Oh Goodness.

This weekend ...

My son learned how cool it is to wear cowboy boots. He learned this from his grandpa, who owns several pairs.

He's wearing some now.

I may have hit some sort of Pregnant Mother of a Two-Year-Old rock bottom. I flipped out in front of my family, spanked my child, and yelled at my husband. None of that is unusual, but this time it was in front of an audience.

I was so mad, I didn't care.

I folded up all of my regular jeans and stored them away for a time in the very distant future when I can button them comfortably.

I am obsessed with blueberries. And blackberries. And yogurt, and strawberries, and parfaits. And food, in general.

The Toddler has started saying "oh goodness," which he learned from me. It's really dorky. Someone should have told me to stop saying that before now.

Hello From the Bayou.

Hello.

I write to you from Louisiana. We got here on Wednesday. I feel like I just recovered from our trip down, and we'll be loading back up in about 24 hours to return to Alabama.

Thinking about the trip home makes me want to cry. The thought of being in a car again for 6+ hours with a screaming two-year-old ... I just don't know if I can take it. Does anyone have experience with drugging their children for a car trip? I'm not kidding.

No one understands what it's like to travel with our kid. I can't explain it to you except to say it's a enclosed, mobile, HELL. He has a very short attention span. Drugs are my only option.

P.S.

I just took another look at the picture I put in my last post, and realized I need to hurry up and get Husband to take a better, more flattering shot. I think I need redemption.

That is all.

In Need of Stretch.

Today the button on my jeans, the same button I just paid the tailor $5 t0 sew back on, popped off. Again.

This means it's time to fully embrace maternity wear. It seems a bit early, I'm only 9 weeks and some change. I'm wondering if my lack of exercise has anything to do with the speed at which I'm growing. Or maybe it's just that this is baby #2 and my soon-to-be-the-size-of-a-duffle-bag uterus is expanding speedily.

I keep reading about how I should be exercising. That irritates me. I would LIKE to go walking, I think, but it's 40 degrees out there. Also, I'm tired. But mostly, it's just too cold. 

Here's proof that I need stretchy pants. And no, I'm not sticking my stomach out -- I'm just not sucking it in.

This is what we look like on Sundays around the house.

What I'm Obsessed With Now.

I'm generally not a huge fan of fast food. Husband loves the burger and fry places but I hate the gross feeling I get after eating JUNK. It makes my stomach hurt. I normally avoid it unless we're traveling.

This new me, the pregnant version, is someone I do not recognize. She literally sat in front of Taco Bell on Friday morning waiting for it to open. Well ... first she circled the drive thru a few times to see if anyone was in there, and then to read the Hours of Operation sign. They opened at 10:00 a.m. So she waited.

When they unlocked the doors, she went inside, ordered three items -- one of them with extra cheese, please.

Today, she hit up Wendy's. WHO AM I BECOMING? I'll tell you who. A person with an obsession. May I present ... the Wendy's sour cream and chive baked potato.



MMMM.

 
























I took one heavenly bite and knew this had to be on the internet. So I took out my iphone to take this picture, and I heard someone shouting from the kitchen of Wendy's "Hey! Hey!"

I looked up and there are three Wendy's employees staring at me. One of them said "What's wrong with your potato? Are you a food critic?"

I said no, I'm just pregnant. And my potato is excellent.


YUM.



DMV.

Today, I'm going to the Alabama DMV to renew my driver's license.

I'm not trying to be rude, but Alabama has the most inefficient, aggravating, cumbersome DMV situation I've ever had to deal with. My license expired in November and I've been dreading this trip ever since. 

We love living here, but sometimes I miss my homeland. Louisiana was so easy, so relaxed. I feel like Alabama is an uptight white dude with too-short suspenders.

Best Laid Plans...

Yesterday was my first ultrasound (for baby #2) and I was a mixture of excited and nervous. I felt like everything was fine, but after what we went through a few months ago I knew better than to assume that the baby was perfect without proof.

My husband was off work, so we devised a plan for a RARE (like, sadly rare) lunch date before my appointment. And then ... life happened. The daycare called exactly one hour before we were supposed to meet, to let us know that the Toddler had a fever. 

I threw a fit. Just for a second. Don't judge. 

I HATE when my plans go awry. I did not want to go to the doctor by myself, carrying that mixture of emotions, with no one to talk to. Not to mention the fact that I'd been drooling over menus on www.urbanspoon.com all morning and daydreaming about where we were going to lunch. But I am 31 years old, and therefore an adult capable of handling herself. So I got it together and took myself to lunch.

I realized during my solo lunch hour that it's going to be a rare occasion in the coming years for me to have any time alone. I decided to try to relish it while I can. After #2 arrives, I seriously doubt I'll have any time to think in peace. I used to at least have the bathroom to myself in the morning while I get ready for work, but since the Toddler has learned how to open doors that has been shot to shit. 

Several hours, five vials of blood, and an ultrasound later, I learned that #2 is perfect. He or she will arrive in August. Something about seeing the heartbeat of your second child is even more profound than your first. Maybe because you know how deeply you are going to love them, and already do.

