I was never one for resolutions. I never made them because I knew I would never keep them. Always a reason. Always an excuse. Somehow this year I feel more empowered to keep them. Suddenly I have willpower.
1. Exercise more.
Isn't this number one on everyone's list? I would love to look better than I did pre-baby. I have a fitness center in my office building and I don't take advantage of it. In every baby magazine that is sent to me is atleast one "I did it" success story of how they lost the half a person they gained after they had a child. My motivation is looking at all of those "before" pictures and making sure I don't get to be like that. Which brings me to...
2. Stop being so lazy.
Many Sundays are what is known as Lazy Sundays in my house. Pajamas stay on and mommy and daddy read the paper while Stephanie plays with her toys. Maybe put a DVD in, maybe do some cleaning, and the only time we step foot outside is to pick up the Chinese take-out. Yesterday was hectic so today was a Lazy Sunday until I got cabin fever and took Stephanie to the supermarket.
3. Finish what I start.
This is my most important, and the one I most want to achieve. I stopped telling people I was getting involved in activities because chances are, they'd be short-lived. I joined Habitat for Humanity and went to one meeting and decided to quit because I felt they were looking for people with more connections than I had. Others in the meeting had experience doing radio PSA's and knew the right people. At the time I was a trade magazine editor and knew no one. And so I stopped going. I also joined a book club which I went monthly for about half a year. I stopped going because the type of books that were being chosen were far cries from the genres that were in the beginning and so I lost interest. I joined a new mom's group and I still go, but I haven't been in a while. I had bronchitis, Stephanie was sick. And part of me believes that it would be no big deal if I never went again, but I know it would be one more thing I'd be giving up on and so for that reason alone, I'll go again. I also want to join a women's self defense course and maybe a martial arts class which will help get me back in shape as well as teach me how to kick ass. But I'm keeping it to myself until I sign the check and prepare for my first lesson.
I'm hoping that next year I can say that I accomplished atleast one of these.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Cough
There was a place I would go to when I was in high school called Pond Meadow. A boyfriend took me there once and I was hooked. It's a place to hike, bikeride, rollerblade, canoe, and climb onto some huge boulders and pretend like it's just you and mother nature. There was a path that led to a pier and I would lie on the pier and read or close my eyes for a bit, because you could do that back then without concern. There was a rape at Pond Meadow last week. It sort of tarnished my memory of what a wonderful place it was.
I have bronchitis. Has anyone ever used an inhaler? I was given a prescription for one this morning and the side effects on the package include an "increased chance if death." Seriously. I never read those warnings, but the pamphlet was the only thing within reaching distance since I was too tired to move. In no way am I a hypochondriac and if it was just a risk of death I would understand the lagalities of including such a warning, but an increased chance of death? Makes me want to update my will.
I have bronchitis. Has anyone ever used an inhaler? I was given a prescription for one this morning and the side effects on the package include an "increased chance if death." Seriously. I never read those warnings, but the pamphlet was the only thing within reaching distance since I was too tired to move. In no way am I a hypochondriac and if it was just a risk of death I would understand the lagalities of including such a warning, but an increased chance of death? Makes me want to update my will.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Routine.
Confession: I need a life.
I realized this as Ken, Stephanie, and I were walking the aisles of the local supermarket that food shopping with both of them was enjoyment. Aisle by aisle picking out what produce and meats and pastas we need to get through the next week or two. Picking out unhealthy food that we say is a one time treat but I know it'll end up in my shopping cart on more than one occasion. Figuring out meals in advance and forgetting them as soon as they are put away. "Do we need any..." "Ooh, can we get....?" That was my enjoyment.
I really need to get out more.
I realized this as Ken, Stephanie, and I were walking the aisles of the local supermarket that food shopping with both of them was enjoyment. Aisle by aisle picking out what produce and meats and pastas we need to get through the next week or two. Picking out unhealthy food that we say is a one time treat but I know it'll end up in my shopping cart on more than one occasion. Figuring out meals in advance and forgetting them as soon as they are put away. "Do we need any..." "Ooh, can we get....?" That was my enjoyment.
I really need to get out more.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Karma
"Don't go out now. It's raining."
"It's fine. I'll be right back."
"Okay, drive carefully."
"I will."
And I did. But I still got into that car accident.
Stephanie was running low on baby food. She had maybe one or two jars left, the rest was the peas she's tried and hated.
I was about 300 feet from the right hand turn I would make into the supermarket parking lot when another driver pulled out from a bank parking lot and slammed into the passenger side door of my car. She thought that my signal meant that I was turning into the parking lot she was coming out of, not the one right after. The police came and she was found at fault, mainly the person on the main road (me) always has the right of way. Secondly, they saw that her license plate came off of her car and was embedded into my passenger side door.
I always wonder about why things happen and what more serious accident I avoided by going tonight.
A few months ago, I dreamt that I was taking Steph to my mother-in-law's house in the morning, which is where she goes on Tuesdays. In my dream a white car was pulling out of the street I was turning on to and I slammed into that car. I woke up right after the dream and thought it was odd. For peace of mind, I made a mental note to take a different route to her house the next morning. Lo and behold, the next morning I completely forgot about the dream as well as the mental note and left to start the car. As soon as I got into the car, I realized I forgot my watch and so I went inside the house to put it on, then ran to the car and off we went. As I was approaching the street I was about to turn onto, I saw a white car pull out of the street and continue on it's way. It was then that I remembered the dream and wondered if by forgetting my jewelry, I avoided an accident. Had I left on time, I may have hit the car. Probably not, but who knows?
And so tonight I wonder. The side of the car that was hit was the side where the car seat is installed. Luckily, Stephanie wasn't with me when I ran out tonight. And because the damage on her side of the car caused the door not to close completely, she can't be in that car until it's fixed. So tonight I wonder if tonight's accident prevented a more serious accident when she would have been in the car.
My mother's motto is that everything happens for a reason. I was laid off from the company from hell last year and now work for my dream company. If I hadn't moved out of my apartment when I did, I never would have met my husband when I did.
So sometimes I have to imagine that if I am late for work, or even if I take a different route than normal to get from A to B, I am possibly escaping something far worse than just bad luck.
"It's fine. I'll be right back."
"Okay, drive carefully."
"I will."
And I did. But I still got into that car accident.
Stephanie was running low on baby food. She had maybe one or two jars left, the rest was the peas she's tried and hated.
I was about 300 feet from the right hand turn I would make into the supermarket parking lot when another driver pulled out from a bank parking lot and slammed into the passenger side door of my car. She thought that my signal meant that I was turning into the parking lot she was coming out of, not the one right after. The police came and she was found at fault, mainly the person on the main road (me) always has the right of way. Secondly, they saw that her license plate came off of her car and was embedded into my passenger side door.
I always wonder about why things happen and what more serious accident I avoided by going tonight.
A few months ago, I dreamt that I was taking Steph to my mother-in-law's house in the morning, which is where she goes on Tuesdays. In my dream a white car was pulling out of the street I was turning on to and I slammed into that car. I woke up right after the dream and thought it was odd. For peace of mind, I made a mental note to take a different route to her house the next morning. Lo and behold, the next morning I completely forgot about the dream as well as the mental note and left to start the car. As soon as I got into the car, I realized I forgot my watch and so I went inside the house to put it on, then ran to the car and off we went. As I was approaching the street I was about to turn onto, I saw a white car pull out of the street and continue on it's way. It was then that I remembered the dream and wondered if by forgetting my jewelry, I avoided an accident. Had I left on time, I may have hit the car. Probably not, but who knows?
And so tonight I wonder. The side of the car that was hit was the side where the car seat is installed. Luckily, Stephanie wasn't with me when I ran out tonight. And because the damage on her side of the car caused the door not to close completely, she can't be in that car until it's fixed. So tonight I wonder if tonight's accident prevented a more serious accident when she would have been in the car.
My mother's motto is that everything happens for a reason. I was laid off from the company from hell last year and now work for my dream company. If I hadn't moved out of my apartment when I did, I never would have met my husband when I did.
So sometimes I have to imagine that if I am late for work, or even if I take a different route than normal to get from A to B, I am possibly escaping something far worse than just bad luck.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Introduction
Hi. I'm Jodi.
I used to blog here. Sometimes I think I still do. I come back here from time to time with a thought. An idea. A statement. But then I give up before I start.
Maybe I'll delete the old blog and start a new one, I think. As if I'm just starting one for the first time.
Does anyone ever check back here anymore?
So much has happened since I last blogged. Stephanie is almost 6 months old.
I used to blog here. Sometimes I think I still do. I come back here from time to time with a thought. An idea. A statement. But then I give up before I start.
Maybe I'll delete the old blog and start a new one, I think. As if I'm just starting one for the first time.
Does anyone ever check back here anymore?
So much has happened since I last blogged. Stephanie is almost 6 months old.
She is amazing. What a little personality. I re-read my last few posts about how overwhelmed I was and it's as if it was written by someone else. Yes, I remember the sleepless nights wishing she would just go to sleep already. And I remember the wondering of when the last time it was I laughed out loud. But I don't remember it being that bad. I think that;s the reason why I don't delete everything and start fresh, the need to remind myself how it was in the beginning.
So I'm starting over from where I left off, whatever that means.
So I guess I am back. In more ways than one.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Sanity
I'm back to work and feeling great, atleast better than I did during the time the last post was written.
My Benefits dept called me about 3 weeks ago and told me that the 8 weeks leave I was originally planning was now 6 weeks. Apparently, the woman who was handling my leave was confused. So my leave was cut short and I've been back to work for a little over a week. I'm considering it a blessing in disguise given that I would still be going stircrazy had I still been home.
I was talking to a friend the other day who is a mother of a one-year old. We were comparing war stories and I noticed that when she mentioned how much she loved being a mother but hated her pregnancy, I was realizing how much I loved the pregnancy, but hated the last 6 weeks. I love being a mother, and I love this little girl with every ounce of my being, but sometimes my love for all things mommy was overshadowed by all things frustration. And I noticed how different I was in that I had no seperation anxiety in going back to work. I left the house at 7:30 with a spring in my step and without a tear in my eye. I'm finding myself missing her during the day and devoted to her when I get home, but leaving in the morning is so easy.
