, and I think it’s making me crazy kind.

But I love the people there, and I have made some very good friends.

I have a leaning tower of diapers because I work with a bunch of generous, thoughtful, people. We all share a not-fun job that stresses us out (some more than others) and I think that has bonded us. I understand the kind of effort it takes to plan and implement ANY kind of event, let alone buy a gift, while working the kind of job that we work.

Crazy people in a crazy place. That’s what we have going on.

We are naming our son Asher because it means happy and blessed. That is what we are. I am so grateful for all of the people in our life who make it what it is.

OMG.

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The heat index is 110 today. Our downstairs a/c stopped working last Saturday.

It’s been 5 days of living hell.

The repairman came out yesterday. We need a new compressor which has to be ordered. We’re not sure when it will be repaired … he refused to say. So I called our home warranty company.

My expected hold time? 15 minutes. I should be good and pissed off by the time someone gets on the phone with me.

Tuesday.

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Very soon, I’ll be having another one of these. I am so excited!

I went to the doctor today for a checkup. I am 36 1/2 weeks, but I think this might have been labeled as my 37 week appointment. I’m unsure, and frankly, could care less.

I am 3 centimeters dilated and 75% effaced and extremely ready to meet my second son, Asher Rhys Hobbs. His first name means “blessed, happy” and his middle name means “enthusiasm,” so we are expecting him to be fun and happy like we are fancy ourselves to be.

Let’s be honest: all of this pregnancy talk is boring. I’d like to have something else completely encompassing my life (read: a newborn) so I can discuss another topic.

On a sidenote, I got in a very loud argument with a co-worker yesterday in front of the ice machine. It was quite unlike me. Apparently, Pregnant Me doesn’t take shit from people.

Deep Cleaning.

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Nothing makes me happier than a clean house. And when I say clean, I mean clean. I realize it’s futile, to clean something only to have it dirtied again … but for that 30 minute span (or 8 hours, if it’s overnight) of time when it’s clean, I’m SO happy.

I’m in full-out nesting mode. It’s way over the top, much more exaggerated than what I experienced while pregnant with ONE. I have methodically re-decorated. I have added and removed furniture from our house. I’ve hired Stanley Steemer and Merry Maids and washed every baby item in our house in preparation for TWO.

I want a clean, serene nest to welcome him into. I’m nervous about having another baby … and when I’m nervous, my way of dealing is to create a calm, clean environment. I’m very Zen that way. Wish me luck as I fight against the odds: Husband and ONE and life in general.

Am I Entitled To Behave Badly?

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Is being this pregnant a good enough excuse to check out of life?

I ask that question because, at nine months pregnant, I had an argument with a friend that caused me to take a step back and look at how I’d been behaving. Apparently, I’ve been behaving badly.

In my defense, pregnancy with a toddler is no walk in the park. My mother warned me of this, and I did not listen. Those of you who have gone before me, I know you understand. Those of you who have not, have absolutely no ground on which to judge. 

Factor in a husband who isn’t home much and you have one exhausted and cranky lady on your hands. Even so, maybe certain things aren’t excusable. This is where I found myself, on the day that the argument took place. Wondering why I thought I was excused.

I find pregnancy to be an extremely isolating experience. I withdraw. Frankly, I’d love to just hide in a miserable hole until it’s delivery time – but I have a very busy life that continues to happen even when I wish it could all just stop. So day after day I have been in survival mode, just trying to get through it.

Do I sound miserable? Yes? IT’S BECAUSE I AM.

In all honesty, I have been operating under the assumption that pregnancy is a card I can pull out if I need to. And I’ve been pulling it out – believe me. If I need a day to rest, I take it. If I need help, I ask. If I don’t feel like doing something, I don’t do it. 

During my pregnancy with ONE, I tried so hard to be “normal” the entire time. It was EXHAUSTING. It got me nowhere. I had a total meltdown several weeks postpartum when I realized that all of my efforts to be “normal” were a complete waste of time, because I wasn’t ever going to be the same again and why would I want to be?? I was a new and different person and I regretted not going with the flow and trying to enjoy the new me – the mother. So when I got pregnant with TWO, I didn’t even try to be normal. Not one bit.

Perhaps I went a little too far the other way.

Pregnancy, or any challenging life event, changes you. Behavior changes as life changes. What I was reminded of is that while I CAN say and do as I wish, it doesn’t mean other people won’t notice or care. Or, worse, be hurt by it. My mother is always reminding me of this. And just as in the above reference to her — she is usually right.

I have good friends; the kind who say, “You hurt me, but I still love you,” and I can say the same thing back. And then you move forward. At 31 years old, I’ve become quite good at moving forward. This is one of the things I love about being older.