A lot of people used to say to me, "wait until you have a baby. Nothing will ever embarrass you again." I used to think, "well, okay, a few people seeing you squeeze something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a grape is pretty humiliating but it's this whole "miracle" thing so everyone gets over it. We go to the gyno, right? If you are like me, you even have a male doctor. I thought that one was going to be pretty hard to overcome. Amazingly, it wasn't.
But, NOTHING could prepare me for today. NOTHING.
Apparently, my kid takes after her daddy and does not like to stay still. Today, she was extra feisty. Surely, it could not have been the 2 pieces of candy I ate in the waiting room because she was doing acrobats for hours. Usually, a good candy bender makes her squirm for a bit and then she crashes. Today, she was non-stop for 3 hours. This made my time hooked up to the contraction meter A LOT longer. Twenty minutes became three hours. And during those three hours, wouldn't you know my cellphone rang more than it does in a whole month. Of course.
While measuring my contractions, the baby's heartrate would drop significantly. You can imagine how alarming this is especially when a nurse who sometimes forgets about you for a full twenty minutes comes rushing in every three minutes. The drop could be attributed to a few things. One, the baby moved away from the monitor. Two, the baby grabs the cord and cuts off her air supply. Three, the baby is in some sort of distress.
In an attempt to eliminate whatever is causing the drop, I had to keep flipping from one side to the other hoping she'd settle into a position where she could not grab the cord. Who am I birthing? George of the Jungle. It would work for a while and of course, as soon as we got a good position on her, I would cease having any contractions. The nurse is trying to stand there and hold the monitor in a good spot but she has other patients to attend to and every time she walks out of the room thinking she has it, the kid moves out of spite. I don't know anyone who would do that.
After two and a half hours and 2 different nurses coming in to find the position. The nurse comes back and says that my doctor is on the phone with my other doctor and they are talking about moving my c-section up. They just wanted to try one more thing first. I had to pee so bad, I would have done anything to get off that reclining backache. She asked if I had a stopwatch and my cell does have one so, check.
"Okay, you have to play with your nipples for one minute and then rest for five."
Um, what? I have to what?
"I can stand behind you or leave the room if that would make you more comfortable."
Yeah, NOT doing this at all would make me more comfortable.
"I need you to have 3 contractions in ten minutes. Do you want me to unhook your bra."
Whoa, hang on, aren't you going to buy me dinner first? At least she gave me a sheet to cover myself with. Not quite lobster.
But, I guess I was getting my first lesson in motherhood. If you think your kid is in distress, you will do whatever it takes to help the peanut out. However, I did keep laughing at the situation while doing it because I could not help but think that when The Hubs got home I could tell him all about having some girl-on-girl action at 9 months pregnant and watching him recoil in horror at the thought and irony of the situation. Of course, during my first attempt, he calls and I wanted to pick up and ask him to talk to dirty but my hands were too busy trying to tune in Tokyo.
The first attempt failed because she fell off the monitor again. I had to make a deal with her. If mommy was going to put all her pride aside and do this, she had to at least cooperate with me. Otherwise, I'd find some way to embarrass her in front of her friends when it came time. Another nurse came in to help reposition the monitor while my nurse stood in a corner saying, "ready, go!" The nurse was getting a bit frustrated because it was after 5 and I am sure she wanted to go home. "Are you going under your shirt? are you really getting in there?" I resisted the urge to say I was 35 years-old, I think I know how to stimulate my nipples by this point in my life.
During the second attempt my dad called. This was all just getting too creepy. I tried to just put it all out of my head. During the third attempt a friend called, a few voicemail alarms went off. And on the fourth attempt, my mom called. I think they were all having happy hour somewhere talking about how it must be a really bad time to call and they all butt-dialed me one by one.