My Benefits dept called me about 3 weeks ago and told me that the 8 weeks leave I was originally planning was now 6 weeks. Apparently, the woman who was handling my leave was confused. So my leave was cut short and I've been back to work for a little over a week. I'm considering it a blessing in disguise given that I would still be going stircrazy had I still been home.
I was talking to a friend the other day who is a mother of a one-year old. We were comparing war stories and I noticed that when she mentioned how much she loved being a mother but hated her pregnancy, I was realizing how much I loved the pregnancy, but hated the last 6 weeks. I love being a mother, and I love this little girl with every ounce of my being, but sometimes my love for all things mommy was overshadowed by all things frustration. And I noticed how different I was in that I had no seperation anxiety in going back to work. I left the house at 7:30 with a spring in my step and without a tear in my eye. I'm finding myself missing her during the day and devoted to her when I get home, but leaving in the morning is so easy.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Filter
"How's Stephanie?" they ask.
"Great," I answer.
And she is. But what I don't add is that she doesn't sleep at night, and it drives me crazy. Correction. She sleeps, but she chooses the comfort of mommy's chest to lay her head rather than her crib. The result? Mommy doesn't sleep.
Sometimes when I choose to blog about something personal, I think twice about it. Same with conversations. Do I really want these people to know that my life is tainted with personal issues? I have a great marriage, loving family, fantastic job... but on the inside?
I looked up post-partum depression online the other day. I didn't consider it a possibility. The website I chose defined it as feelings of suicide, homicide, or inflicting injury. Those thoughts have never (never ever!) crossed my mind since giving birth (or beforehand) and so I convinced myself that wasn't it. And besides, I thought with PPD, I am supposed to not want to have anything to do with her. Again, not the case. I could hold her in my arms all day and gaze into her gorgeous blue eyes. I play with her. I tickle her. I sing Close to You by the Carpenters to her. But at night, I am frustrated. Annoyed. Unhappy.
Every night, at around 7:00, I start to feel down. I get nervous and tense. I think about what her sleep schedule will be that night. And how much my sleep will be affected. Because I'm still out on maternity leave, I get up throughout the night and let Ken sleep since he has to go to work the next day. Up until a few nights ago, she was up almost every hour. Wide awake and hungry. During the day, the formula knocks her out and she sleeps really well. At night? No amount of fluids could make her weary and her eyes have a constant deer-in-headlights look. This past week, she had a few consecutive nights of letting us sleep for 4 consecutive hours, which is HUGE. Last night she was back to her old tricks and I lost it.
When I am sleep deprived, I am extra emotional. And so I started to cry, something I've started to do frequently when woken up by her. Begging her to sleep as I hold a bottle in her mouth. Because mommy can't sleep during the day. When she naps, I can't nap. Somehow I am programmed into believing that I'll sleep through a cry or that she'll suddenly roll over onto her stomach - which screams of SIDS - and also which is pretty unlikely at 6 weeks of age but since my mind wanders, that's what is keeping me from napping.
During the day I am fine. Happy. Social. But when darkness hits, my mood turns sour and I am pessimistic and depressed and negative.
Ken and I have gotten into more arguments since she's been born. Some have been petty, some not so much. The most recent? I don't think he's hands on enough. He'll hold her or feed her when it's convenient for him.
When he comes home from work, I expect more from him. I am with her all day and overnight, I think he should give me a few hours off when he comes home from work. But many times when I ask him to take her, there is always something to do.
I gotta go to Home Depot.
I gotta go mow the lawn.
I have phone calls to return.
I have to get ready for tomorrow.
And I don't say anything. I let it go. Well, atleast until tonight (which empowered me to write this blog.)
He told me I was in a state of depression. And that makes me shudder a bit. Because part of me thought that only I saw it. What does it mean that those around me, those CLOSEST to me, are seeing it too?
I'm not a believer in pills, or Scientology vitamins, because I don't consider it to be that bad. It only affects me at night, and who is to say it is PPD? And I'll be getting more sleep when I go back to work in a month and Ken takes 3 weeks off to take care of her before we put her in daycare at the 3-month mark. And soon after she'll be old enough to sleep longer at night and I'll be fine.
Right?
My mother tells me it gets better. I know it does, and so I look forward to that. But right now? The fact that as of this moment it's NOT better is what weighs on my mind. Sigh.
So yes, Stephanie is fine. Thank you for asking. But this was something I felt I should blog about. Instead of the fluff that usually ends up here, I wanted to post something more real. Raw. Unfiltered.
"Great," I answer.
And she is. But what I don't add is that she doesn't sleep at night, and it drives me crazy. Correction. She sleeps, but she chooses the comfort of mommy's chest to lay her head rather than her crib. The result? Mommy doesn't sleep.
Sometimes when I choose to blog about something personal, I think twice about it. Same with conversations. Do I really want these people to know that my life is tainted with personal issues? I have a great marriage, loving family, fantastic job... but on the inside?
I looked up post-partum depression online the other day. I didn't consider it a possibility. The website I chose defined it as feelings of suicide, homicide, or inflicting injury. Those thoughts have never (never ever!) crossed my mind since giving birth (or beforehand) and so I convinced myself that wasn't it. And besides, I thought with PPD, I am supposed to not want to have anything to do with her. Again, not the case. I could hold her in my arms all day and gaze into her gorgeous blue eyes. I play with her. I tickle her. I sing Close to You by the Carpenters to her. But at night, I am frustrated. Annoyed. Unhappy.
Every night, at around 7:00, I start to feel down. I get nervous and tense. I think about what her sleep schedule will be that night. And how much my sleep will be affected. Because I'm still out on maternity leave, I get up throughout the night and let Ken sleep since he has to go to work the next day. Up until a few nights ago, she was up almost every hour. Wide awake and hungry. During the day, the formula knocks her out and she sleeps really well. At night? No amount of fluids could make her weary and her eyes have a constant deer-in-headlights look. This past week, she had a few consecutive nights of letting us sleep for 4 consecutive hours, which is HUGE. Last night she was back to her old tricks and I lost it.
When I am sleep deprived, I am extra emotional. And so I started to cry, something I've started to do frequently when woken up by her. Begging her to sleep as I hold a bottle in her mouth. Because mommy can't sleep during the day. When she naps, I can't nap. Somehow I am programmed into believing that I'll sleep through a cry or that she'll suddenly roll over onto her stomach - which screams of SIDS - and also which is pretty unlikely at 6 weeks of age but since my mind wanders, that's what is keeping me from napping.
During the day I am fine. Happy. Social. But when darkness hits, my mood turns sour and I am pessimistic and depressed and negative.
Ken and I have gotten into more arguments since she's been born. Some have been petty, some not so much. The most recent? I don't think he's hands on enough. He'll hold her or feed her when it's convenient for him.
When he comes home from work, I expect more from him. I am with her all day and overnight, I think he should give me a few hours off when he comes home from work. But many times when I ask him to take her, there is always something to do.
I gotta go to Home Depot.
I gotta go mow the lawn.
I have phone calls to return.
I have to get ready for tomorrow.
And I don't say anything. I let it go. Well, atleast until tonight (which empowered me to write this blog.)
He told me I was in a state of depression. And that makes me shudder a bit. Because part of me thought that only I saw it. What does it mean that those around me, those CLOSEST to me, are seeing it too?
I'm not a believer in pills, or Scientology vitamins, because I don't consider it to be that bad. It only affects me at night, and who is to say it is PPD? And I'll be getting more sleep when I go back to work in a month and Ken takes 3 weeks off to take care of her before we put her in daycare at the 3-month mark. And soon after she'll be old enough to sleep longer at night and I'll be fine.
Right?
My mother tells me it gets better. I know it does, and so I look forward to that. But right now? The fact that as of this moment it's NOT better is what weighs on my mind. Sigh.
So yes, Stephanie is fine. Thank you for asking. But this was something I felt I should blog about. Instead of the fluff that usually ends up here, I wanted to post something more real. Raw. Unfiltered.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
I don't even know where to begin. I can't believe she'll be two weeks old tomorrow.
I've never been so out of touch with the world as I am right now. The current song I have in my head isn't on any Billboard chart, but a Mozart piece from a Baby Einstein Discovery Gym. I probably watch 1/2 hour of TV a day and haven't even missed it. And the sad thing is, when I turn on the TV to escape, it seems like the majority of news being reported on is baby-related. Tom and Katie. Brooke. Brad and Angelina. With a little dash of bird flu, Moussaoui, and Earl Woods (RIP) mixed in.
Speaking of Tom, when I was in the hospital, I had a very annoying nurse named Betty Jo who tried to encourage me all throughout labor. She ended every sentence with, "I'm just saying it out loud."
"Once the baby comes, you'll forget about the pain. Just saying it out loud."
And worse, after every push, she would exclaim, "Hooray!" and she would enunciate the 'Hoo' part of it. I really wished she would shut up, and it was then that I thought of Tom, and how maybe silent births aren't such a bad thing. But I kept my mouth shut and figured that I'd let a more feisty woman going through labor set Betty Jo straight.
Ken went back to work yesterday and so I am taking the night shift whenever Steph needs to be fed or changed, which is every 3-4 hours or so. Before she was born, I promised myself that I would try to nap when she naps, but it's more difficult to do than I realized since something inside me is wrongfully convincing my brain that I'm not that tired, and that sure, I can survive on no more than 5 hours of sleep a day. No problem.
But maybe that's the mother-in-training in me. The one who will bake cookies at the last minute because my daughter forgot to tell me until the night before about the bake sale at school the next day. The one who will stay up with her finishing an assignment for class. The one who will wait up for her to return from nights out with friends, or the dreaded first date (even though that won't be until she's 30.) The one who will drop everything on a dime because she needs me to be there for her.
I drive as if I have a baby in the car, even when I don't. And I wonder now why more people don't have that mindset. It's amazing how quickly your life goes from being all about you to being all about somebody else.
I've never been so out of touch with the world as I am right now. The current song I have in my head isn't on any Billboard chart, but a Mozart piece from a Baby Einstein Discovery Gym. I probably watch 1/2 hour of TV a day and haven't even missed it. And the sad thing is, when I turn on the TV to escape, it seems like the majority of news being reported on is baby-related. Tom and Katie. Brooke. Brad and Angelina. With a little dash of bird flu, Moussaoui, and Earl Woods (RIP) mixed in.
