Musing, part deux

I remember what else I was going to say. It's not actually interesting enough to warrant another post tonight, but I'm mostly just including it now to prove, there was, indeed, another thought I had intended to post.

So, it occurred to me, that having a baby inside me who is half black, kinda makes me a quarter black. Temporarily. Sorta. 

Gerard thinks I'm an idiot.

Musings

We had a little party type thing here last night. My friends aren't cool enough to show up, so it was mainly people Gerard works with, plus a couple other friends who I actually enjoy. Anyway, one of the friend's girlfriend-type person came. Somehow the topic of pregnancy came up, to which the girl loudly announced, and I quote, "I hate it when people tell me they are pregnant. It's like, ew, gross! Get away from me. That shit is contagious!" Awesome. Thanks. Granted, maybe she didn't know I was pregnant, but it still seemed pretty uncalled for. What's more uncalled for is the fact no one (ahem ahem) felt the need to defend me. If I wasn't the only sober person in the house, I would have had the balls to kick her out on the spot. But I didn't. Instead, being the only sober person gave me the ability to drive someone I don't know home at 2 in the morning all the way across town after trying unsuccessfully for at least an hour to kick everyone out. Being the only sober person also left me as the only nonhungover person today to clean up the torrential mess. Awesome again.

I had another story to tell, but now I have no idea what it was. Lucky for me, us knocked up chicks get to pull "the pregnancy brain" excuse, because apparently we're more susceptible, and thereby excused, to do dumb shit. So I'm no longer dumb, or blond or flaky, for forgetting things. I'm just preggo.

Wed-nes-day

So here I am, trying to be a good Catholic girl and go to church on Ash Wednesday. I was tired and hungry and it was raining, but I go anyway. Well, I try to go. I get there 10 minutes early to try to park. Half an hour later I'm still driving in circles looking for a spot. It's times like this I really, really don't like SF. I eventually give up, because I think it's ruder to be 30 min late than it is to just not go at all. I also figure I'm giving up enough as it is with this whole pregnancy gig, so something additional for Lent really ins't called for...

So last weekend we did a cute little progressive dinner type deal with another engaged couple. This is only the second time I've met the girl. And she had no qualms at all about putting her hands on my tummy upon hearing the pregnancy news. Both hands. Maybe this is something I'm just going to have to get used to, but I think maybe I should be offered a little bit of warning before I get patted down in the future. 

The only other exciting thing happening in my life is that my friend just got on Jeopardy! Well, he was actually accepted months ago, but now he actually got the date for his taping- late March. I'm already missing a massive amount of work for other happenings in March, but I think I'm just going to have to be sick that day so I can fly down and see his taping. It will be exactly two days after I find out the sex of the baby, so I'm anticipating the beginning intro scene to go a little something like this:

Alex Trebek: And let's welcome our next contest. This is Joe Webb from St. Louis. Tell us a little something about yourself, Joe.

Joe: Hi, I'm Joe. I just found out my friend Carlin is having a              !!!! 

cut to screen shot of me in the audience smiling and waving

I don't think Joe is aware of this plot yet.

Maybe Don't Watch My Girl When You're Pregnant

So yesterday I had the unfortunate experience to stumble upon My Girl while channel surfing. I had enough foresight to know this was a bad idea, but it's just too good a movie and it had been too long since I had seen it to change the channel. So, there I was, pregnant and hormonal, in the middle of My Girl.

I cannot even remember the last time I cried so hard. It wasn't even just the length of time I was crying- it was the vigor also. Now, I've been known to cry at a movie or too, sure, but usually it's polite, quite tears dripping down my cheeks. Not the sobbing, can't even talk sort of crying that My Girl bestowed upon me last night. I cried when Thomas Jay died. And again at his funeral. And again when Vada ran into Thomas Jay's mom. And again when Gerard asked me how the movie was.

It was pretty embarssing. 