I arrived home at 5 pm to a frazzled husband and a crying child who both needed me, and thanks to my afternoon of silence, I was prepared to handle them both.


P.S. I am OBSESSED with figuring out how to re-create the tomato soup that is served at Panera Bread. I'm literally losing sleep over it. I am considering calling to see if they sell it by the gallon.

Open Letter.

Dear Fox News,

Regis Philbin's retirement at age 79 is NOT "breaking news." 

By putting this kind of nonsense on your ticker tape, you have numbed my sense of high alert.

Thank you,
Harmony

Good News!

Yesterday, my dear friend Jolene emailed me about this post and said that she read somewhere that there are "major flaws" with the BMI system.

I believe her because she always seem to know things. She reads the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. She's informed.

I wanted to hug her.

Dear Amazon: You Complete Me.

I think I'm slow to catch on to certain things. Like any kind of technology, or anything online. I mean ... I eventually get it, it just takes me longer than most people my age. 

I'm slow.

Case in point: Amazon. I just ordered three new books the other day and I am so stinkin' excited. Everyone else is unimpressed. Why? Because they have been buying stuff online for years now. Not me. I'm slow.

I couldn't find time to go to the bookstore. I thought about it for weeks, literally. And then I remembered Amazon. And instead of having to find time to go to the bookstore in person, I sat at home and shopped ONLINE. At NIGHT. I didn't feel rushed. I didn't have a child with me. Or a husband, for that matter. I wasn't trying to cram my trip into my lunch break. I took my time, selected my books, and -- POOF! -- they will be delivered to my doorstep.

I got myself a good read.

Image from www.amazon.com.

My understanding is that this is not a sex book, it's a novel -- just so we are clear. I might overshare a bit, but I do have limits.

I also got the Toddler a book.

Image from www.indiebound.org.

 

And last, but not least, I bought a parenting book. I used to be a self-help junkie, but since becoming a mother -- I switched to these.

These days, even if I had time to read a book about how to set boundaries, I wouldn't have the time to actually implement the steps.

The result of this is ... I plan to remain crazy, and raise happy children. Is that so bad?

Blech.

Today, I feel like death warmed over. The morning sickness has completely knocked me on my butt. I should be at work. I should shower. I should ... sit upright.

I will write something else, when I can think of something else.

That is all.

Why I Hate Weight Charts.

Today I did something I knew better than to do, but I did it anyway. 

I calculated my Body Mass Index.

I was looking at the website that all pregnant women look at daily, http://www.babycenter.com/. There's a lot of good information there. However, my visit to the site took a trip straight to hell when I found my way to an article that talked about pre-pregnancy weight and how much is the "right amount" to gain when you are pregnant. 

Now, I am under no delusion that I'm a SKINNY person, but when I got sucked into the article and calculated my BMI  ...


IT SAID I AM OBESE AND SHOULD ONLY GAIN 11-20 POUNDS WITH THIS BABY.

Do I look obese?! I am not obese. At least, I didn't think that I was. Am I one of those people who doesn't realize she's enormous? How is that even possible? An obese person cannot fit into a size small tank top from Old Navy, I'm sorry. And that is exactly what I had on (yes, it's tight, and no, it didn't cover my entire belly) when I came to learn of my obesity.

I was so pissed off, I ate half a pack of Saltine crackers on my way to work.



This pack didn't stand a chance.



















It makes me MAD. And if my doctor says a word to me about my weight gain, I'm going to tell her to shut up and do her job, which involves my vagina. Not my thighs.

Thursday.

This week, my kid learned how to open doors. Like, his bedroom door, our bedroom door, the bathroom door. Officially, there is no escape.

Now is the time that I have to set boundaries. I realized this when I was in the bathroom and he came in, all wide-eyed, repeating "Mommy, whatcha doin'? Mommy, whatcha doin'?" over and over. AND OVER. So I said to him, in a very serious tone, that Mommy needed some space.

He said okay, turned around and walked out.

Children are such a mystery to me.

Confessions.

I have some things I need to get off my chest ...

I may be obsessive-compulsive.

I live much too far away from my mother.

I weighed myself this weekend because my husband is on a DIET, damn him, and he left the bathroom scale out. I was so angry when I saw the number, it took a good 15 minutes for me to calm down.

When I remembered how much I want the child that I'm growing inside my belly, I wasn't mad anymore.

My corporate job is, unfortunately, a negative kind of job. I work in insurance claims. Everyone bitches. People call me and bitch. The people sitting around me bitch. Sometimes I think the negativity sinks into me and then it somehow becomes a part of me, despite my best efforts. 

I want to see the best in people.

Yesterday when I dropped the Toddler off at daycare he cried and held on to my leg and I felt like the worst mother in the world. I wanted to call and tell my boss that I quit. Then I thought about what my husband would do and say, if I did did just up and quit my job, and I somehow found the inner strength to walk out and go to work.

I cried during the drive in to the office.

Country music causes me to cry. But I have to listen to it every morning, because they don't talk, they actually play music. I cannot STAND talking on the radio. It's worse than ruining my eye makeup. So ... I've gone country.

