Desperate Times.

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It’s 8:30 on Sunday morning, and I have already pulled out the paint.  Why? Because I have been up for 2 hours and I have run out of ideas of things to occupy ONE so I can have a moment.

Husband was at work all day yesterday and he’s currently sleeping in. I am about to lose my mind.

Bathroom Etiquette.

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At my office, we have a smallish bathroom in our department. It has 4 stalls.

This is the bathroom that is meant for makeup application, gossip, the occasional emotional breakdown, and peeing. If you need to poop, you walk on down to the BIG, loud, and busy bathroom down the hall. There are lots of stalls and toilets that automatically flush with a suction that reminds me of the airport.

There is even a can of air freshener in the farthest-away stall. That is the stall you visit if you’re planning to stay awhile. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, there’s a magazine in there.

It’s UNSPOKEN. But it’s a rule.

I caught on to this office etiquette quickly, within the first week of working here. However, there are still MANY of my co-workers who still don’t get it. People who have worked here for years. They continue to poop in the wrong bathroom. Repeatedly. And that is a problem.

There is nothing worse than standing at the bathroom mirror trying to correct an eyeliner blunder when someone is pooping several feet away. There are only 4 stalls. So the Pooper is essentially only a few feet away. It’s quiet in there. I might as well be in the stall with her.

This bothers me.

Why is it so hard to walk a few extra steps to the right bathroom? Also, why do some people never catch on to unspoken etiquette? That is my real concern.

That is all. And happy Friday.

Traffic.

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I spend almost 2 hours every weekday in traffic.

I live almost exactly 15 miles from my office.

Because of awful road construction, I have to leave my house at 6:50 or 7:00 in order to make it to work by 8:00.

If I drove to work on a weekend, it would take me 10 minutes.

Yesterday, I was behind someone with a license plate that said “SXYSLM.”

They weren’t. 

What I’m Loving This Week.

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1. Husband felt TWO kick the other night.

2. The Real Housewives of Orange County. Those are some crazy bitches.

3. I just figured out how to use my paddle brush properly. I’ve only had it for three years.

4. Apples.

5. Cinnamon-flavored applesauce.

6. Clinique “Even Better” foundation makeup. Because my skin needs serious assistance.

7. Granny panties.

8. Post-It notes in neon colors, “borrowed” from my office.

9. Facebook. Still.

The Time I Got Mad At My Doctor.

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My OBGYN thinks I’m lazy. Or a whiner. Which I think might be worse.

Yesterday, Husband and I went to my 17-week appointment to listen to our bell pepper’s heartbeat, see how much fatter I’ve become, and verify that I still have a ridiculously healthy blood pressure. I also planned to discuss with her the episodes I’ve been having of stress-related cramping that won’t go away until I lie down in a dark room.

THE VERDICTS:

1. Baby’s heartbeat: 155.

2. Mommy’s weight: FRIGHTENING.

3. Disgustingly great blood pressure as per usual. This makes me feel better about #2.

4. My doctor mistook my concerns to mean that I was asking her for a note to get me out of work.

5. I’m still mad at her about that.

Husband sat in the corner holding my purse as I tried to succinctly explain my concerns. I mean, I know she’s busy and I didn’t force her to listen to a drawn-out speech. I kept it simple. I thought I did a decent job. But her response, and then my responses, must have been comical because by the end my purse-holder was cracking up. He never did explain to me what was so funny. Maybe it was the way I bristled when she cut me off toward the end and said “there is no reason for you to not be able to go to work.” 

WELL … no shit, doc. That’s not what I was asking you. What I was asking, was if I should be concerned that whilst working, and getting screamed at via the telephone, I start to cramp. Or really if I’m in any kind of stressful situation.

Apparently the fact that I have great blood pressure and carried ONE to full term without any problems means that I won’t have any problems with this baby. At least that is what she said. But that information doesn’t mean anything to me, because I miscarried my last baby … a fact she never seems to recall. My doctor, who probably hears women complain every day of the exact symptoms I described, dismissed them. On one hand, it made me feel better. She told me if I can manage the stress on my own then that is best. There is no need to prescribe me preggo prozac at this time. 

I have a very dear friend who is a doctor, and I try to think of her when I’m speaking to other doctors … but honestly, I hate them. All of them, except for my friend, and the nice man who looked like Santa Claus dressed like Dexter The Serial Killer who delivered ONE. I feel like doctors are always in a hurry and intimidating and I ALWAYS feel like an idiot after asking a question. Why? Because I get a generic, canned answer. I could have saved myself the trouble and just looked it up myself in my battered copy of Back To Eden.

We left, I angrily snacked on a cheese stick that I unearthed from my purse and told Husband that from now on, I’ll do what she said: I’ll manage my stress in my own way. I’m going to birth this baby in my own way. I am going to listen to my instincts. I’m annoyed and I’m hormonal … and maybe THAT is why he couldn’t stop laughing at me.

Life-Changing Event.

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Blackout curtains have changed my life.

I always shunned them. I think Husband has mentioned getting them several times and I ignored him. Why should I listen? This was coming from the same man who saw nothing wrong with having a bed sheet tacked over our large bedroom window. The very same man who is happy to sit in the dark all day watching TV and eating messily. He never opens the blinds or curtains. 

It’s very cavemannish.

I love light. I want as much natural light as possible in my my house … even if that light wakes me up way too early sometimes. A dark house just smells musty to me. It makes me feel like mold is growing. So I NEVER thought I would do what I did on Sunday, which was to hang navy blue curtains up in our bedroom to block out as much light as possible. 

I am desperate, people. I need rest.

This is what happens when my mother orders stuff from Pottery Barn Kids. I take some of it for my own. The navy blue was too dark for ONE’s room … but it works just fine for mine.  

No one has to know where they came from.