The big 1-4

So, tomorrow I'll officially be 14 weeks! Not sure what that means, exactly, but I think it's a nice number, well-established in the second trimester. I've been feeling great, and aside from one random Wednesday, have been nausea-free for several weeks! Go me! 

I'm no where near what the world considers "showing," but I'm most definitely more rounded. Pants, while acceptable the first couple hours of the day, are next to unbearable by the afternoon. My sister offered the simple solution of unbuttoning my pants as soon as I sat down for work, which is apparently how she managed. Which is a wonderful idea, except for the fact I work with kids all day long. I'm fairly confident I could get arrested for this. 

Also new is the fact my dreams have now completely surrendered to baby dreams. Sometimes my baby is a genius and can repeat everything I say. Sometimes she's as pale as me, sometimes she's as dark as Gerard. She's a girl, or a boy, and anywhere from newborn to three years old. Last night, however, it was my sister's baby that was also mine. I'm aware people don't like hearing about dreams as much as I like to tell them, so here's the forewarning my dream is the remainder of the post, so if you don't care about it, you can stop reading. But it's pretty good. 

So, Gerard and I are supposed to watch my sister's baby for a week. One day during that week, Gerard decides to kidnap the baby. I wasn't there, but I can see it. Someone else sees Gerard kidnap the baby, but doesn't see Gerard's face, which means we are in the clear. So the next day, I'm trying to figure out if Gerard kidnapped the baby or not. I find the baby carrier thing with a blanket over it. I peek in, and sure enough, there's a baby who apparently wasn't too upset he hadn't been fed or attended to in any way in over 24 hours. From what I hear, this is less than realistic. Regardless, I freak out and decide he needs to eat. To his disappointment, my boobs aren't in working order yet, so I have to go get him a bottle and formula. Meanwhile, I ration with Gerard that since we haven't called my sister to report that someone kidnapped the baby, we should probably just lie and say we brought him to our house so we didn't have to keep driving over to her house. And then, at the end of the week we can give  him back- no harm no foul. He is fine with this. And no one is the wiser, but I do get yelled at by my sister for giving the baby a bottle, because now he prefers it to her breast. I still don't know what my alternative should've been.

Sister, I totally understand if I just lost any babysitting privileges after this entry...

Jamal Jr.

This entry is the last in my series of blasts from the pasts. My next post will officially be back in real time!

January 27, 2009

So, I think the baby is a girl. I don't know why. I don't even necessarily even want a girl more than a boy. In fact, it's no secret that historically my favorite clients have been little boys. But the truth remains that I am over 100% confident that we are indeed having a girl. 
Gerard also thinks we are having a girl, though not to the same degree of confidence. He had a talk with me last night and said I need to start considering the possibility that we might actually have a boy. I tried to explain again that I wouldn't be upset or disappointed if we were having a boy, I'd just be shocked. It would be as if someone told me my heritage is actually Australian. I don't have any positive or negative correlations to my nationality or this new assumed nationality. It would just be really shocking and confusing. 
This didn't appease Gerard, so I'm trying to fill my girl-consumed mind of some positive associations of having a little boy, so that in ten weeks if we find out it is true, I'll have something to go on. I say, as long as he looks like my little curly, tow-headed French boy I see for therapy I'll be A-ok. Or like the youngest Jamal in Slumdog Millionaire. Or, and perhaps more realistically, if he looks like Will Smith's little boy. With some big ol' hair. Then I'll be happy.*

*Disclaimer: I will actually be happy no matter what our little boy or girl looks like. Thanks.