Without me even knowing, I had three contractions in the ten minutes and the baby did fine through all of them. My two doctors spoke and decided to see me again on Friday and Monday but leave everything status quo for now. All I had to do was avoid laying or sleeping on my back (which shouldn't be that tough as I have avoided it for 9 months now) and count the baby's kicks. Again, not a problem because she's the Karate Kid inside there.
"Okay. Let me just take your blood pressure now," the nurse said. "I probably should have done it before we did all this."
You think. I shuddered to think it might actually be high considering what I just went through. 112/80, a bit high for me but nothing too scary. Needless to say, I could not hop off the table fast enough and go running for the bathroom. I didn't care that my swollen belly was exposed like some Bronx Mammi and my bra was completely unhooked. I went running down that hall so fast only to find an occupied bathroom. Unable to walk anymore to find another one, I just stood outside dancing until the occupant came out.
On the way home I called my mom and told her. She laughed like a lunatic. This must have been the payback she was waiting for since I was 4 and saw a man with no legs in Bloomingdales and proceeded to drop to my knees and scream across the store, "Look ma, I have no legs!"
Yup, apparently payback is going to be a bitch.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Stork Stalkers
So, I know I live in Fairfield County. Land of overpaying for everything. So, I rarely experience sticker shock. That does not mean I don't hunt (and find) sales and bargains and overall cheaper prices before settling on paying over inflated prices if I can help it. So, why should baby furniture be any different. Let me start by saying, the baby business is a lot like the wedding business. At every possible corner, someone is preying on your hormones and the fact that everything you are looking at now is so little and cute and you would just hate to deprive your child of anything so you'll ignore the fact that they are charging 75% more for it. It's comparable to visiting the florist for bouquets and centerpieces. They all come at you with the "once in a lifetime" theory. Phooey.
A couple of months into my pregnancy, my mom and I visited a baby and teen funriture store in town. I'm trying to avoid mentioning their name for legal purposes but I will say it is on High Ridge Road so you do the math. Their stuff was beautiful, stunning and if I had all the money in the world, I would definitely go crazy in that store. But, the fact of the matter is, I have goals for myself like eventually moving into a bigger place some day, having money in the bank for emergencies and unstable economies, maybe having more kids and you have to send those kids to college and put clothes on their backs. So, is it that important that they sleep in a $1200 crib with silk bedding? No, not really. Is it pretty? Absolutely. Is it every little girl's dream to walk into a room like that? Yes. Am I J. Lo? No. My mom and I talked to the owner of the store for a while and we took a catalog. She was not busy at all so we didn't feel as though we were wasting her time. I would definitely be back, maybe not for furniture but definitely for some cute accessories or unique gifts for future baby showers I may get invited to.
Yesterday, The Hubs and I were on our way to Verizon because my phone was acting up. I asked if we could stop as said overpriced boutique because they had these cute little socks I had been coveting for years. This was AFTER I attempted to find them at Lord & Taylor armed with my coupon. L&T did not have the exact ones I wanted. The Hubs had sticker shock too when I showed him adorable little Converse sneakers tye-dyed on sale for the bargain price of $90. More than what he paid for the Ed Hardy's on his own feet and he surely would not grow out of those in a month or less.
I grabbed the socks and went to the register to pay. The owner recognized me as having come in a few months ago looking at furniture. If I was quicker on my feet, I would have said that was my twin. But, I am a bit slow and distracted lately. Then, she started the grilling process. "Did you find furniture?" "Where did you buy it from?" Again, if i were smarter, I would have said that a friend is making me some. Who can dispute custom made furniture? I avoided telling here where I got it from, just that I got it and it was a convertible so it would last me a long time. But, she would not let up. Now, it was bordering on annoying. Jesus lady, you own a store, times are tough, maybe you should LOWER YOUR PRICES if you need more business or be thankful that eventho' I didn't buy my furniture from you, I still came back and gave you business. It was reminiscent of my hairdresser and now I was annoyed. Luckily, some friends walked in the door so it was the perfect distraction from this awkward moment.