Speaking of Tom, when I was in the hospital, I had a very annoying nurse named Betty Jo who tried to encourage me all throughout labor. She ended every sentence with, "I'm just saying it out loud."
"Once the baby comes, you'll forget about the pain. Just saying it out loud."
And worse, after every push, she would exclaim, "Hooray!" and she would enunciate the 'Hoo' part of it. I really wished she would shut up, and it was then that I thought of Tom, and how maybe silent births aren't such a bad thing. But I kept my mouth shut and figured that I'd let a more feisty woman going through labor set Betty Jo straight.
Ken went back to work yesterday and so I am taking the night shift whenever Steph needs to be fed or changed, which is every 3-4 hours or so. Before she was born, I promised myself that I would try to nap when she naps, but it's more difficult to do than I realized since something inside me is wrongfully convincing my brain that I'm not that tired, and that sure, I can survive on no more than 5 hours of sleep a day. No problem.
But maybe that's the mother-in-training in me. The one who will bake cookies at the last minute because my daughter forgot to tell me until the night before about the bake sale at school the next day. The one who will stay up with her finishing an assignment for class. The one who will wait up for her to return from nights out with friends, or the dreaded first date (even though that won't be until she's 30.) The one who will drop everything on a dime because she needs me to be there for her.
I drive as if I have a baby in the car, even when I don't. And I wonder now why more people don't have that mindset. It's amazing how quickly your life goes from being all about you to being all about somebody else.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
she's here.
Two and a half weeks early, my daughter decided she wanted out this past Saturday morning. Beautiful, healthy and 7lbs, 8oz and 19 inches long.
We named her Stephanie.
I'll write more when I'm less sleep-deprived. But everything I complained about in the last 9 months?
Totally worth it.
We named her Stephanie.
I'll write more when I'm less sleep-deprived. But everything I complained about in the last 9 months?
Totally worth it.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
I'm ready.
Last week, I wasn't ready. Everything was so overwhelming. I felt that as long as I still had unfinished projects at work, as long as I wasn't packed for the hospital yet, as long as I wasn't emotionally ready yet - that my body would understand and not put me through it yet.
But everything is done. Granted I do still have those projects to finish, but everything on the homefront is done. The nursery was finished a few weeks ago, all new cribsheets, onesies, bibs, and the like have been washed, and the hospital bags are packed.
And I'm ready. Really ready. I am fully prepared to wake Ken up in the middle of the night and say, "Let's go." I'm fully prepared to make a hospital room a temporary hotel room. And I'm fully prepared to leave as two and come home as three. And everything in between.
And most importantly, I am ready to sleep comfortably again. I'm ready to have my long awaited glass of wine and plate of sushi. I'm ready for my energy to come back, especially now that Spring has begun in New England. I'm ready to stand up, look down, and see my feet again.
And I'm excited about seeing her. Being a mom and learning from her and seeing her personality and sense of humor develop and hearing her laugh. Reading her books and hearing her voice for the first time and what toys and cartoon characters she'll connect with.
I'm probably delusional in thinking that I'll have more time to blog after than I do now. And maybe I won't. But as the days are dwindling, I'm staying offline and enjoying the last moments of hanging out with my husband before life becomes hectic.
Have a wonderful rest of April. Get out and enjoy the weather. Take a walk. Go on a daytrip. Read a book. Buy a vase and some fresh flowers.
Wish me luck.
Last week, I wasn't ready. Everything was so overwhelming. I felt that as long as I still had unfinished projects at work, as long as I wasn't packed for the hospital yet, as long as I wasn't emotionally ready yet - that my body would understand and not put me through it yet.
But everything is done. Granted I do still have those projects to finish, but everything on the homefront is done. The nursery was finished a few weeks ago, all new cribsheets, onesies, bibs, and the like have been washed, and the hospital bags are packed.
And I'm ready. Really ready. I am fully prepared to wake Ken up in the middle of the night and say, "Let's go." I'm fully prepared to make a hospital room a temporary hotel room. And I'm fully prepared to leave as two and come home as three. And everything in between.
And most importantly, I am ready to sleep comfortably again. I'm ready to have my long awaited glass of wine and plate of sushi. I'm ready for my energy to come back, especially now that Spring has begun in New England. I'm ready to stand up, look down, and see my feet again.
And I'm excited about seeing her. Being a mom and learning from her and seeing her personality and sense of humor develop and hearing her laugh. Reading her books and hearing her voice for the first time and what toys and cartoon characters she'll connect with.
I'm probably delusional in thinking that I'll have more time to blog after than I do now. And maybe I won't. But as the days are dwindling, I'm staying offline and enjoying the last moments of hanging out with my husband before life becomes hectic.
Have a wonderful rest of April. Get out and enjoy the weather. Take a walk. Go on a daytrip. Read a book. Buy a vase and some fresh flowers.
Wish me luck.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Countdown to Baby
Four and a half weeks.
That's it.
Last night I had a few false labor contractions, which are completely normal, and it freaked me out. Actually, Ken freaked me out. I thought nothing of them until...
"I'm timing them and so far there have been 2 within 10 minutes. If this keeps up, we're calling the doctor." And he continued to stare at me, watching my every expression. I didn't admit many more after that one. They stopped after about 40 minutes.
In our childbirth class, we were told to call the hospital when contractions come every 5 minutes for an hour. I didn't think anything of them until Ken reminded me of that. It made everything more real and I instantly thought how unprepared I was. I mentally packed my hospital bag and wondered how long it would take me to pack it for real. What would I bring the baby home in? Where are my nightgowns? What snacks can we take? What else are we forgetting?
But I'm not ready yet, and yet I am so ready.
What I'll miss about being pregnant:
Being able to eat foods that I never eat and not feel guilty about it.
Being able to nap midday and not feel guilty about it.
Not having to carry laundry downstairs or take it back upstairs.
Smiles from total strangers.
Feeling little kicks and hiccups coming from my belly.
Having an excuse for my forgetfulness.
Shopping. Whenever Ken complains about the credit card bill, I reply, "It's for baby," and he's okay with that.
What I won't miss:
Walking through clothing stores and seeing all the cute clothes that I'm too fat to fit into.
The lack of energy.
Hormones. I sometimes cry for the dumbest reasons.
Getting up every hour or two throughout the night to either change positions or pee.
That "kicked in the crotch" feeling we have due to explanding ligaments, which makes walking/standing/rolling over in bed painful as hell.
My swollen feet.
Caffeine withdrawal.
That's it.
Last night I had a few false labor contractions, which are completely normal, and it freaked me out. Actually, Ken freaked me out. I thought nothing of them until...
"I'm timing them and so far there have been 2 within 10 minutes. If this keeps up, we're calling the doctor." And he continued to stare at me, watching my every expression. I didn't admit many more after that one. They stopped after about 40 minutes.
In our childbirth class, we were told to call the hospital when contractions come every 5 minutes for an hour. I didn't think anything of them until Ken reminded me of that. It made everything more real and I instantly thought how unprepared I was. I mentally packed my hospital bag and wondered how long it would take me to pack it for real. What would I bring the baby home in? Where are my nightgowns? What snacks can we take? What else are we forgetting?
But I'm not ready yet, and yet I am so ready.
What I'll miss about being pregnant:
Being able to eat foods that I never eat and not feel guilty about it.
Being able to nap midday and not feel guilty about it.
Not having to carry laundry downstairs or take it back upstairs.
Smiles from total strangers.
Feeling little kicks and hiccups coming from my belly.
Having an excuse for my forgetfulness.
Shopping. Whenever Ken complains about the credit card bill, I reply, "It's for baby," and he's okay with that.
What I won't miss:
Walking through clothing stores and seeing all the cute clothes that I'm too fat to fit into.
The lack of energy.
Hormones. I sometimes cry for the dumbest reasons.
Getting up every hour or two throughout the night to either change positions or pee.
That "kicked in the crotch" feeling we have due to explanding ligaments, which makes walking/standing/rolling over in bed painful as hell.
My swollen feet.
Caffeine withdrawal.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
We're one big melting pot. Accept that.
I saw Crash, and loved it.
I work for a company that has stores all over the world, and part of my job is to look into complaints filed against these stores.
Friday afternoon I was asked by someone from the midwest if we had any stores in his area, because the one closest to his location "is run by Pakistani's" and so he refuses to go there.
I hate that. I seriously hate ignorant people. And there was so much I wanted to say to him, but I kept my mouth shut. For one, I wanted to tell him that I was a Pakistani, just to hear the uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone. But being at work, I can't take the time out of my day to convince a person to be less of a racist and read the news more, because last time I checked, we weren't at war against Pakistan. And further, anyone could be a terrorist. Ten years ago, Timothy McVeigh blew up a Federal Building in Oklahoma, and John Walker Lindh, considered a bright kid from a middle-class family, went to Iraq to join the Taliban. Both are as white as this caller from the midwest, but he ignorantly chooses to ....
okay, I'll stop. But you get my point.
I understand people have their stereotypes. Otherwise, Crash wouldn't have done so well at the box office and wouldn't have deserved all the awards it received. But keep it to yourself. Don't volunteer the information. Especially to someone you don't know. Am I Pakistani? No. But I what if I was?
If you want to complain about a company, by all means make the call. Send an email. Write a letter. But as soon as you bring up ethnicity, you have just lost all credibility.
I work for a company that has stores all over the world, and part of my job is to look into complaints filed against these stores.
Friday afternoon I was asked by someone from the midwest if we had any stores in his area, because the one closest to his location "is run by Pakistani's" and so he refuses to go there.
I hate that. I seriously hate ignorant people. And there was so much I wanted to say to him, but I kept my mouth shut. For one, I wanted to tell him that I was a Pakistani, just to hear the uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone. But being at work, I can't take the time out of my day to convince a person to be less of a racist and read the news more, because last time I checked, we weren't at war against Pakistan. And further, anyone could be a terrorist. Ten years ago, Timothy McVeigh blew up a Federal Building in Oklahoma, and John Walker Lindh, considered a bright kid from a middle-class family, went to Iraq to join the Taliban. Both are as white as this caller from the midwest, but he ignorantly chooses to ....
okay, I'll stop. But you get my point.