I've noticed that my husband has a lot less to say when I'm pregnant.  

Interesting Hiding Places.

This weekend, we were cooped up in the house because of the icy, snowy weather and I was literally going out of my mind. On the third day, we went outside and played in the ice. My 2-year-old removed his mittens, and my husband declared them missing. So we came back inside.

This morning, I found the mittens. 

They were stuffed in my gas tank.

The culprit.

Resolution Rebellion.

Hello, 2011.

I had to endure 48 hours cooped in a 1,500 square foot house with my two-year-old and my in-laws to get here.  I witnessed my husband’s 86-year-old great-aunt call my brother-in-law an “egotistical sack of SH!T,” learned that my own grandmother is a closet wine drinker (now I see where I got it from), and ate a lot of food — not out of hunger — but simply because I didn’t know what else to do with myself.

We spent hundreds of dollars on Christmas, hours wrapping gifts that were ripped open in seconds, days slaving in front of a stove for reasons I still don’t understand, and finally … we made it. The other side of the holidays. Thank God.

I suppose now it’s time to make a list of resolutions.

Read the rest here at www.birminghammommy.com!

Snow Day.

Today we are at home because the roads are impassable. We are literally iced in. So what do I plan to do? 

I plan to make cookies, and then eat them.

Here is a list of things I will NOT be doing today:

1. Sitting in a cubicle listening to people bitch.

2. Cleaning the house.

3. Shaving my legs.

4. Getting out of my pajamas. 

5. Trying to suck in my ever-growing belly.

Hmph.

Words of wisdom for Friday, January 7.

I'm pregnant and I love to eat. This = a bad combination.

I was so hoping this time around I would be too sick to eat. Or maybe throw up every time I ate. That would be okay too. Either way, I was hoping not to pack on 10 pounds in my first trimester. That's what happened when I was pregnant with #1.

So far, I've been a lot sicker, but it hasn't deterred me from eating constantly. I find that snacking calms my stomach, and then I don't throw up. I refuse to weigh myself and I told myself I wouldn't stress about it, but as of yesterday I officially started to feel like a blimp.

I dislike the awkward part of pregnancy before you look pregnant. Just fat. I'm trying to embrace it.

Mom-Talk.

Today my dear friend sent me a text message from her 4-year-old’s dance class. She was trapped in the sitting area with a bunch of other moms:

“I’m at dance listening to these women. All they talk about is their children. I find it annoying.”

Thus began a string of texts back and forth between us discussing all of the things there are to discuss OTHER than our children. Like food. Or celebrity gossip. I mean, really -- it’s endless. Why do some moms constantly talk about their children, when there is so much more to discuss?

I call it Mom-Talk, and it drives me insane.

Yes, there is a place for it. I certainly love to talk about my kid, and love it when people ask me about him. However. Just because they ask, does not mean it’s okay for me to go ON and ON and ON about meaningless tidbits. It’s quality over quantity. No one finds him as fascinating as my husband and I do, and I’m aware of that.

Excessive Mom-Talk is what separates the normal moms from the irritating ones. Some people may find this offensive, but I’m a firm believer in having a balanced approach to life. Just because I’m a mom, doesn’t mean that is ALL I am and all I do. 

If you're a mom, and you think you might excessively Mom-Talk, take a gander at www.perezhilton.com. That will give you something else to discuss.

Ick.

I've been fighting off illness since before Christmas, and finally ... I gave in.

I'm sick. Like in-the-bed-all-day, coughing-up-a-lung, sick.

Let me tell you, parenting whilst ill is no easy task. The Toddler has been at daycare during the day so I have had peace and quiet to rest, but HOW do stay-at-home moms do it?!?!?!? Seriously. Someone, please tell me. 

My arms are tired from typing now. I'm going to lie down.

Ringing In 2011.

Determined to prove that, even though I was a total bore the last time I was pregnant, my "condition" will not stop me from having a good time ... I put on a party dress and went to a New Year's Eve party last night.

Here is proof:

 






HOWEVER. Before this picture was snapped, I had on a very fancy navy blue dress that matched my husband's tie. It took both Husband and my mother-in-law (and a pair of pliers) to zip said dress. 

The zipper burst open.

After that, I suffered a claustrophobic panic and screamed that someone was going to have to cut me out of this stupid dress and OMG what am I going to wear?! Since my stupid boobs are already so freakishly huge that this navy blue dress won't even fit?!?!?!

That is when Husband (after shredding my dress down the back so I could remove it from my body) found the plaid dress pictured above that I wore in Chicago last month. I literally had no other choice, so I wore it. And I tried to like it.

My bitches, from left to right: Anna, Courtney, and me.

 





This is us. In a sea of party-goers who were wearing all black.

Typical.

I'm proud to say, I made it to midnight. I danced (sort of) under the balloon drop when the clock struck twelve. I was painfully sober, and very nauseated, but I made it to 12:15 and then I informed Husband we had to go. 

He fell asleep in the passenger seat. SO WHO IS THE BORING ONE NOW?