10 weeks

January 26, 2009:

So, I'm officially antsy to be able to tell everyone our news. It's leaked out to a couple people, but I really just am ready to tell everyone!I want to share our excitement, yeah yeah, but I also want people to start understanding why I feel like shit all of the time!
Brushing my teeth has officially become a nightmare. I dread this task. It hasn't made me actually throw up in several days, but I do gag several times throughout. I have to have the bathroom prepared- toilet seat up, and ready for whatever might happen. I used to be able to at least postpone the gagging and dry heaving until I went for the tops and insides of my teeth, but now it starts even when I am only brushing the outsides of my teeth. Which I think is pretty damn ridiculous. 
The other day I got so mad at my toothbrush for causing me so much distress I threw it out. I was also convinced it smelled. I waited over 24 hours to buy a new one, and I'm going to be honest with you- I didn't miss it at all.
I'm also convinced our kitchen smells like syrup. And no, there is no logical reason why this might be the case.

It's official!

December 30, 2008:

Today was our first visit with the OB.  They were able to find the baby and picked up on a little heart flutter. I don't really get what that means, but it's apparently exciting. The Dr. told me my little gray smudge looks "very cute."
The Dr. we're going to now is south of here, about 9 miles. It's a quick drive, all highway, but I was prepared to tell them today we want to transition over to the SF location as it is closer to work. The main reason we started here was the fact that they had earlier available appointments. But I liked this guy so much that now we aren't going to switch. I'll just have to take more time off work to drive down here, which is worth it to me to go to a guy who tells me my smudge is cute.
He also told me happy things, like that Gerard needs to chill out and not be mad when I don't want to eat full meals. That's normal, and my body is like a fridge and gives my little smudge plenty of nutrients. That's what I got out of the conversation, at least. He also told me that it's a good sign I feel like crap half the time, and that he actually worries a bit when people say they feel great in the beginning of their pregnancies. Interesting, huh? 
They say I'm 6 weeks and 1 day, which puts us right on as having conceived on Thanksgiving, considering it took Gerard's little swimmer a day or two to make it through my obstacle course of a uterus, a process which is described quite humorously by some books. 

Yum Yums

December 30, 2008:

So, remember how much fun food used to be? Yeah, not so much any more.

The real kicker was me going to the grocery store yesterday, which turned out to be way too ambitious of an adventure. Way too many smells. Way too many things to make me want to throw up. I still haven't actually vomited yet, but it's still not exactly fun. 

Foods that I deem "heavy" are, by definition, undesirable. I could not even walk down the meat aisle, or pasta aisle or anything like that. I basically walked out with fruits, vegetables, and crackers. Gerard wasn't exactly pleased. He's quite insistent that I should eat real meals, but just nothing sounds good to me. I'm nauseous and constipated (and, aren't you glad, unashamed), and when he suggested ordering take out of Chinese or Indian or something I thought at least one of us might die. 

My other complaint for now is that I've determined most pregnancy books are bunk. They all contradict each other, and say crap I just don't believe. Also frustrating, is that they are clearly not written for an intelligent mind. They are written for readers who want to read what to do and not to do, and not question why. If someone is going to tell me not to do something I love to do, they better as hell give me some sort of explanation of what is wrong with the activity, what it will do to the baby, and what are the chances it will do this thing to the baby. 

For example. This one book says no running/jogging. I consider this a stupid idea and completely outdated, but it works for my description of why these books are stupid. It gives no explanation to why a pregnant lady shouldn't run. Does it create a rocking motion, implying I should also stay away from something like an elliptical machine? Is it the repetitive pounding, meaning I should prefer softer surfaces such as grass? Is it the cardiovascular effort in general that I should take precaution to when doing any exercise? What? What will it do to the baby? Will running 5 minutes hurt 95% of babies, or will running 40 miles a week hurt 0.1% of babies?  I need details, people. And since this book doesn't provide details on this claim, or dozens of other swooping generalizations, I've classified it as BS and put it to the side.

I do have one book I love, however. It's a coffee-book type style, hardback with glossy picture pages. It's more of an embryology book than a pregnancy book. It doesn't say anything dumb like "You might have morning sickness," but it does tell me really cool things like exactly when my baby can open and close his eyes, and move around volitionaly, and how his tail is coming along. Wit lots of creepy, translucent alien-baby pictures on every page! I love it!