The Hubs said I should have just said loudly enough for the other customers in the store to hear, "Frankly, I didn't buy your stuff because IT IS TOO EXPENSIVE." She could actually learn a lesson from the people that DID sell me my furniture. The guy actually tried talking me out of buying the crib when I told him that my sister wanted to give me one but i was bit concerned because it was 12 years old. The guy said, "well, you can save yourself some money and just have someone paint it to match the dresser." For that very reason, he got my business. Well, that and he had the crib for $200 cheaper than I saw it for its cheapest online price.
A couple of months into my pregnancy, my mom and I visited a baby and teen funriture store in town. I'm trying to avoid mentioning their name for legal purposes but I will say it is on High Ridge Road so you do the math. Their stuff was beautiful, stunning and if I had all the money in the world, I would definitely go crazy in that store. But, the fact of the matter is, I have goals for myself like eventually moving into a bigger place some day, having money in the bank for emergencies and unstable economies, maybe having more kids and you have to send those kids to college and put clothes on their backs. So, is it that important that they sleep in a $1200 crib with silk bedding? No, not really. Is it pretty? Absolutely. Is it every little girl's dream to walk into a room like that? Yes. Am I J. Lo? No. My mom and I talked to the owner of the store for a while and we took a catalog. She was not busy at all so we didn't feel as though we were wasting her time. I would definitely be back, maybe not for furniture but definitely for some cute accessories or unique gifts for future baby showers I may get invited to.
Yesterday, The Hubs and I were on our way to Verizon because my phone was acting up. I asked if we could stop as said overpriced boutique because they had these cute little socks I had been coveting for years. This was AFTER I attempted to find them at Lord & Taylor armed with my coupon. L&T did not have the exact ones I wanted. The Hubs had sticker shock too when I showed him adorable little Converse sneakers tye-dyed on sale for the bargain price of $90. More than what he paid for the Ed Hardy's on his own feet and he surely would not grow out of those in a month or less.
I grabbed the socks and went to the register to pay. The owner recognized me as having come in a few months ago looking at furniture. If I was quicker on my feet, I would have said that was my twin. But, I am a bit slow and distracted lately. Then, she started the grilling process. "Did you find furniture?" "Where did you buy it from?" Again, if i were smarter, I would have said that a friend is making me some. Who can dispute custom made furniture? I avoided telling here where I got it from, just that I got it and it was a convertible so it would last me a long time. But, she would not let up. Now, it was bordering on annoying. Jesus lady, you own a store, times are tough, maybe you should LOWER YOUR PRICES if you need more business or be thankful that eventho' I didn't buy my furniture from you, I still came back and gave you business. It was reminiscent of my hairdresser and now I was annoyed. Luckily, some friends walked in the door so it was the perfect distraction from this awkward moment.
The Hubs said I should have just said loudly enough for the other customers in the store to hear, "Frankly, I didn't buy your stuff because IT IS TOO EXPENSIVE." She could actually learn a lesson from the people that DID sell me my furniture. The guy actually tried talking me out of buying the crib when I told him that my sister wanted to give me one but i was bit concerned because it was 12 years old. The guy said, "well, you can save yourself some money and just have someone paint it to match the dresser." For that very reason, he got my business. Well, that and he had the crib for $200 cheaper than I saw it for its cheapest online price.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Straight up hammed
A couple of nights ago, after running several errands after work, The Hubs and I finally decided that it was almost nine and we should probably eat dinner. However, we could not agree on something. I wanted Wendy's but somehow ended up taking a turn too far from one. He was not keen on the Wendy's idea so he was more than happy to throw other suggestions. They ran the gamut but I didn't feel like any of them. I finally just made him decide before my stomach ate the baby. He decided on Boston Market.
