Traffic.

I spend almost 2 hours every weekday in traffic.

I live almost exactly 15 miles from my office.

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

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

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

They weren't. 

What I'm Loving This Week.

1. Husband felt TWO kick the other night.

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

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

4. Apples.

5. Cinnamon-flavored applesauce.

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

7. Granny panties.

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

9. Facebook. Still.

Predicament.

I'm in a pickle.

I think I have razor burn. But I can't say for sure. It's in an area I've lost sight of.

The Time I Got Mad At My Doctor.

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

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

THE VERDICTS:

1. Baby's heartbeat: 155.

2. Mommy's weight: FRIGHTENING.

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

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

5. I'm still mad at her about that.

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

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

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

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

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

Verdict: Frump.

The following conversation took place between Husband and I this evening:

Me: I feel so frumpy and ugly.

Husband: You're not ugly.

Wordless Tuesday.

Life-Changing Event.

Blackout curtains have changed my life.

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

It's very cavemannish.

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

I am desperate, people. I need rest.

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

No one has to know where they came from.

Joyful.

Simple joys on a Saturday afternoon.

 

Friday ...

Amy, my dear friend from high school, has a knack for finding unusual gifts.

Here you can see one of them ... my "Friday" mug. Do you see the lovely shade of mauve behind it? That is the color of my cubicle.

Now you may understand why I have papered my mauve walls with pictures and papers. I loathe the color mauve.

I have some things to report.

First, ONE is going to have one kick-ass big boy room. My very generous parents shipped us the Dr. Seuss bedding from Pottery Barn Kids this week. I love it all so much I want to steal it for myself. I may have squealed when I opened the box.

I mean ... come on. HOW FUN ARE THESE?!

Really fun. Super fun.

Below you can see the room that they have pictured in the catalog. ONE's room won't look like this, but he's got all the bedding shown here, along with some navy blue blackout curtains (please, let those be the cure for his refusal to nap!!).

Last night I introduced ONE to his new comforter. He buried himself in it and refused to come out.

I think that's an EXCELLENT sign.



He's in there. I promise.



The Japanese.

I can't stop thinking about the people in Japan.

They aren't looting. That fact alone floors me. It makes me ashamed, because just 6 years ago I witnessed firsthand how crazy and out of control people can be in the face of disaster when Hurricane Katrina hit. I worked in a hotel in Baton Rouge -- 60 miles from New Orleans -- and the crazy behavior reached me. I saw it happen in the hotel lobby day after day. I can't even imagine what it was like in the middle of the mess.

The Japanese way makes me feel even more worried for them. They believe in order and honor. That makes them even more deserving of aid, in my opinion.

Last night, ignoring ONE's persistent and loud comments that he did not want to watch the news ("No news, Mommy. No news!) I sat glued to Diane Sawyer's report from Tokyo. Is two-and-a-half too young for a kid to learn about tragedy? I half-wondered about how the images of death and destruction were affecting ONE ... not to mention the fact that I was bawling my eyes out.

Thankfully, he didn't ask any questions. After 30 minutes, I changed the channel to NickJr and pulled myself together. I can't shelter my child from real life; life outside of the safe cocoon we've woven for him. If anything else, I want to teach him why we need to thank God every day for what we have, and ask Him to help us never take it for granted.

The Case for Selfishness.

Ladies, we need to make time for ourselves. It’s vital to our survival.

Recently, I had a bit of a meltdown. Okay … fine. I completely and totally LOST IT. I reached the end of my rope. I took a trip to crazy town. I was, in sum, burned out.

(Read the rest here at http://www.birminghammommy.com/!)

Fabulous.

May I present to you ... my latest find.

My new purse shines like the sun. I want to lean toward it and see if it will make me tan. It is from Gap, originally $50, and I bought it for $16.99.

My sad hand-me-down iphone camera does not do it justice (I know I take horrible pictures). It really makes me happy to look at it. Especially on a dreary, blah, post-time-change Monday.