Cheese Wiz

December 25, 2008:

Today is Christmas. It's been a relatively rough day, compared to the ones coming up to it. Felt nauseous off and on all day, but have yet to actually vomit at all. I can't believe how strong my olfactory sense has become. I also don't really understand how this is at all related to one being pregnant, but apparently it is.

Yesterday I was consumed with the fear of miscarriage. Every step I took I was afraid I was going to lose this baby I have grown to love so much already. Today that fear has somewhat subsided. Not that it is gone, but it has been replaced by a new fear of having twins. I'm equally convinced today that I am having twins as I was yesterday that I was going to miscarry. I wonder what will possess my mind tomorrow.

The first time I really believed I was pregnant- before the test- was when I decided I didn't want any Giardetto's snack mix. Now, usually I can e at a bag of these a day and never get sick of them, but now I have a half eaten bag sitting in my cupboard, untouched  for over a week.  Not that this somehow relates directly to my being pregnant, aside the fact that I realized my taste buds had been relinquished to another being.

This evening I was convinced that I needed pretzels and Cheese Wiz. I'm dead serious. Normally, I eat pretzels plain, or with peanut butter, Nutella, or, like, regular cheese. It has to have been no less than five years since I've had Cheese Wiz, but I could not get it out of my mind today.  I was thisclose to making Gerard go buy me some, but the only thing that saved him was the fact that it was Christmas. I haven't become that mean yet that I would make someone visit the grocery store on Christmas. I was scared of the crowds just driving by it the day before. So he got lucky. And I got to go to the movies and get nachos, which fulfilled my craving for gross, processed cheese. 

I feel like my belly is already sticking out. But I think it might just be the pizza I had for dinner. And nachos I had at the movies. And popcorn. 

wow

Now that I finally get to share the news about Gerard and my pregnancy, I'm posting these entries I had saved, but not made public. There might be slight editing involved if I said something crazy...

Dec 24, 2008:

So, a lot has changed in the last month.  On Thanksgiving, Gerard proposed outside of Disneyland. Apparently, God was pleased and wanted to hurry along this little family of ours. 

A week or so after Thanksgiving, three- count them, three!- people at work announced their pregnancies on the same day. Apparently, before all the names were revealed, people were placing bets on who the knocked up girls would be. I was high on the list. One audiologist kept telling me in a sing song voice "There's something in the water.... better watch out!" Thanks for the warning, but apparently little Billy* has already claimed residence. (Editor's note: by the time I actually "came out" at work, I was #5! Out of like, 35 employees total) By Christmas, we had two positive pregnancy tests to our name.

No vomiting yet, but I do feel nauseous (nauseated? I can never remember the difference in these two words) sometimes when I'm standing for long periods of time. I can compete with Kota in a smelling contest, and I think I'll have to take out stock in toilet paper at the rate I'm peeing. But other than that, so far so good. I still don't think it's 100% hit me yet, but I'm kind of overwhelmed at the thought that a part of Gerard is inside of me. That we are now intrinsically linked. We will soon have a permanent, tangible expression of our love together. 

By our calculations, we conceived 4 weeks ago, which makes me 6 weeks along in crazy pregnancy math. We'll know for sure next Tuesday when we go in for our first sonogram/ultrasound/slash whatever they do this early.  I think that's when it will be really real for both of us. I'm itching to tell at a few confidants, but Gerard wants to wait what seems to me to be an excessive period of time, so we'll see how it goes. It seems unrealistic to me that I can keep this a secret for 16 weeks as he would like, when I have to sit down every ten minutes, and pee every other other hour. Mostly, I can't think that any moron wouldn't notice me not drinking on New Year's Eve, that I stopped going to happy hour after work, and never ordering wine with dinner. My sister acts like her pregnancy is the easiest thing that ever happened to her, but I can't help but worry that mine won't go as smoothly.