I understand people have their stereotypes. Otherwise, Crash wouldn't have done so well at the box office and wouldn't have deserved all the awards it received. But keep it to yourself. Don't volunteer the information. Especially to someone you don't know. Am I Pakistani? No. But I what if I was?
If you want to complain about a company, by all means make the call. Send an email. Write a letter. But as soon as you bring up ethnicity, you have just lost all credibility.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
More Useless Information
I've been meme'd.
10 Favorites
1. Season: Fall
2. Color: Blue
3. Time: 6:30 - Home from work and still light enough outside
4. Food: Asian - Thai/Vietnamese/Japanese/Chinese
5. Drink
Non-alcoholic: Seltzer water with a splash of cranberry juice. Or water.
Alcoholic: Cosmo, or a nice glass of relaxing pinot. But I also like a good Bloody Mary.
6. Ice Cream: Pistachio or Mint Chocolate Chip
7. Place: Right now, it's the nursery we just finished. It makes me smile.
8. Sport: Baseball
9. Actor: Tom Hanks
10. Actress: Sandra Bullock
9 Currents
1. Feeling: Overwhelmed
2. Drink: Ice Water
3. Time: 3:20 PM
4. Show on TV: I'm addicted to Grey's Anatomy
5. Mobile: Cingular (I have no idea what this one means)
6. Windows open: 5 (Lotus Notes, 2 websites (both work related, I swear!), Blogger, and a work program.
7. Underwear: Black maternity ones. SEXY!
8. Clothes: Black pants, and a pretty flowery beigish maternity top. Oh, and black shoes.
9. Thought: 2 and a half more hours....
8 Firsts
1. Nickname: Muffet (my mother used to call me Muffet because apparently, Little Miss Muffet was my favorite rhyme growing up. )
2. Kiss: His name was Karl. And I loved him. Sigh...
3. Crush: John. 2nd grade. Who knew he was gay?
4. Best Friend: Andrea, she lived across the street. We were inseparable.
5. Vehicle: 1990 Ford Escort
6. Job: I was a candy striper at a local hospital. But my first paying job was at a McDonald's.
7. Date: I think it was with Paul in 9th grade. We went to the movies.
8. Pet: Harry and Herman - hamsters
7 Lasts
1. Drink: Water
2. Kiss: This morning before Ken left for work.
3. Meal: Breakfast this morning: Grapenut cereal, a banana, and orange juice.
4. Web site: Hotmail.com
5. Movie: Failure to Launch
6. Phone call: Work-related.
7. TV Show: The Today Show this morning.
6 Have You Evers
1. Broken the law: I stole a Roger Rabbit figurine when I was too little to know better. And I drank alcohol before I was 21. Does that count?
2. Been drunk: Yes
3. Kissed someone you didn't know: Yikes, yes. I'm feeling so irresponsible right now. But it was part of my "Always be kissed at New Years rule."
4. Been close to gunfire: No
5. Skinny dipped: Nope
6. Broken someone's heart: Yeah...
5 Things
1. You can hear right now: People talking, sound of the keyboard, someone whistling, phones ringing, The vent blowing air above my head
2. On your bed: Comforter, sheets, pillows, laundry that needs to be folded, and To Kill a Mockingbird, which I'm reading right now.
3. You ate today: Cereal, banana, pineapple, a granola bar, and orange sherbert.
4. You can't live without: Ken, my family, my car, potholders, and a phone.
5. You do when you're bored: watch mindless television, read, take a walk, call my parents, buy stuff for baby online.
4 Places You've Been Today
1. Bed
2. Shower/Bathroom
3. My car
4. Work
3 Things On Your Desk Right Now
1. Monitor, keyboard, mouse
2. Vaseline hand lotion and Purel Hand Sanitizer
3. An empty water cup.
2 Choices
1. Chocolate or Vanilla: Depends on my mood
2. Hot or Cold: Cold (If I'm too cold, I can bundle up. Even if you're naked, you can still be too sweaty.)
1 Place You Want to Visit.
Tuscany
10 Favorites
1. Season: Fall
2. Color: Blue
3. Time: 6:30 - Home from work and still light enough outside
4. Food: Asian - Thai/Vietnamese/Japanese/Chinese
5. Drink
Non-alcoholic: Seltzer water with a splash of cranberry juice. Or water.
Alcoholic: Cosmo, or a nice glass of relaxing pinot. But I also like a good Bloody Mary.
6. Ice Cream: Pistachio or Mint Chocolate Chip
7. Place: Right now, it's the nursery we just finished. It makes me smile.
8. Sport: Baseball
9. Actor: Tom Hanks
10. Actress: Sandra Bullock
9 Currents
1. Feeling: Overwhelmed
2. Drink: Ice Water
3. Time: 3:20 PM
4. Show on TV: I'm addicted to Grey's Anatomy
5. Mobile: Cingular (I have no idea what this one means)
6. Windows open: 5 (Lotus Notes, 2 websites (both work related, I swear!), Blogger, and a work program.
7. Underwear: Black maternity ones. SEXY!
8. Clothes: Black pants, and a pretty flowery beigish maternity top. Oh, and black shoes.
9. Thought: 2 and a half more hours....
8 Firsts
1. Nickname: Muffet (my mother used to call me Muffet because apparently, Little Miss Muffet was my favorite rhyme growing up. )
2. Kiss: His name was Karl. And I loved him. Sigh...
3. Crush: John. 2nd grade. Who knew he was gay?
4. Best Friend: Andrea, she lived across the street. We were inseparable.
5. Vehicle: 1990 Ford Escort
6. Job: I was a candy striper at a local hospital. But my first paying job was at a McDonald's.
7. Date: I think it was with Paul in 9th grade. We went to the movies.
8. Pet: Harry and Herman - hamsters
7 Lasts
1. Drink: Water
2. Kiss: This morning before Ken left for work.
3. Meal: Breakfast this morning: Grapenut cereal, a banana, and orange juice.
4. Web site: Hotmail.com
5. Movie: Failure to Launch
6. Phone call: Work-related.
7. TV Show: The Today Show this morning.
6 Have You Evers
1. Broken the law: I stole a Roger Rabbit figurine when I was too little to know better. And I drank alcohol before I was 21. Does that count?
2. Been drunk: Yes
3. Kissed someone you didn't know: Yikes, yes. I'm feeling so irresponsible right now. But it was part of my "Always be kissed at New Years rule."
4. Been close to gunfire: No
5. Skinny dipped: Nope
6. Broken someone's heart: Yeah...
5 Things
1. You can hear right now: People talking, sound of the keyboard, someone whistling, phones ringing, The vent blowing air above my head
2. On your bed: Comforter, sheets, pillows, laundry that needs to be folded, and To Kill a Mockingbird, which I'm reading right now.
3. You ate today: Cereal, banana, pineapple, a granola bar, and orange sherbert.
4. You can't live without: Ken, my family, my car, potholders, and a phone.
5. You do when you're bored: watch mindless television, read, take a walk, call my parents, buy stuff for baby online.
4 Places You've Been Today
1. Bed
2. Shower/Bathroom
3. My car
4. Work
3 Things On Your Desk Right Now
1. Monitor, keyboard, mouse
2. Vaseline hand lotion and Purel Hand Sanitizer
3. An empty water cup.
2 Choices
1. Chocolate or Vanilla: Depends on my mood
2. Hot or Cold: Cold (If I'm too cold, I can bundle up. Even if you're naked, you can still be too sweaty.)
1 Place You Want to Visit.
Tuscany
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Completely Random Ramblings
Last night I went to Lincoln Park, a casino about 35 minutes away in Lincoln, Rhode Island. I won, Ken lost, but together we pretty much broke even. Here's what happened that prompted this blog.
I hate complainers. People who complain about petty little things is a HUGE pet peeve of mine. Actually, it's those that complain about something incessantly and not let it go. Last summer, I was in the slowest line ever at a Dairy Queen. It was hot, it was late, and whomever was working the line I chose might of been new. Who knows? But the person in front of me kept turning around and rolling her eyes and making comments. I smiled politely and hoped the fact that I didn't egg her on would shut her up. I was wrong. Last night, I was in line to cash out and something happened where the person working the window just walked away. Maybe she ran out of money, maybe she had to get some forms if the customer at the counter hit it big. Who knows? But person A in back of me and person B in front of me had a problem.
Where'd she go?
I don't know.
This is ridiculous.
Anyone want a job? It's obvious they're short-staffed.
Is that girl opening her window? We should all move over and not allow anyone in front of us. We've been waiting forever.
This is ridiculous.
Where is she?
Seriously. Where do you have to be that you are in such a rush all the time? I feel like asking this. Who cares if the line is slow. Where do you have to be right now?
I was in line for dinner at one of the food court restaurants and noticed a man in line at another restaurant who had the same belly I did. My belly popped sometime in the last month or so and so my energy level has sunk. I used to be able to do 50 flights on the gym Stairmaster, but now I am winded after climbing one flight of stairs to get to my cubicle at work. I hate it. Looking at this man, I wondered how anyone could want to live like that on purpose. I guess that being 8 months pregnant has opened my eyes to what I could feel like if I don't take care of myself.
Last tidbit: Most of the songs on my Ipod bring me back to another time and place. Band on the Run, by Paul McCartney and Wings, is probably one of my all-time favorite songs and Paul McCartney is the only artist who I would shell out a car payment to see in concert. In college, I went on 3 dates with someone who turned out to be a fugitive. On our first date, we went to karaoke night at a local bar. It was a Friday night in June 1994. I remember the date because it was the night of the infamous OJ chase in the white Bronco. As soon as it happened, all the TV's over the stage in the bar broadcast the chase and when it was over, one of the bartender's sang Band on the Run. It was the first time I heard that song and now everytime I hear it, I think of that night, and how fitting that song was given my own set of circumstances. I was on a date with a fugitive. And I have wondered since that night if he was laughing inside while that song was playing.
I hate complainers. People who complain about petty little things is a HUGE pet peeve of mine. Actually, it's those that complain about something incessantly and not let it go. Last summer, I was in the slowest line ever at a Dairy Queen. It was hot, it was late, and whomever was working the line I chose might of been new. Who knows? But the person in front of me kept turning around and rolling her eyes and making comments. I smiled politely and hoped the fact that I didn't egg her on would shut her up. I was wrong. Last night, I was in line to cash out and something happened where the person working the window just walked away. Maybe she ran out of money, maybe she had to get some forms if the customer at the counter hit it big. Who knows? But person A in back of me and person B in front of me had a problem.