We walked in and it was close to closing time but weren't phased by the fact that the sides were well congealed with burnt bottoms. I struggled with the menu because I had chicken for lunch and I wasn't feeling much like turkey. Then, I saw an ad on the wall advertising ham and I got so excited. I LOVE Boston Market's ham. They used to have it on the menu and then one day it just vanished into thin air. I was so happy to see it again, I did a dance and The Hubs hates when I do that. When the guy asked for my order, I could not say "ham carver" fast enough. He nodded and walked away and I jumped up and down and clapped (something else The Hubs hates).
Two seconds later he came back. "No more ham."
"Just get a salad. You like the salads here," The Hubs said in a not so subtle attempt to derail my fury train. A salad was not ham. If i suggested a salad instead of his beloved meatloaf, he would have laughed so hard he peed his pants.
I eyeballed the menu again but nothing was striking me. Meanwhile The Hubs put in his order while i struggled.
"You want to leave, don't you?" He asked me. I nodded yes. "But you can stay and eat your meatloaf while it is warm and i can get something after," i offered. "No, I'll just get it to go and you can get something else."
The dude at the register put the nail in the coffin. "This was the last day for ham. It was just a holiday special."
"Of course it is!" I shot back. "First it was the Cosi veggie muffellatta, then DQs butterscotch dip it and now this. Honestly, I don't know why you ever took it off the menu in the menu in the first place. It obviously sells well because you are out of it."
"We ran out hours ago," he said not helping his case.
"See," I said. "This furthers my theory that there is a conspiracy against my uterus. I have a craving for something and it gets swallowed into the black whole of retired menu items. Why now? I don't understand."
The guy at the register was obviously perplexed by my rant or the term uterus. The Hubs paid for his meatloaf and I stormed out but not before saying I was through with Boston Market until they bring back the ham. Something else my husband hates to hear me say because he knows in a week or two I will be back just like I go back to Cosi and Homegoods and all the other stores I stormed out of over the years. I just need to cool off.
We walked in and it was close to closing time but weren't phased by the fact that the sides were well congealed with burnt bottoms. I struggled with the menu because I had chicken for lunch and I wasn't feeling much like turkey. Then, I saw an ad on the wall advertising ham and I got so excited. I LOVE Boston Market's ham. They used to have it on the menu and then one day it just vanished into thin air. I was so happy to see it again, I did a dance and The Hubs hates when I do that. When the guy asked for my order, I could not say "ham carver" fast enough. He nodded and walked away and I jumped up and down and clapped (something else The Hubs hates).
Two seconds later he came back. "No more ham."
"Just get a salad. You like the salads here," The Hubs said in a not so subtle attempt to derail my fury train. A salad was not ham. If i suggested a salad instead of his beloved meatloaf, he would have laughed so hard he peed his pants.
I eyeballed the menu again but nothing was striking me. Meanwhile The Hubs put in his order while i struggled.
"You want to leave, don't you?" He asked me. I nodded yes. "But you can stay and eat your meatloaf while it is warm and i can get something after," i offered. "No, I'll just get it to go and you can get something else."
The dude at the register put the nail in the coffin. "This was the last day for ham. It was just a holiday special."
"Of course it is!" I shot back. "First it was the Cosi veggie muffellatta, then DQs butterscotch dip it and now this. Honestly, I don't know why you ever took it off the menu in the menu in the first place. It obviously sells well because you are out of it."
"We ran out hours ago," he said not helping his case.
"See," I said. "This furthers my theory that there is a conspiracy against my uterus. I have a craving for something and it gets swallowed into the black whole of retired menu items. Why now? I don't understand."
