Fabulous Miss S.

During pregnancy your nose and stomach are uniquely linked. Unfortunately.

There is this very unfortunate thing that happens when you are pregnant.  Your nose decides to overachieve so that it can protect you from dangerous odors and maybe death.  Your nose? It can smell everything. The books tell me that this cute little constant reminder of pregnancy acts as a mechanism to keep you away from potential dangers, like, gasoline, cigarette smoke and anything prepared my Chili's at the Tampa airport.  It causes your head to spin and you body to weaken as you fight the primal urge to dry heave and hork an entire bag of sour gummy worms all over Concourse C.

I suppose this is very useful now, in a modern world where I make Marc pump my gas as I sit at home basking in the glow that is actually the sweat that breaks out on your face when you feel the urge to hurl. 

Ironically, at the same time you sort of crave the foods that disgust you.  Tonight I made lamb! I know. Delicious, garlic and rosemary marinated lab.  It cooked up so well with those crunchy black tips and the soft moist middle.  I know this because I cooked it and looked at it and ate ONE damn bite.  I have no appetite right now. Well, that isn't exactly correct. Sour Cream and Onion Cheeze Nips are totally a gift from the good lord above.

Food becomes your absolute best friend and absolute worst enemy.  I have never cleaned a plate like I have at every meal in the past three weeks.  I no longer care if the meat is thoroughly cooked, pink in the middle or well done (as I have always preferred) or the vegetables are raw or steamed, I eat it.  I might eat Styrofoam too if you put it in front of me with ranch dressing balsamic dressing on it. Oops, never mind, back to ranch dressing, southwest ranch, please.

Pregnancy is kicking my ass. I breezed through week four with only a light dizzy spell.  Week five was up and down and today? Week 6 starts tomorrow.  Week 6 through week 10 are the hardest as far as morning mourning sickness. Mourning the ability to smell and desire food. Mourning the days when I was able to eat what I cooked and craved. Marc isn't complaining. He is eating rather well.

And today? My neighbor is having some "friends" rebuild her deck.  These "friends" are classic red-neck old-boy hicks.  By which I mean they are actually decent people.  They have strange haircuts and can swear a sailor under the table.  They talk shit about women, even more so, after they each drink a case of Budweiser while standing on a deck frame.  Marc and I took over-under bets about when they would fall off the deck.  So today? I'm sitting at the barstool at my kitchen counter and I suddenly smelled the actual body odor of smell-drunk-construction-working man.  Seriously! You gals know that smell, no?  The way your dad or husband smells after painting a barn or changing the oil on a hot summer day.  Well, this smell traveled two houses down and into the windows and directly INTO my overly sensitive pregnant nostrils. Urgh! I actually covered my nose and started shrieking for Marc to close the windows. NOOOOooooooowwwwww!

   

I asked Marc for another dog and instead I got an embryo

It’s always fun when you have some good news to share with your readers.  It’s also very hard to decide how to just tell them.

I’m pregnant.

PREGNANT.

We followed the typical, family first, close friends next route of sharing our good news.

I didn’t actually think I was pregnant and still sometimes don’t except for those moments when I get dizzy and feel like the room is spinning. This apparently is my version of morning sickness so far. Except the dizzy? It happens very randomly and at all times of the day.  For as long as I’ve been looking forward to peeing on a stick with the hopes of seeing that magical life altering second line, you can understand my dismay when the damn line actually showed up.  It took about three days before I actually believed it.  And I still haven’t put away the new boxes of tampons I bought the same day the test was positive.

The first test I took displayed a line so ridiculously faint that I described it as a visible line when you didn’t look directly at it.  That was on a Tuesday.  On Wednesday morning the line was definitely more pronounced but I still remained utterly convinced that I was imagining the line and my period, along with the anticipated and dreaded migraine was imminently stalking me.  I woke up Thursday morning and once again peed on a stick and saw a very much more definitive line and thought to myself that shit, this can’t be real but maybe I am and just in case I should call my doctor.

I went in that day for a blood test which revealed that I was, in fact, a very little bit pregnant. 

And I went home that night I told Marc.

The last two weeks of my life seem like they have gone by faster than any others. Because I totally remember being not even four weeks pregnant and now I am almost six weeks and I have my first sonogram tomorrow morning.  Perhaps that is because I have been so utterly, bone-chillingly tired that I don’t remember what I ate for dinner last night, let alone, how I got to work this morning.  Or, if I even went to work this morning.  This tired is very classic of the first trimester, and you know what? I’ll take it any day over the morning-noon-night sickness that I know plagues many other women.

When people find out you are pregnant they do one or all of three things.  One, they hug you and say congratulations; two, they ask you how this happened and when you found out, to which you respond, there was a penis in my vagina! And three, they ask if you are barfing yet.  The answers are, Thanks!; Duh – isn’t that obvious; and, thank God no!