Where'd she go?
I don't know.
This is ridiculous.
Anyone want a job? It's obvious they're short-staffed.
Is that girl opening her window? We should all move over and not allow anyone in front of us. We've been waiting forever.
This is ridiculous.
Where is she?
Seriously. Where do you have to be that you are in such a rush all the time? I feel like asking this. Who cares if the line is slow. Where do you have to be right now?
I was in line for dinner at one of the food court restaurants and noticed a man in line at another restaurant who had the same belly I did. My belly popped sometime in the last month or so and so my energy level has sunk. I used to be able to do 50 flights on the gym Stairmaster, but now I am winded after climbing one flight of stairs to get to my cubicle at work. I hate it. Looking at this man, I wondered how anyone could want to live like that on purpose. I guess that being 8 months pregnant has opened my eyes to what I could feel like if I don't take care of myself.
Last tidbit: Most of the songs on my Ipod bring me back to another time and place. Band on the Run, by Paul McCartney and Wings, is probably one of my all-time favorite songs and Paul McCartney is the only artist who I would shell out a car payment to see in concert. In college, I went on 3 dates with someone who turned out to be a fugitive. On our first date, we went to karaoke night at a local bar. It was a Friday night in June 1994. I remember the date because it was the night of the infamous OJ chase in the white Bronco. As soon as it happened, all the TV's over the stage in the bar broadcast the chase and when it was over, one of the bartender's sang Band on the Run. It was the first time I heard that song and now everytime I hear it, I think of that night, and how fitting that song was given my own set of circumstances. I was on a date with a fugitive. And I have wondered since that night if he was laughing inside while that song was playing.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
See Dick Dance. Dance, Dick, Dance.
For our last official real nice date night out as "DINK"s (Double Income, No Kids), my family treated Ken and me to a fancy dinner and a play, The Full Monty.
I saw the movie years ago when it came out in theaters. I had forgotten most of the details of the movie, but remember the basic premise. Set in Britain, unemployed blue-collar men of all shapes and sizes are jealous that their wives and girlfriends spend their time at the strip clubs, that they decide to form their own male revue and give it a go. That is what I remember.
The night we went was the last night of the performance, and we found that many in the audience had been before.
"The end is the best."
"Have you seen the movie? This has NOTHING on the movie."
"Make sure you're awake for the end. And don't blink or sneeze."
"Is he uncomfortable with nudity?" a woman asks, nodding her head towards Ken.
There were many similarities between the play and the movie as far as plot. There were a few differences, like the setting (Buffalo, NY) and that there were more musical numbers than the original.
The major difference?
The last scene of the night. The final musical number. I knew there would be stripping. If I recalled, the last scene in the movie showed the men in all their glory with only the policeman's hat that was their costume covering the goods. That's what I was expecting. What I got? An eyeful. Little by little, the costumes came off. Everyone was cheering, obviously knowing what was to come.
There was a Bachelorette Party in the house that night, and one of the castmembers tried to drag the very embarrassed bride-to-be onto the stage to get a closer look. Blushing, she would go no further than the steps leading up to the stage.
Right before the curtain fell and the lights went out, they dropped the hats. Six little Jr's all in a row. In my shock and laughter, I tried to skim all six, but only really focused on one.
The acting was outstanding, the vocals were second to none, and the comaraderie among actors was obvious. Ken loved it. I thought he would be a little uncomfortable with male nudity, but because the play was fantastic, he didn't really see that as a letdown. He was glad that it was the last run of the play because he knew I'd probably want to see it five more times.
I saw the movie years ago when it came out in theaters. I had forgotten most of the details of the movie, but remember the basic premise. Set in Britain, unemployed blue-collar men of all shapes and sizes are jealous that their wives and girlfriends spend their time at the strip clubs, that they decide to form their own male revue and give it a go. That is what I remember.
The night we went was the last night of the performance, and we found that many in the audience had been before.
"The end is the best."
"Have you seen the movie? This has NOTHING on the movie."
"Make sure you're awake for the end. And don't blink or sneeze."
"Is he uncomfortable with nudity?" a woman asks, nodding her head towards Ken.
There were many similarities between the play and the movie as far as plot. There were a few differences, like the setting (Buffalo, NY) and that there were more musical numbers than the original.
The major difference?
The last scene of the night. The final musical number. I knew there would be stripping. If I recalled, the last scene in the movie showed the men in all their glory with only the policeman's hat that was their costume covering the goods. That's what I was expecting. What I got? An eyeful. Little by little, the costumes came off. Everyone was cheering, obviously knowing what was to come.
There was a Bachelorette Party in the house that night, and one of the castmembers tried to drag the very embarrassed bride-to-be onto the stage to get a closer look. Blushing, she would go no further than the steps leading up to the stage.
Right before the curtain fell and the lights went out, they dropped the hats. Six little Jr's all in a row. In my shock and laughter, I tried to skim all six, but only really focused on one.
The acting was outstanding, the vocals were second to none, and the comaraderie among actors was obvious. Ken loved it. I thought he would be a little uncomfortable with male nudity, but because the play was fantastic, he didn't really see that as a letdown. He was glad that it was the last run of the play because he knew I'd probably want to see it five more times.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Home Stretch
Dear Baby,
I realize that there are only 10 weeks left on your lease. I hope the accommodations that I have provided you in the past 7 months or so have been adequate. Free room and board, plenty of food and nutrition, no loud or sudden noise to disturb you, and enough time to sleep. Who could ask for better living conditions?
That being said, I understand how you might think that since you'll be moving out soon, you feel that you can throw my schedule into disarray. Don't get me wrong. The seven months that you have been in my life have been fantastic. You haven't caused me to be sick or achy. Even daddy has noticed. He proudly told my doctor that he was impressed how good it's been and how little I've complained. And I owe it all to you. But now that you're getting bigger and it's getting close to the time we should meet face to face, I thought we should have a talk.
Now that you're getting bigger, I know it's sometimes fun to stay up all hours of the night. But honey, mommy has to go to work in the morning. You know I love it whenever you move around, but if you feel something hard when you kick, please don't think it's a wall that will crumble if you keep kicking hard enough. It's my ribcage, and it isn't going anywhere. So please stop trying to tear it down.
Same goes for my bladder.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Daddy thanks you for your sudden yearning for onion rings and french fries.
I realize that there are only 10 weeks left on your lease. I hope the accommodations that I have provided you in the past 7 months or so have been adequate. Free room and board, plenty of food and nutrition, no loud or sudden noise to disturb you, and enough time to sleep. Who could ask for better living conditions?
That being said, I understand how you might think that since you'll be moving out soon, you feel that you can throw my schedule into disarray. Don't get me wrong. The seven months that you have been in my life have been fantastic. You haven't caused me to be sick or achy. Even daddy has noticed. He proudly told my doctor that he was impressed how good it's been and how little I've complained. And I owe it all to you. But now that you're getting bigger and it's getting close to the time we should meet face to face, I thought we should have a talk.
Now that you're getting bigger, I know it's sometimes fun to stay up all hours of the night. But honey, mommy has to go to work in the morning. You know I love it whenever you move around, but if you feel something hard when you kick, please don't think it's a wall that will crumble if you keep kicking hard enough. It's my ribcage, and it isn't going anywhere. So please stop trying to tear it down.
Same goes for my bladder.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Daddy thanks you for your sudden yearning for onion rings and french fries.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Working For a Simple Man
Is it wrong to want to see a company fail? To feel glee when you know the end is near?
I worked for a small marketing firm. My main client and my boss do not speak. They have a long history of mutual disdain and so I was the go between. It was a stressful position, because every idea proposal I would offer to them was turned down because they thought my boss was ghostwriting. After I realized what was happening, I met with them and told them that my boss is never involved in my ideas, let alone in what I do for them (which was beyond true). They admitted being skeptical, since passing ideas off as someone else's is something my boss would do, and they apologized for thinking I'd go along with it. I left that meeting questioning my company.
In April, my boss asked me if I would be interested in working from home. They wanted to sell the building for various reasons, all of which made sense. "Think about it over the weekend and let us know." Granted, I would miss the daily interaction of an office, but since we were in the trying stages of starting a family, the thought of avoiding daycare and a commute were enough of a sell. Ken was completely in agreement, and so I came to them with my answer.
The first potential buyer fell through because the business didn't meet the standards of the Office Park. The second potential buyer came in October. I was told not to say anything to the client just yet because they were nervous about this offer falling through as well. But we started cleaning out our offices and a potential move date was given for Christmas week.
A week before Thanksgiving, I was told that my salary was being cut. Dramatically. I had gotten a really good raise a year before and it was being taken away from me, and then some. I told them I wasn't sure if I could do it, especially being pregnant. I held it together but as soon as I got back to my office, I called Ken and broke down in the middle of the conversation. Shortly after hanging up, they offered more if I took on the position of Accounts Payable. This would mean I would be taking the job from "S". Justifying to myself that S had another part-time job that she could make full-time, I accepted the position. If I wasn't four months pregnant, I would have looked elsewhere and turned it down. Given the position I was in, I didn't think I had many other options. I was also told that she would be notified after Thanksgiving.
Plans were underway. I ordered a company PO Box local to my house, I chose office furniture I wanted to move home, and I called Verizon to install a new phone and fax line. I also noticed that Thanksgiving had come and gone and no one had said anything to S.
A week into December, I was given the go ahead to let the client know about the transition to my home. They were upset for not letting them know sooner, and not giving them any say in the matter, given that it was their company. They had some decisions to make, I was told, and that I would find out the fate of my firm's involvement with this company soon. I asked about it several times. Have we heard anything yet? Any news? And I was always told No. Nothing yet.
During this time, S had asked me if I knew how to order a PO Box. Seems she was told to open one for company bills. I was confused. I asked my boss about it. Like a deer caught in headlights he looked at me. "Well, Jodi.... Let her do it for now, and who knows. Maybe in April or May, you'll take over." I was assured I'd still be paid the amount discussed. I assumed they had felt bad about letting her go. S had been their right hand for many years and I could understand their not wanting her to leave. But this was ridiculous. "That's fine," I replied. "I just don't like secrets." He diplomatically joked that I know more than he does sometimes and left. That afternoon, I went onto Monster.com and applied for a job. I also emailed my old boss who has been after me to come back and keeps offering to keep her eyes open in case something opens. I asked her to start looking.