The guy at the register was obviously perplexed by my rant or the term uterus. The Hubs paid for his meatloaf and I stormed out but not before saying I was through with Boston Market until they bring back the ham. Something else my husband hates to hear me say because he knows in a week or two I will be back just like I go back to Cosi and Homegoods and all the other stores I stormed out of over the years. I just need to cool off.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Babies R Us is a sexy time, yes
So, New Year's Day meant a haul up to Babies R Us in Danbury to look at all the crap I put on my registry online. Also, I had some venting to do as it seemed everything I put on said registry a month a go was low inventory. I was just looking for a good reason to vent since that is what I seem to be the best at these days. In fact, I think I have been what The Hubs calls a Rage-a-hol since Christmas Eve. But, my Christmas Eve would have made anyone rage because after sitting in a boring ass civil trial it then took me an hour to get home (I live less than 2 miles from my job) because there were way too many last minute assholes on the road). When I finally got home, the kid let me eat about a quarter of a salad before pressing herself into my freaking esophagus.
Then, we went to the bakery to get the cakes and pies and I saw the line out the door so I raged again. I told The Hubs if I started screaming that my water broke but I just HAVE to get this cake before I go to the hospital to shut up and play along. "I wouldn't put it past you" he said before I spotted the lone sample of an ENORMOUS piece of poundcake and when he turned to see why I suddenly quiet, he started laughing because I was trying to wedge the whole piece in my mouth. I was starving. It had been a whole hour since I ate 4 bites of salad. He said it was just nice to not hear me screaming. I told him the piece was left there just for me as my reward for a shitteous day. "No," he said, "the piece was left there because it was huge and anyone else would have been embarrassed to take it." Well, lucky for him, I'm not that type of gal!
So, cut to New Year's Day after filling up on breakfast, it was off to do the registry. Has anyone else noticed that when I make The Hubs do these daunting tasks like registries and getting up at the crack of dawn to get a fake tree, I use food to drug him into bliss? Of course, the store was short staffed on the count of this being a holiday and ALMOST everyone is out shopping. I nicely ask a sales associate to tell someone to get their ass over to the registry department ASAP. I meet Betti, with an I, and I don't know why that amused me so much but when I got a gander at her name tag, I commented (outside my head) "Betti, with an I." She printed out my registry and handed me a gun and off we went. But, not before I asked her about the low inventory which I already knew the answer to. Of course it is a new year which means new products but the complete line would not be up to date until the end of February, when I am due, so a helluva lotta good that does me.
Note to anyone who looks at my registry: Yes, there are two playpens and two strollers on there. I am not greedy. I just have a first choice and a second choice since my first choice barked "LOW INVENTORY" when I scanned it. Sometimes my second choice barked it too in which case I barked, "F U BABIES R US, F U AND YOUR LOW INVENTORY."
So, after going around and testing the weight of strollers (since I will be having the most interaction with it and my hands are shot from typing) and scanning a few things The Hubs throws a wrench into my pretty in pink plans telling me that I may want to register for more gender neutral stuff in the event we had another baby and it was a boy. Oh my god, the confusion. Deleting, rescanning, swearing. It was a mess. And people who see you registering have to give their two cents. "Get this, it's a lifesaver/I prefer these/oh, you will never use that." While I was thankful for these tips I was getting annoyed because the store is virtually IMPOSSIBLE to navigate. I was following around people trying to find stuff on registries and listening to them bitch just so I felt more in my element of crabbiness and impatience.
About 2 hours and 7 registry pages later I handed my gun to Betti, with an I, but not before I attempted to put it against my own skull and fire it. Then, I told The Hubs I was hungry and we were near a Crack Lobster which meant one thing, molten chocolate chip cookie with ice cream. Of course, because he had more than 4 bites of his lumberjack breakfast before finishing mine, he was NOT hungry. He was so not hungry that in attempt to buy his stomach some time he suggested we go to Destination Maternity. Still drugged from breakfast I see. I declined the offer because I am SO sick of maternity clothes and extremely looking forward to dumping this bland black and gray wardrobe. Hahaha, did I tell you that the waitress at Capital Grill thought it was so cute that my coat said Motherhood on the label when she brought it over for me. I explained because it was from Motherhood Maternity not that I was sewing Motherhood labels into my clothes to remember this period of my life.