I'm terrified of having twins. I'm even more terrified something will happen to the baby before I can meet him. I'm terrified if people find out that it's a girl that my apartment will be swarmed with glittery pink princess dolls. I'm terrified of labor, and not being a good mother.

It's crazy to me that so much has changed in a year, or even a month for that matter.

I think I've managed to turn the most exciting topic into one of my most boring blog posts. Sorry. 

*Not his or her real name. I don't think we're planning to reveal the name once we know it. Kind of takes out the excitement when the baby announcements come out, if you ask me. We may or may not reveal the sex. But we especially won't tell people if it's a girl, because I really don't want a bunch of girly pink crap. 

Happy Valentine's Day

Sending the warmest love to everyone I care for...

And some special love and anticipation to my Gerard, and our little one on the way!!!!

Hello. My Name is

So, I've tried really, really hard to stop complaining about work. I made it a good week. Two weeks?

But this is just too  much not to share. So, as expressed with our 15% pay cuts, our company needs more money. In order to make more money, we need more customers, and for those customers to buy more things. That's really targeted more towards hearing aid clients seeing the audiologists than my kids. But anyway, we are also supposed to be improving our customer service.

Now I can think of a multitude of ways that we (ok, the rest of them) can improve customer service, but the action my boss decided to take was to make us all wear name tags. They are supposed to make us look more professional. Ok, this is totally fine with me.

Now, the driving force behind the decision of the name tags chosen is unknown to me. Maybe the admin people are completely ignorant to nametag making services. Or maybe they really are indeed this cheap. But. The nametags we got are paper. Printed from our printers. In the plastic sleeves you get at conferences. And not even the nice plastic sleeves. The cheap ones that keep falling open every 5 minutes. I wouldn't know this personally, as I have refused to wear mine. But I see others' tags opening up, and hear people complaining. And see them poking the kids. These things are like 2x4 inches. Or more. They are massive! I'll post a picture once I'm motivated enough to. 

Now, I did some investigation work. We can get a nametag from anywhere from $3-10 per person. $3 basically just saying our name, with the $10 ones giving the works- name, title, company logo, our picture. Keep in mind, there are less than 40 people who work for us, so even with all the bells and whistles, we are not talking about a huge investment. And from the conversations happening around the water cooler (figuratively, that is- we don't actually have a water cooler. We're too cheap.), I'm pretty sure we'd all be willing to sacrifice $10 to buy our own nametags and burn these cheap things in a massive bonfire.

The bonfire would be especially nice because we are too cheap to fix the heat, and it's freezing. Everyone wins!

I'm on a roll!

One more story from today. The scene is cold and rainy. By California standards, mind you.

During my lunch break, I ran down the street to get a very yummy panini and a hot chocolate. While I was picking up my food, a guy that had just entered was staring at my boots. And not trying to hide it.

"Those boots are great."

I look down to remind myself what I'm wearing. Surely he's not commenting on my $8 navy blue galoshes. 

He is. He continues to gush over them so much I really don't quite know what to do. So I smile politely and sit back down.

He orders, and then sits down right next to me. 

"I just couldn't help but to notice your boots. They really are quite striking. Where did you get them"

"Um, Steve and Barry's...." these boots really are just as plain as galoshes can get. They aren't even the super cute kind with the plaid pattern you'd get at J Crew. They are the plain blue kind you get and Steve and Barry's for $8. Full price. 

"I've never heard of it. I ask because they remind me of something women wear in my country. Where are you from??"

Now, I really can't decide if he was just grasping at straws to try to strike up a conversation with me, or if he really was that enamored with my $8 galoshes. I actually really think it was the latter.  

500

We're gearing up on my blog being viewed 500 times! This seems shocking to me. And not correct. Do I have some following I'm unaware of?

Anyway, I wish I had someway of knowing who this special 500th viewer will be, so I could give them some sort of prize. But I'm not that computer-literate. Or motivated.