The next day, Verizon came. When I came into work after the lines were installed, I asked for an update from the client. I was given a thumbs up and was told everything was all set. The next day, I received a call from the client. They were coming in to pick up all of my stuff. I asked why. "We're taking back the account." I told him I'd call him back and ran into my boss's office. "They're taking back the account." I could tell from his face that he already knew. He explained that everything was last minute, and that given the icy relationship, they thought it best to cut ties. "Don't worry," he told me. "You're still on our payroll until the end of December and we have many projects for you to do." The end of December was two weeks away.
After the building was cleaned out and I was home twiddling my thumbs, my boss called. "Maybe you should try to work a deal to work for the client," he said blankly. "Because we don't have any projects for you." After a brief moment of wondering how long he has lived without balls, I spoke my my mind. I forget his reply, but the conclusion was that for those last two weeks, I would be working with the client educating them on what I did. And what I learned during those two weeks was invaluable. They let me in on the history of the feud, which made me feel like a fool for having respected my boss at all during the 18 months I was there. They also let me know that they asked my boss if I would be interested in working for them, and he told them no. That given the pregnancy, I would only want to work from home. And that they would have to convince me to work there. Which of course was news to me, since no one ever mentioned an offer. The head of the company never offered me the position, because he felt that he didn't want me if I needed convincing. I didn't blame him.
A few days ago, I got a message from one of the writers I worked with asking me for assistance on a newsletter I worked on. My boss had given him my number because I was the only one who would know the answer.
Think I'm calling him back?
I worked for a small marketing firm. My main client and my boss do not speak. They have a long history of mutual disdain and so I was the go between. It was a stressful position, because every idea proposal I would offer to them was turned down because they thought my boss was ghostwriting. After I realized what was happening, I met with them and told them that my boss is never involved in my ideas, let alone in what I do for them (which was beyond true). They admitted being skeptical, since passing ideas off as someone else's is something my boss would do, and they apologized for thinking I'd go along with it. I left that meeting questioning my company.
In April, my boss asked me if I would be interested in working from home. They wanted to sell the building for various reasons, all of which made sense. "Think about it over the weekend and let us know." Granted, I would miss the daily interaction of an office, but since we were in the trying stages of starting a family, the thought of avoiding daycare and a commute were enough of a sell. Ken was completely in agreement, and so I came to them with my answer.
The first potential buyer fell through because the business didn't meet the standards of the Office Park. The second potential buyer came in October. I was told not to say anything to the client just yet because they were nervous about this offer falling through as well. But we started cleaning out our offices and a potential move date was given for Christmas week.
A week before Thanksgiving, I was told that my salary was being cut. Dramatically. I had gotten a really good raise a year before and it was being taken away from me, and then some. I told them I wasn't sure if I could do it, especially being pregnant. I held it together but as soon as I got back to my office, I called Ken and broke down in the middle of the conversation. Shortly after hanging up, they offered more if I took on the position of Accounts Payable. This would mean I would be taking the job from "S". Justifying to myself that S had another part-time job that she could make full-time, I accepted the position. If I wasn't four months pregnant, I would have looked elsewhere and turned it down. Given the position I was in, I didn't think I had many other options. I was also told that she would be notified after Thanksgiving.
Plans were underway. I ordered a company PO Box local to my house, I chose office furniture I wanted to move home, and I called Verizon to install a new phone and fax line. I also noticed that Thanksgiving had come and gone and no one had said anything to S.
A week into December, I was given the go ahead to let the client know about the transition to my home. They were upset for not letting them know sooner, and not giving them any say in the matter, given that it was their company. They had some decisions to make, I was told, and that I would find out the fate of my firm's involvement with this company soon. I asked about it several times. Have we heard anything yet? Any news? And I was always told No. Nothing yet.
During this time, S had asked me if I knew how to order a PO Box. Seems she was told to open one for company bills. I was confused. I asked my boss about it. Like a deer caught in headlights he looked at me. "Well, Jodi.... Let her do it for now, and who knows. Maybe in April or May, you'll take over." I was assured I'd still be paid the amount discussed. I assumed they had felt bad about letting her go. S had been their right hand for many years and I could understand their not wanting her to leave. But this was ridiculous. "That's fine," I replied. "I just don't like secrets." He diplomatically joked that I know more than he does sometimes and left. That afternoon, I went onto Monster.com and applied for a job. I also emailed my old boss who has been after me to come back and keeps offering to keep her eyes open in case something opens. I asked her to start looking.
The next day, Verizon came. When I came into work after the lines were installed, I asked for an update from the client. I was given a thumbs up and was told everything was all set. The next day, I received a call from the client. They were coming in to pick up all of my stuff. I asked why. "We're taking back the account." I told him I'd call him back and ran into my boss's office. "They're taking back the account." I could tell from his face that he already knew. He explained that everything was last minute, and that given the icy relationship, they thought it best to cut ties. "Don't worry," he told me. "You're still on our payroll until the end of December and we have many projects for you to do." The end of December was two weeks away.
After the building was cleaned out and I was home twiddling my thumbs, my boss called. "Maybe you should try to work a deal to work for the client," he said blankly. "Because we don't have any projects for you." After a brief moment of wondering how long he has lived without balls, I spoke my my mind. I forget his reply, but the conclusion was that for those last two weeks, I would be working with the client educating them on what I did. And what I learned during those two weeks was invaluable. They let me in on the history of the feud, which made me feel like a fool for having respected my boss at all during the 18 months I was there. They also let me know that they asked my boss if I would be interested in working for them, and he told them no. That given the pregnancy, I would only want to work from home. And that they would have to convince me to work there. Which of course was news to me, since no one ever mentioned an offer. The head of the company never offered me the position, because he felt that he didn't want me if I needed convincing. I didn't blame him.
A few days ago, I got a message from one of the writers I worked with asking me for assistance on a newsletter I worked on. My boss had given him my number because I was the only one who would know the answer.
Think I'm calling him back?
Thursday, February 16, 2006
What I Thought About On My Way Home From Work
1. I wish cars would come with sensors that would indicate whether or not the driver would give you a 'thank you' wave if you let them cut in front of you in heavy traffic.
2. If you aren't allowed a glass of wine after a stressful day, peanut M&M's work just as well.
3. I'm not a fan of Kanye West AT ALL, but apparently I know the words to Gold Digger and can rap along to it when it's on the radio.
4. I really don't care if people see me singing aloud in my car.
5. You can write the angriest letter into any company and can have all valid points, but if you write 'weather' when the word should actually be 'whether,' you've just lost all credibility and you'll be made fun of.
6. When you're pregnant, the bra is your enemy and you can't get home fast enough to remove it from your being.
7. When was the last time I blogged?
8. I'm feeling sympathy for the Doberman's, who are yes, still in the trailer after a blizzard dumped 18 inches on the ground. The frame of the house is done. Lord knows what's being worked on inside.
9. I put the milk back in the fridge after breakfast this morning, right?
10. TGIF and a long weekend.
2. If you aren't allowed a glass of wine after a stressful day, peanut M&M's work just as well.
3. I'm not a fan of Kanye West AT ALL, but apparently I know the words to Gold Digger and can rap along to it when it's on the radio.
4. I really don't care if people see me singing aloud in my car.
5. You can write the angriest letter into any company and can have all valid points, but if you write 'weather' when the word should actually be 'whether,' you've just lost all credibility and you'll be made fun of.
6. When you're pregnant, the bra is your enemy and you can't get home fast enough to remove it from your being.
7. When was the last time I blogged?
8. I'm feeling sympathy for the Doberman's, who are yes, still in the trailer after a blizzard dumped 18 inches on the ground. The frame of the house is done. Lord knows what's being worked on inside.
9. I put the milk back in the fridge after breakfast this morning, right?
10. TGIF and a long weekend.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Baby Kicks
My father called me yesteday. "Did you hear what Britney did?"
"Um... yeah," I replied. "Why would YOU hear what Britney did?"
Apparently, my father has been watching Access Hollywood again. He knows I'm into pop culture and entertainment news, but we don't talk about it. When it comes to women like Britney, he focuses on the physical and doesn't know why society as a whole is pretty much sick of her.
"You know to never do that, right?"
Yes. Britney is an idiot. Do you really have to be a mother-to-be to know that to hold your 3 month old child against your body while riving and blame it on the paparazzi, is irresponsible. I told him this, along with the opinion that her first responsibility was to her son, not herself. That satisfied him. I just hope that the next time she's on TV and I ask him to change it, he'll do so instead of saying, "Wait a minute," and continue to watch as she continues to flaunt her body across the stage.
----
This week, whatever third trimester aches and pains I have been having have been placed on the back burner because my husband has been sick. And so motherhood came 2 and a half months early for me.
On Monday, after one of my doctor's appointments, Ken complained of his stomach feeling like lead. And he was lightheaded.
"Do you think I could have caught something?"
"Honey," I replied. "We were at an obstetricians office. What the women there have, you can't catch."
But he went to work and came home and felt sick.
"I'm cold." "Make me tea." I tell him to get into bed. "I'm too cold to get up. Help me. Can I have hot chocolate instead of tea?"
I come home from work the next day to find him sprawled on the couch watching TV. I ask how he's feeling. "I need more juice," he replies. And so I look at him. After about 15 seconds or so, he asks, "Do I really have to get up and get my own juice?"
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for taking care of those who are sick. But come on. Somehow, men were created missing the gene that enables them to take care of themselves. Women know what to do when they're not feeling well. We eat when we want to eat and we know what to eat. If we feel we need medicine, we take medicine. We don't need permission or reassurance that it's okay.
Whomever claimed that women are the weaker sex have never dealt with a man with a stomachache.
"Um... yeah," I replied. "Why would YOU hear what Britney did?"
Apparently, my father has been watching Access Hollywood again. He knows I'm into pop culture and entertainment news, but we don't talk about it. When it comes to women like Britney, he focuses on the physical and doesn't know why society as a whole is pretty much sick of her.
"You know to never do that, right?"