My next project: find pizazzy shoes that are both comforable and as close to flip flops as possible.

A Break.

I had a scare this week.

Thursday I started having period-like cramps and ignored them. I figured it was normal, even though it was a pretty constant pain. I worked all day, picked up ONE from daycare, vacuumed the entire house, swept, cooked dinner, folded clothes ... the usual. But as the cramps continued all day and into the night, I started to pay attention. And then I started to freak.

Apparently that was my body's way of telling me HELLO, IT'S TIME TO REST. So I did.

I see other people who are working and pregnant with kids at home who seem to manage fine. I felt on some level like I was a weakling for having to wave my white flag and say I needed a break. That is kind of messed up, when I admit it out loud. I would have no problem telling another mom she was entitled to some rest, but still, I felt guilty.

I took the day off from work and spent it in bed and on the couch. 

Okay ... fine. I might have done some laundry.

Do you know how hard it is to do nothing? It's hard. When I'm all by myself, I start thinking things like how I'd love to go to T.J. Maxx or the mall or Home Goods. Or, I consider how nice it would be to finally organize the junk closet under the stairs. It's really difficult for me to do nothing.  

Husband finds it rather easy to do nothing. He feels no guilt. I envy that.

It's Just a Phase.

Recently we got the movie Date Night from Netflix. I found it entertaining. There is a scene where the main characters (Steve Carell and Tina Fey) are asleep in bed, pre-dawn, and their children fly into their bedroom and jump on them. The rest of their day is a jumbled-up blur. They are so tired. They want to sleep so badly.

They would rather sleep than go out. Or have a nice dinner alone. Or have sex. Or brush their hair.

This is my life.

I think ONE is trying to kill us. A slow death. Can you die from sleep deprivation or general exhaustion? He chatters constantly. That in itself is exhausting. He won't nap. He currently refuses to sleep past 6:00 a.m. He goes full-blast, all day long.

How does he DO that?

I keep telling myself (and Husband) that surely it's just a phase. Surely, soon, he will calm down -- even just a little. I think that is my way of coping, by saying "it's just a phase." I mean, It WILL end, at some point. He might be in middle school by the time it does, but it will end.

Kind of like one day, he will not be afraid of the potty. He WILL use it. One day.

How do people with small children nurture their marriage? I can barely conversate with my husband these days. Either I'm exhausted to the point where I can't form sentences, or we get constantly interrupted by our little chatterbox. I need to learn the tricks, people. What is the workaround?!

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ....

Today's Thought.

Fat Tuesday!

Sometimes, I forget that it's been 5 1/2 years since we left Louisiana.

Sometimes, I forget my roots ... because Alabama is so very different from Louisiana. It seems strange because we only have one state between us (ugh ... Mississippi ... you depress me). You'd think, since it's the South, it would all be the same.

It's not.

Today is Fat Tuesday. Want to know how I remembered? Last night on Nick Jr. there was a special episode of Fresh Beat Band where they traveled through the bayou to play music in the Mardi Gras parade.

Now THAT, my friends, is sad.

It's business as usual here in Alabama, while everyone has off from school and work just two states away. They are catching beads, eating God-knows-what-out-of-a-pot, and drinking, drinking, drinking. I think I miss the revelry of my hometown. I'm just an average partier, but I love the laid-back, "live and let live" attitude that we left behind.

Most days I love it here in my new hometown, but sometimes, like today, I feel a touch depressed that we ever left.

Laissez les bon temps roulet!

Rainy Weekend.

This is what happens in our house when it's raining outside.

We like to encourage creativity. 

 

YOU CAN KISS IT.

This week was a weird one.

On Thursday, I went to Subway. I was minding my own business. I was happy because there was a new guy working there, and the new ones are always more generous with the toppings. 