I am however, tired beyond tired. You do not know tired until you are pregnant.  I wake up in the morning and curse my bloated belly, pee, take a shower, pee again, get dressed, eat breakfast, pee again and leave for work.  Once I’m on the train, I fall asleep in a matter of seconds and wake with a jolt when I hear “ok folks this is Silver Spring, this is silver spring”.  I stumble into my office and remain bleared eyed and exhausted for the next four hours until it is lunch time and I eat enough for a small army of Ethiopian children except that I have been eating something, pretzels, cheese, yogurt, fruit, rice cakes, orange juice, water, water, and more water nonstop since 9 o’clock.  But lunch is the best time of the day.  I fantasize about food.  I spend the morning thinking about where I will go to lunch, then, I eat lunch and start thinking about what I will cook for dinner.  I hazily stumble through the afternoon and back home again where I immediately collapse because OH MY GOD, I AM GROWING A PERSON INSIDE ME AND THAT TAKES ENERGY!

I continued to think that something dreadful would go wrong.  Blighted ovum, ectopic pregnancy, spontaneous abortion but so far, the little embryo is stuck deep and secure inside me. And no amount of Hines stepping on my stomach will dislodge it.  However, if the damn dog steps on my nipple one more time I might throw him out the window. Because your nipples? They go through some changes.

The pleasantries of pregnancy are glorious and disgusting but women discuss them openly because really, the more disgusting things that happen to your body, the more you know for sure you are actually pregnant.  Because for the first three months you really just feel like you have the world’s worst case of PMS.  I do realize that announcing to the Internet that I do not have morning sickness is totally just inviting the Gods of fate to hit me over the head with the bend over the porcelain stick.  But even that wouldn’t upset me too much.  So far I have only been cursed with a hemorrhoid.  At four and a half weeks pregnant!  HolymotherofGOD what is going to happen when there is an actual baby who puts weight on my asshole from the inside? 

The Internet tells me I am due on Christmas Day.  My doctor seems to think it is a week prior to that.  I do not agree.  I figure, since we are Jewish, it gives me something to do at the end of December, because I have always hated that Chinese food and a movie thing on the 25^th.  And, maybe I can cross my legs and hold in long enough to be the first baby of the 2008.

I’ll run a boy – girl voting contest at some point in the nearer future.

  Ok, and this week, right now, my uterus is sporting this:

In my office

COWORKER: I can't believe you thought a Ford could have 12 cylinders.

ME: I may be a gear head, but I'm a gear head with estrogen.

COWORKER: [laughing] That's a contradiction in terms, just like military intelligence.

Quick read this fast becase once I start the dryer, the world will shirnk

Blah Blah Blah, am tired. Am busy. Working a lot. Whatever.

No more excuses folks! I am here.

A virtual friend, who we can refer to as CM, told me today that I am one of the funniest people she knows!  Funny me, I think she knows what her initials refer to also. Wink wink!  So, i owe her a good posting.

Please, dear readers, excuse me for using my blog to send personal inside jokes.  Because, what that actually says is that all ya'll are on the outside.  And, that just isn't nice. But, since I was not cool or popular in high school because I wore MOM jeans rather than Guess and Levi jeans, I am now cool and can refer to all the inside jokes I have with my groupies.  I totally paid my dues being a boring, shy, too-smart girl in high school.

I am also eternally grateful for all the studying and subsequent smartness I attained because I'm using all that knowledge each day as I enlighten the Internet with my tales of dog farts and the inner debates that happen when you find out your Tivo can only record TWO LIVE television shows at once.  Aim low folks ... there is no real purpose. 

I do, however, owe all my funniness to my Dad.  He taught me to be outgoing and warned me that life isn't worth living if you can't embarrass yourself at least once a day.

Today's embarrassment?  This morning, late for work because, duh, I must sleep for one hundred and twenty seconds more because that will make me actually feel rest, as opposed to the last six hours of laying here staring at the insides of my eyeballs and dreaming about my cat chewing on my head, I spilled melted butter ALL THE HELL over my new Costo khaki pants.  These are not just khaki pants, dude!  They are modern-looking cuff pants.  They are soft and they fit well.  And, they are a size 8.  I wear a size 8 very fleetingly.  After extensive debate about how I could explain my stains, I reluctantly changed into a pair of pants, also a size 8, that I stupidly put in the dryer.  Urgh! I Curse the god of shrink in hot air-clothes!!!

It is extremely selfish of me to worry about my ass fitting into a pair of size 8 pants when my little doggie diarrhea'ed all over the family room carpet tonight. He's learning to use his own embarrassing moments as humor points too. 

One day you will read all about on his blog, The Fabulous Mr. Hines - doggie style.

Taking a break from the stress of sitting in the Florida sun

I  apologize in advance for the utter lack of cohesiveness that this posting will feature.  Also, those of you who read only on weekends ... I apologize even more. Please do consider checking back in a few days, I assure you I will have lots to tell by then.

I spent my evening tying ribbon on the tops of water bottles and putting together my place cards and favors.  I have to turn them over to my banquet coordinator on May 16th ... a whole four days before the wedding.  With the wedding being 29 days away that means I have to have turn in these items in 25 days.  Sheesh!

Before then I have find time to have a conference call with my photographer and my DJ and sign away a few more thousand dollars.  Urgh.

I'm really looking forward to the wedding.  Looking forward to no longer worrying about my waistline. No longer feeling like no matter how much I get done in one day it just isn't enough.  No longer feeling like I have too much to do in one day that if I just didn't need to sleep or eat or breath that I would be able to get it all finished.  No longer feeling my heart racing all the time.  No longer worrying that the numbers won't add up right. 

I have to go finish watching Pretty Woman in HD.