Yes. Britney is an idiot. Do you really have to be a mother-to-be to know that to hold your 3 month old child against your body while riving and blame it on the paparazzi, is irresponsible. I told him this, along with the opinion that her first responsibility was to her son, not herself. That satisfied him. I just hope that the next time she's on TV and I ask him to change it, he'll do so instead of saying, "Wait a minute," and continue to watch as she continues to flaunt her body across the stage.
----
This week, whatever third trimester aches and pains I have been having have been placed on the back burner because my husband has been sick. And so motherhood came 2 and a half months early for me.
On Monday, after one of my doctor's appointments, Ken complained of his stomach feeling like lead. And he was lightheaded.
"Do you think I could have caught something?"
"Honey," I replied. "We were at an obstetricians office. What the women there have, you can't catch."
But he went to work and came home and felt sick.
"I'm cold." "Make me tea." I tell him to get into bed. "I'm too cold to get up. Help me. Can I have hot chocolate instead of tea?"
I come home from work the next day to find him sprawled on the couch watching TV. I ask how he's feeling. "I need more juice," he replies. And so I look at him. After about 15 seconds or so, he asks, "Do I really have to get up and get my own juice?"
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for taking care of those who are sick. But come on. Somehow, men were created missing the gene that enables them to take care of themselves. Women know what to do when they're not feeling well. We eat when we want to eat and we know what to eat. If we feel we need medicine, we take medicine. We don't need permission or reassurance that it's okay.
Whomever claimed that women are the weaker sex have never dealt with a man with a stomachache.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
I'm Not Your Baby's Daddy
Sigh...
Tomorrow is my first day of my new job and I won't have trash tv to escape to anymore.
I have no problem admitting to being a fan of Ellen Degeneres. Daytime talk shows are usually an hour of hearing a host who loves to hear herself speak (hello, Oprah). Ellen is refreshing and her quick wit kept my attention when I was too lazy to do anything else.
I'm not a fan of Maury Povich. His shows are ridiculous and absurd and pretty much a train wreck. Which is what caught my attention of course. The two or three shows I caught revolved around paternity tests to determine which of the 15 candidates could have fathered a young woman's poor child. The audience is made to feel bad for the woman, but I felt sympathy for the men, who had to be forced to sit next to a woman whose weakness for these men as well as their relatives and friends were pitiful. And just like a train wreck, it was difficult to look away.
TLC used to be my favorite channel. From Trading Spaces to While You Were Out, I was fascinated with decorating tips and how quickly I could feng shui my living room. But then they got personal. A Dating Story takes along on a blind date that was fixed up my mutual friends. A Wedding Story captures the planning, stress, and final product of said planning and stress. And finally, A Baby Story tells the story of a couple a month or so before the baby arrives all the way into the delivery room. After the baby is born, the family is shown a week later gushing and laughing at how well they are adjusting. I figured I would love this show. Prepare me for one of lifes miracles. I figured I would like this show. For one, well duh, I'm pregnant. But I used to love those Discovery Channel Shows where they took you into the operating room for breast implants or liposuction. Something about them fascinated me. But after catching a few episodes, I have come to realize that A Baby Story is the WORST show to watch if you are pregnant. It's too detailed... and it freaked me out.
So being lazy was fun and relaxing. I was able to paint the new nursery and catch up on everything I needed to do without scheduling around a schedule. So, bye Ellen. So long Maury. Til we meet again, Regis and Kelly.
Tomorrow is my first day of my new job and I won't have trash tv to escape to anymore.
I have no problem admitting to being a fan of Ellen Degeneres. Daytime talk shows are usually an hour of hearing a host who loves to hear herself speak (hello, Oprah). Ellen is refreshing and her quick wit kept my attention when I was too lazy to do anything else.
I'm not a fan of Maury Povich. His shows are ridiculous and absurd and pretty much a train wreck. Which is what caught my attention of course. The two or three shows I caught revolved around paternity tests to determine which of the 15 candidates could have fathered a young woman's poor child. The audience is made to feel bad for the woman, but I felt sympathy for the men, who had to be forced to sit next to a woman whose weakness for these men as well as their relatives and friends were pitiful. And just like a train wreck, it was difficult to look away.
TLC used to be my favorite channel. From Trading Spaces to While You Were Out, I was fascinated with decorating tips and how quickly I could feng shui my living room. But then they got personal. A Dating Story takes along on a blind date that was fixed up my mutual friends. A Wedding Story captures the planning, stress, and final product of said planning and stress. And finally, A Baby Story tells the story of a couple a month or so before the baby arrives all the way into the delivery room. After the baby is born, the family is shown a week later gushing and laughing at how well they are adjusting. I figured I would love this show. Prepare me for one of lifes miracles. I figured I would like this show. For one, well duh, I'm pregnant. But I used to love those Discovery Channel Shows where they took you into the operating room for breast implants or liposuction. Something about them fascinated me. But after catching a few episodes, I have come to realize that A Baby Story is the WORST show to watch if you are pregnant. It's too detailed... and it freaked me out.
So being lazy was fun and relaxing. I was able to paint the new nursery and catch up on everything I needed to do without scheduling around a schedule. So, bye Ellen. So long Maury. Til we meet again, Regis and Kelly.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Who Wants My Dinner?
There was a recent op-ed piece in the Boston Globe about how Massachusetts is looked down upon by much of the country. Of course, it's an editorial so I'm not sure how entirely true it is. Maybe you can enlighten me. Either way, I don't care. Personally, the fact that this country is more looked down upon by other countries is more to be concerned about.
A number of reasons were pointed out as to why we are under scrutiny, and why, as the article points out, so many of us leave. Political climate, rising costs of living and home values, and general stereotypical attitudes about the people, to name a few. Like our edge. How we have our own rules for driving. Case in point. A scene yesterday when I was at a 4-way stop with one other car. He had the right of way. And so I waited for him to go. He never went. I waited a little longer and when he didn't budge, I assumed he was letting me go first and so I took my foot of the brake. I guess the movement of my car woke him up from whatever daydream he was having because that is when he decided to go, too. He started to move as I passed the front of his car, and beeped at me because I apparently cut him off. And I yelled (out loud in a car where all the windows were closed), "You didn't move!" (Of course, I wouldn't have yelled if there was a chance he would hear me.) It made me feel better. And it justified my actions. To myself atleast.
That incident and my reaction to it reminded me of the op-ed piece and how maybe we are what they say we are. We can't be the only ones with an edge. It can't be just us, right? How could this state be under so much criticism when there is so much here to be desired? The history, the culture, the personalities. Our weird obsession with our sports teams that some describe as scary. Someone once said that if 100 people were plucked from around the country and immersed in our culture for a year, they would love it. And I agree. And although I would love to have the chance to experience life living in New York City or DC or Chicago, I know it wouldn't compare.
But then something happened that changed any doubts I had. A car accident that we sort of witnessed last night. Ken and I were sitting on the couch when we heard a loud screech, followed by a crash. We both looked at each other, and without saying a word, jumped up and looked out the window. Ken called the police to let them know and we headed outside and to the main road to see what happened. We joined others who must have also heard the crash and watched as police cars rushed to the scene.
Apparently (this was our guess), a car drove out of a side street without stopping and the SUV that was on the main road heading in her direction saw her and tried to stop but instead drove right into her door. We guessed the driver at fault who was coming out of the side street was in her late teens or early twenties, judging by a graduation cap tassel hanging from her rearview mirror. To call her shaken up would be an understatement. But she was walking okay (as was the other driver) and so for that we counted her blessings for her, since we didn't think she was in any frame of mind to think to do so herself. We asked if she was okay and if she needed a phone or a bathroom and so she went into a nearby house to clean up and call her parents. The older driver finished up giving his information to the policeman, used his cell phone to make a call and when the woman came back to the accident scene, asked if she was alright and if she wanted something to eat, as he had just picked up some takeout.
And it made me smile, as I was reminded of the article once again. Standing there, among an ambulance, a tow truck, and several police cars with flashing lights illuminating the sky, glass shattered all over the street, and surrounded by various witnesses and curious onlookers, it made me think of one point wasn't discussed.
We may get easily frustrated. And yes it is true we have an edge. But when you put us in the worst possible circumstances and ruin our day, we'll still offer you our dinner.
A number of reasons were pointed out as to why we are under scrutiny, and why, as the article points out, so many of us leave. Political climate, rising costs of living and home values, and general stereotypical attitudes about the people, to name a few. Like our edge. How we have our own rules for driving. Case in point. A scene yesterday when I was at a 4-way stop with one other car. He had the right of way. And so I waited for him to go. He never went. I waited a little longer and when he didn't budge, I assumed he was letting me go first and so I took my foot of the brake. I guess the movement of my car woke him up from whatever daydream he was having because that is when he decided to go, too. He started to move as I passed the front of his car, and beeped at me because I apparently cut him off. And I yelled (out loud in a car where all the windows were closed), "You didn't move!" (Of course, I wouldn't have yelled if there was a chance he would hear me.) It made me feel better. And it justified my actions. To myself atleast.
That incident and my reaction to it reminded me of the op-ed piece and how maybe we are what they say we are. We can't be the only ones with an edge. It can't be just us, right? How could this state be under so much criticism when there is so much here to be desired? The history, the culture, the personalities. Our weird obsession with our sports teams that some describe as scary. Someone once said that if 100 people were plucked from around the country and immersed in our culture for a year, they would love it. And I agree. And although I would love to have the chance to experience life living in New York City or DC or Chicago, I know it wouldn't compare.
But then something happened that changed any doubts I had. A car accident that we sort of witnessed last night. Ken and I were sitting on the couch when we heard a loud screech, followed by a crash. We both looked at each other, and without saying a word, jumped up and looked out the window. Ken called the police to let them know and we headed outside and to the main road to see what happened. We joined others who must have also heard the crash and watched as police cars rushed to the scene.
Apparently (this was our guess), a car drove out of a side street without stopping and the SUV that was on the main road heading in her direction saw her and tried to stop but instead drove right into her door. We guessed the driver at fault who was coming out of the side street was in her late teens or early twenties, judging by a graduation cap tassel hanging from her rearview mirror. To call her shaken up would be an understatement. But she was walking okay (as was the other driver) and so for that we counted her blessings for her, since we didn't think she was in any frame of mind to think to do so herself. We asked if she was okay and if she needed a phone or a bathroom and so she went into a nearby house to clean up and call her parents. The older driver finished up giving his information to the policeman, used his cell phone to make a call and when the woman came back to the accident scene, asked if she was alright and if she wanted something to eat, as he had just picked up some takeout.