The lady in line in front of me took one look at my sandwich and said "you better watch that mayo, it'll go straight to your hips."   I smiled and politely informed her that I'm pregnant ... and I don't give a DAMN about my hips.

The next day, I attended a baby shower at work. As I collected my piece of cake and headed out the door, one of my co-workers stopped me in the middle of a large group of women. 

She said to me, "Harmony, you're going to carry this baby in your BOOTY, aren't you?"    

So what ... had they all been studying my ass to see how much it had expanded? What brought this on? For a split second I felt self-conscious about myself, the cake I was holding in my hand, my pregnant body and most of all, my butt ... which I've been avoiding looking at in the mirror.

Everyone looked at me expecting an answer, so I said something about how apparently I carry a lot of weight in my backside when I'm pregnant because people can't seem to stop talking about it. I told a story of how another one of my co-workers loudly exclaimed "OOOOOH HARMONY! Your booty's getting big!" several years ago when I was pregnant with ONE. Which, I pointed out to them, was extremely rude.

And then, me and my large ass left the party.

Look people. I am a white girl with a big butt. Get OVER it, or go ahead and kiss it.

Husband snuck this shot on my 30th birthday.

School Bus Chat.

ONE is what I'm going to start calling my first child. I'll call the next one TWO. And so forth.

ONE has developed an obsession with school buses. Every day he sees one and exclaims "LOOK! A school bus!" which is shortly followed by "I want to ride the school bus!" He wants to ride a school bus so badly.

I have explained that he can ride it, when he's bigger. Tonight at dinner, he and I had the following discussion:

ONE: I'm big.
Me: You are getting big!
ONE: I want to ride the school bus.
Me: You can, when you're bigger.
ONE: Mommy, did you ride the school bus?
Me: Yes, I did.
ONE: When I get as big as mommy I can ride the school bus.
Me: That's right.
ONE: Mommy?
Me: Yes?
ONE: ... Will you ride the school bus with me? When I get bigger?

I think it was HOW he asked me, that got me. His eyes were so wide. And serious. Very serious. And I thought, wow. Right now all my kid wants in the world is to ride a school bus, and the person he wants to ride it with, is me. 

Also, when did he learn to talk like an adult?

All the times I complain because I can't get anything done, and the annoyance I feel when he follows me EVERYWHERE, and yells "MOMMY!" when I'm not in his direct line of sight, is stupid. Experiences like this humble me. By the time my son is old enough to ride the school bus, he probably won't even let me kiss him goodbye.

I'm going to soak up all the ONE love I can, while he'll let me.

Thursday.

Fact: I have woken up with a new pimple somewhere on my person, every single morning, for the past 15 weeks.

Fact: Living in Alabama has caused me to develop a pronounced southern twang that has become quite noticeable.

Fact: We have lived here for almost 6 years now.

Fact: I have cellulite in strange very places. Luckily I know that it will go away eventually. Most likely sometime in 2012.

Fact: Simple things entertain me. See my friend and co-worker's blog post about nicknames. This topic alone has kept us busy for many, many hours. There really is a lady who works in my building who has Flock of Seagull hair. I don't even understand how that happens.

Ugh!

I do not wish to hear anything more from Charlie Sheen.

Ever.

I admit, I had a mild fascination at the beginning of his (seemingly-endless) downward spiral. Now ... I just want it to stop. SURELY at some point, he will get arrested or overdose or check into rehab and not come out, right?

Mostly I just feel sickened by the fact that this man managed to procreate twin boys who are now two years old and caught up in the midst of whatever the hell he has going on in his home. How did he even have viable sperm? That is something I've spent too much time pondering.

My heart hurts for children who have wacked out parents. I normally try not to judge people who I know nothing about, but I judge him.

And his ex-wife wives.

Afternoon Slump.

Starbucks really needs to start a delivery service. I already pay good money for their products. I would be willing to pay even MORE if they brought said product to me.

I'm just saying.

(source)