A couple of days later we get a call from my in-laws who were in the Babies R Us in Milford looking for my stroller but they were mad because it was not there because it was low inventory and on clearance. Then, they went to get the infant car seat. Same problem. The Hubs told them to try the Danbury store and gave them the number. I'm not sure what happened when my MIL called but somehow they ended up giving her a number to get it online and that number was a phone sex line. Just to make sure she didn't misdial, she called twice. Now, she was pissed off at BRus because not only were they screwing with my registry but now they made her call a phone sex line and she was worried that her employer would see it on her phonebill and she would lose her job. The Hubs assured her that she was allowed to call a wrong number before she was deemed a pervert. But, that did not stop er from calling the police and reporting herself just in case.
When I called Betti, with an I, the next day to express some concern about this and to mark my carseat as purchased on my registry, my MIL must have already given Betti, with an I, an earful because she was quick to defend the fact her employees were not wrong and my MIL dialed 1-800 and not 1-888. "But seriously Betti, with an I, if your number is that close to a phone sex line, shouldn't you consider changing it?" She could have cared less much like any retail employee I run across lately, especially one that has to deal with hormonal pregnant ladies all day. The Hubs was ready to threaten to pull the registry (like they would care, has he seen how many pregnant people are out there right now? For every one that pulls the registry, 10 more come waddling through the door with their mobiles on their minds and their minds on the mobiles.
Then, we went to the bakery to get the cakes and pies and I saw the line out the door so I raged again. I told The Hubs if I started screaming that my water broke but I just HAVE to get this cake before I go to the hospital to shut up and play along. "I wouldn't put it past you" he said before I spotted the lone sample of an ENORMOUS piece of poundcake and when he turned to see why I suddenly quiet, he started laughing because I was trying to wedge the whole piece in my mouth. I was starving. It had been a whole hour since I ate 4 bites of salad. He said it was just nice to not hear me screaming. I told him the piece was left there just for me as my reward for a shitteous day. "No," he said, "the piece was left there because it was huge and anyone else would have been embarrassed to take it." Well, lucky for him, I'm not that type of gal!
So, cut to New Year's Day after filling up on breakfast, it was off to do the registry. Has anyone else noticed that when I make The Hubs do these daunting tasks like registries and getting up at the crack of dawn to get a fake tree, I use food to drug him into bliss? Of course, the store was short staffed on the count of this being a holiday and ALMOST everyone is out shopping. I nicely ask a sales associate to tell someone to get their ass over to the registry department ASAP. I meet Betti, with an I, and I don't know why that amused me so much but when I got a gander at her name tag, I commented (outside my head) "Betti, with an I." She printed out my registry and handed me a gun and off we went. But, not before I asked her about the low inventory which I already knew the answer to. Of course it is a new year which means new products but the complete line would not be up to date until the end of February, when I am due, so a helluva lotta good that does me.
Note to anyone who looks at my registry: Yes, there are two playpens and two strollers on there. I am not greedy. I just have a first choice and a second choice since my first choice barked "LOW INVENTORY" when I scanned it. Sometimes my second choice barked it too in which case I barked, "F U BABIES R US, F U AND YOUR LOW INVENTORY."
So, after going around and testing the weight of strollers (since I will be having the most interaction with it and my hands are shot from typing) and scanning a few things The Hubs throws a wrench into my pretty in pink plans telling me that I may want to register for more gender neutral stuff in the event we had another baby and it was a boy. Oh my god, the confusion. Deleting, rescanning, swearing. It was a mess. And people who see you registering have to give their two cents. "Get this, it's a lifesaver/I prefer these/oh, you will never use that." While I was thankful for these tips I was getting annoyed because the store is virtually IMPOSSIBLE to navigate. I was following around people trying to find stuff on registries and listening to them bitch just so I felt more in my element of crabbiness and impatience.