And it made me smile, as I was reminded of the article once again. Standing there, among an ambulance, a tow truck, and several police cars with flashing lights illuminating the sky, glass shattered all over the street, and surrounded by various witnesses and curious onlookers, it made me think of one point wasn't discussed.
We may get easily frustrated. And yes it is true we have an edge. But when you put us in the worst possible circumstances and ruin our day, we'll still offer you our dinner.
Friday, January 13, 2006
My Comfy Chair Will Be Lonely Soon
I was offered a job yesterday! They're sending me the official written offer (salary, benefits, etc.) in the mail and I'll need to call to officially accept once I look it over. The salary offered is lower than what I was previously making, but the benefits and 10-15 minute commute makes up for it. Plus, I really can't ask for any particular amount of money when I'll be taking time off for maternity leave in a few months.
They know I'm pregnant and when I'm approximately due. I nervously mentioned it in the interview and they congratulated me, made small talk and moved on. The company I worked for previously screwed me over in the end (a post for another time if you're interested) and so the fact that they didn't see my pregnancy as an obstacle was a relief.
I start in 2 weeks. It'll be a little weird to wake up and go since I've gotten used to the easy and boring living of the unemployed. It'll be weird to have a schedule to follow again, not to mention wearing a pair of pants that doesn't have an elastic waistband. I had knee surgery about 4 years ago and the week I had to take off to recuperate was the worst. I was itching to go back. Now? No rush. I like the fact that I can relax and plan my day according to my schedule. No rushing to the post office or bank with everyone else during lunch hour. No running to the grocery store at dinner time to pick up the last item needed to make that night's meal. No taking a walk and needing to check my watch and trying to remember when I started, careful not to go over my lunch hour.
But given the company, the fantastic reputation it has (Boston Business Journal rated it one of the top 15 companies to work for) and the perks (free coffee and ice cream on-site, and luckily a fitness center to work off said ice cream) I really can't be disappointed about working there.
They know I'm pregnant and when I'm approximately due. I nervously mentioned it in the interview and they congratulated me, made small talk and moved on. The company I worked for previously screwed me over in the end (a post for another time if you're interested) and so the fact that they didn't see my pregnancy as an obstacle was a relief.
I start in 2 weeks. It'll be a little weird to wake up and go since I've gotten used to the easy and boring living of the unemployed. It'll be weird to have a schedule to follow again, not to mention wearing a pair of pants that doesn't have an elastic waistband. I had knee surgery about 4 years ago and the week I had to take off to recuperate was the worst. I was itching to go back. Now? No rush. I like the fact that I can relax and plan my day according to my schedule. No rushing to the post office or bank with everyone else during lunch hour. No running to the grocery store at dinner time to pick up the last item needed to make that night's meal. No taking a walk and needing to check my watch and trying to remember when I started, careful not to go over my lunch hour.
But given the company, the fantastic reputation it has (Boston Business Journal rated it one of the top 15 companies to work for) and the perks (free coffee and ice cream on-site, and luckily a fitness center to work off said ice cream) I really can't be disappointed about working there.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Give Me A Straw And Find Me A Cow
I am craving milk. Regular milk. Chocolate milk. Milkshakes. Can't get enough. I never drink milk, with the exception of in my morning breakfast cereal. But you would never find me making a special trip into the kitchen at 2:00 in the morning for a tall glass. This child is going to have the strongest bones around.
Ken's disappointed. He was hoping that I would have pizza or spaghetti cravings, just so he would have an excuse to pig out with me. Occasionally, I'll have a craving for Swedish Fish, those gummy fish-shaped candies. He likes those cravings. But when I head into the kitchen and take out the milk, ice and frozen fruit and plug in the blender, he knows it's going to be a boring night.
And on the subject of cows, did I tell you I'm fat? I didn't really realize it until this weekend when I got dressed to go out to dinner, walked by a floor length mirror and was shocked. Ken asked what was wrong.
"Look at me. From the side, I almost take up the width of the mirror."
"Um, I think you're exaggerating just a bit."
"I'm fat."
"No, Jodi. You're almost six months pregnant."
"It's fat."
"It's a baby."
I love being pregnant. Don't get me wrong. I have enjoyed the entire process, from beginning (wink, wink) to now, and continuing. I just never thought I would have such a weird body image. I see pregnant women all the time and never consider them to be fat. Do they see the same when they look at me? Probably not, but then again... they could see themselves as fat when they look in their own mirrors.
I'm also discovering how much I'm freaking out about everything again. It comes and it goes. The newest episode comes in realizing that I'm well over the halfway point and that this baby will be entering the world in less amount of time then the number of weeks I've been pregnant. I remember last fall when we were asked when we were going to start looking at decor and thinking about paint and carpet. "After the first of the year," was always the canned response, knowing that there was plenty of time to think about it. And now that the first of the year has come and gone, it's overwhelming (yeah, I know I use that term a lot in these posts) to know that we've picked out a name (don't ask, not telling until she's here), decor, paint, and carpeting and I feel like there's not enough time to consider swings, highchairs, and strollers. But atleast it takes my mind off the outrageously ridiculous cost of daycare.
Ken's disappointed. He was hoping that I would have pizza or spaghetti cravings, just so he would have an excuse to pig out with me. Occasionally, I'll have a craving for Swedish Fish, those gummy fish-shaped candies. He likes those cravings. But when I head into the kitchen and take out the milk, ice and frozen fruit and plug in the blender, he knows it's going to be a boring night.
And on the subject of cows, did I tell you I'm fat? I didn't really realize it until this weekend when I got dressed to go out to dinner, walked by a floor length mirror and was shocked. Ken asked what was wrong.
"Look at me. From the side, I almost take up the width of the mirror."
"Um, I think you're exaggerating just a bit."
"I'm fat."
"No, Jodi. You're almost six months pregnant."
"It's fat."
"It's a baby."
I love being pregnant. Don't get me wrong. I have enjoyed the entire process, from beginning (wink, wink) to now, and continuing. I just never thought I would have such a weird body image. I see pregnant women all the time and never consider them to be fat. Do they see the same when they look at me? Probably not, but then again... they could see themselves as fat when they look in their own mirrors.
I'm also discovering how much I'm freaking out about everything again. It comes and it goes. The newest episode comes in realizing that I'm well over the halfway point and that this baby will be entering the world in less amount of time then the number of weeks I've been pregnant. I remember last fall when we were asked when we were going to start looking at decor and thinking about paint and carpet. "After the first of the year," was always the canned response, knowing that there was plenty of time to think about it. And now that the first of the year has come and gone, it's overwhelming (yeah, I know I use that term a lot in these posts) to know that we've picked out a name (don't ask, not telling until she's here), decor, paint, and carpeting and I feel like there's not enough time to consider swings, highchairs, and strollers. But atleast it takes my mind off the outrageously ridiculous cost of daycare.
Monday, January 09, 2006
I Bet You Think This Blog Is About You
My blogging isn't something I talk about. I've mentioned it in passing to my husband who hasn't mentioned much interest in reading it, but I know he is curious. Occasionally, he'll see me online and ask what I'm doing.
"Catching up on blogging," I'll sometimes reply.
"Oh," is his regular response.
The first time I mentioned it, he asked what a blog was. He's not much of an online person. He'll pay bills and check email and read the top business headlines, but he doesn't surf the web much. So I told him a blog was sort of an online diary where people can comment and link to their own. "Oh."
He has no idea that I sent a few people giftcards as a result of that promo that I wrote about a few months ago. He would be shocked to see pictures and accompanying stories about the neighbors (I made him delete early pictures he took of the house and view that I thought were invasions of privacy. I didn't tell him that I changed my mind and instead thought they'd be a good read.) He wouldn't understand that I have online "friends." Not that he would care, he just wouldn't get it.
And so it was a little surprising one day when he asked if I blogged about him. He is always interested in what I do, and I know he's been curious, but he knows that I value my privacy when it comes to certain things. I don't keep secrets, but I hate when people read over my shoulder, whether it be a newspaper or seeing what I'm doing online. So when I'm online, he knows not to look at what I'm doing.
I told him that I didn't think I ever dedicated an entire post about him - atleast, until now - but I have mentioned him a few times here and there, and that he's always open to read it if he wants. He's never asked for the site, so I assume that since he knows there isn't anything scandalous written, he's okay with it.
If he asks, I'll let him read. But part of me likes the fact that no besides him knows if its existence and that so far, he hasn't asked for the site. Not that I've written anything juicy (I've so been tempted), but this is like something all my own. As long as it lasts.
"Catching up on blogging," I'll sometimes reply.
"Oh," is his regular response.
The first time I mentioned it, he asked what a blog was. He's not much of an online person. He'll pay bills and check email and read the top business headlines, but he doesn't surf the web much. So I told him a blog was sort of an online diary where people can comment and link to their own. "Oh."
He has no idea that I sent a few people giftcards as a result of that promo that I wrote about a few months ago. He would be shocked to see pictures and accompanying stories about the neighbors (I made him delete early pictures he took of the house and view that I thought were invasions of privacy. I didn't tell him that I changed my mind and instead thought they'd be a good read.) He wouldn't understand that I have online "friends." Not that he would care, he just wouldn't get it.
And so it was a little surprising one day when he asked if I blogged about him. He is always interested in what I do, and I know he's been curious, but he knows that I value my privacy when it comes to certain things. I don't keep secrets, but I hate when people read over my shoulder, whether it be a newspaper or seeing what I'm doing online. So when I'm online, he knows not to look at what I'm doing.
I told him that I didn't think I ever dedicated an entire post about him - atleast, until now - but I have mentioned him a few times here and there, and that he's always open to read it if he wants. He's never asked for the site, so I assume that since he knows there isn't anything scandalous written, he's okay with it.
If he asks, I'll let him read. But part of me likes the fact that no besides him knows if its existence and that so far, he hasn't asked for the site. Not that I've written anything juicy (I've so been tempted), but this is like something all my own. As long as it lasts.
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