Ramblings after a long Friday nap

So, thankfully this post is happier, which I anticipated. No mice sightings since Monday! Whoohoo!! This also means I now feel safe to walk and be in my living room again, which is convenient since my living room is also my kitchen, and pretty much my entire apartment besides my bedroom.

I've started my longer work days. It's silly, because I used to work until 3:30 with a half an hour lunch break. They've been fighting and fighting to get me to work full time, which is til 5, but full time workers get an hour lunch break. I can't logistically take an hour lunch break, because I have too many kids to see within a strict time frame. So, I work until 4:30. And when I tallied up my productivity hours, I was already at the goal productivity, so they took a kid away and gave me an eval a week to do instead. So now, basically, I just have an extra hour each afternoon to do the work that I would normally just do at home. Weird. Too bad I cannot concentrate in that time frame to save my life. I swear my brain completely shuts off from 3-6pm. So really, I'm there an extra hour to check facebook, blogs, and whatever else I can waste time on, and then I still end up finishing up my work at home. 

It was my CEO's birthday this week. We hosted a "surprise" birthday party for him with all the kids. The kids usually write their own cards, with poetic messages such as "I like  you." But one boy wrote on his card "You are the boss" Hahaha, I don't know why I still find this hilarious!

On Sunday I'm braving one of those cheesy Bridal Expo thingies. I'm not sure whether to be excited or scared.

I think I'm going to be calling old friends this weekend. Catching up. Be ready! :) 

Cue the Violins

Ah, another Tuesday... Is it sad when the only thing getting you through the day is the fact that Biggest Loser is on tonight? Don't answer that.

8 mice, for those keeping track. Everyone keeps pressuring me to set out poison. They don't understand why I don't want to send out death traps dressed as cupcakes to our dogs, and the pets of our neighbors. I also think that the idea of glue traps is maybe one of the least humane ways to kill an animal. Luckily no one is asking me to do this.

Did I mention that last week, it was announced we were going to suffer 15% company-wide pay cuts starting yesterday? Yesterday was also the first day of my planned bumping up of my hours to save more money. Now I'm just working more for the same pay. Awesome. I know, I know, I said I was going to stop complaining, and that it's way worse to be laid off. But 15% sucks.

Ah, what other depressing news can I share?

I've been suffering from a transient, yet mind-numbingly rotten smell from my bathroom recently. It's awkward trying to convince guests that the smell just did not originate from me. I finally tracked the smell to our unused washer/dryer hookups, and they were plugged up today. This was the good part of my day.

I'm trying to convince myself to go to the gym, and it's surprisingly difficult.

My next post will be happy.

Sunday Blues

What a day...

I had gone down to LA for a conference with the side benefit of seeing some good friends. I even met up with an old high school friend, Billy, for the first time in years, as he was also in the area for work. Anyway, I was set to arrive back home today about an hour before Gerard left to go to Vegas for some "consulting gig"- aka, a good excuse to go to Vegas. We had planned this out perfectly. We used the same airlines in order to easily visit each other for a few minutes during our shared time at the airport. He drove and parked his car so I would have a way home. It would have gone off without a hitch, if Gerard had managed to tell me the correct garage that he parked at. Apparently in Gerard-world, Garage A is pretty much the same thing as Garage G. Unfortunately, at SFO, Garage G is very, very far away from Garage A. This ordeal did not make me a happy camper.

Also not making me a happy camper is the mouse toll is now up to at least 6. I say at least because the exterminator set some sort of mystery boxes that I don't understand, and I have no idea if there are any additional mice inside. In Gerard's absence, I'm decidedly not going to pick up any dead mice, so if I hear or see any getting smooshed, I have decided I am not above sitting in the lobby until I can sweet-talk or bribe a guy into coming to my apartment to dispose of it for me. Of course I will ask him ahead of time if he is a rapist or murderer. To be safe.