About 2 hours and 7 registry pages later I handed my gun to Betti, with an I, but not before I attempted to put it against my own skull and fire it. Then, I told The Hubs I was hungry and we were near a Crack Lobster which meant one thing, molten chocolate chip cookie with ice cream. Of course, because he had more than 4 bites of his lumberjack breakfast before finishing mine, he was NOT hungry. He was so not hungry that in attempt to buy his stomach some time he suggested we go to Destination Maternity. Still drugged from breakfast I see. I declined the offer because I am SO sick of maternity clothes and extremely looking forward to dumping this bland black and gray wardrobe. Hahaha, did I tell you that the waitress at Capital Grill thought it was so cute that my coat said Motherhood on the label when she brought it over for me. I explained because it was from Motherhood Maternity not that I was sewing Motherhood labels into my clothes to remember this period of my life.
A couple of days later we get a call from my in-laws who were in the Babies R Us in Milford looking for my stroller but they were mad because it was not there because it was low inventory and on clearance. Then, they went to get the infant car seat. Same problem. The Hubs told them to try the Danbury store and gave them the number. I'm not sure what happened when my MIL called but somehow they ended up giving her a number to get it online and that number was a phone sex line. Just to make sure she didn't misdial, she called twice. Now, she was pissed off at BRus because not only were they screwing with my registry but now they made her call a phone sex line and she was worried that her employer would see it on her phonebill and she would lose her job. The Hubs assured her that she was allowed to call a wrong number before she was deemed a pervert. But, that did not stop er from calling the police and reporting herself just in case.
When I called Betti, with an I, the next day to express some concern about this and to mark my carseat as purchased on my registry, my MIL must have already given Betti, with an I, an earful because she was quick to defend the fact her employees were not wrong and my MIL dialed 1-800 and not 1-888. "But seriously Betti, with an I, if your number is that close to a phone sex line, shouldn't you consider changing it?" She could have cared less much like any retail employee I run across lately, especially one that has to deal with hormonal pregnant ladies all day. The Hubs was ready to threaten to pull the registry (like they would care, has he seen how many pregnant people are out there right now? For every one that pulls the registry, 10 more come waddling through the door with their mobiles on their minds and their minds on the mobiles.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The point..... not the point I was hoping for
So, apparently, long gone are the days of lamaze classes. Welcome to the age of "birthing preparation classes" where they pack everything into two three hour sessions from 7 - 10 p.m. (Like I can go that long without eating or needing a nap) all for the tune of $225. I flip flopped back and forth on taking these classes. Really, with the internet, I can learn about anything I want. Plus, my What to Expect book is like my bible. Really, my biggest fear is that I will be in labor and some nurse will say to me, "do your breathing exercises" and I will have to mimic whatever I saw in Baby Mamma.
So, after some pre-registration, I was told to bring two bed pillows and a watch that counts seconds to the first class which is a mere 24 days before my due date. Last minute Sally. "Do our cellphones count seconds?" I asked Stew. Looks like we'll be hitting up Walmart soon for a stop watch.
Happy that I was going to be prepared, yet still bitter about the $225, I went back to Court. One of the Public Defenders came up to me and eyed me up and down. "I may get in trouble for what I am about to ask you, but are you pregnant?" See, for a while now I have not acknowledged the fact I am pregnant until someone asks. I've just been letting everyone go under the guise that I gained a lot of weight in the past few months. It didn't help matters that I got "Girl Spread" before I got a belly. From the way I waddle now and often put my hand on my stomach while I grimace in pain due to getting kicked in the ribs hourly, I would imagine these movements would give it away. Not to mention how my badge sometimes moves all by itself thanks to a healthy kick or punch. So, yes, I'm either pregnant or the Matrix. I resisted the urge to burst out in tears telling her that I just got fat and I wish people would stop asking me that. But, she is so sweet, I couldn't do this to her so I fessed up that I, indeed, was knocked up.
"Have you gotten to the THE POINT yet?" She asked. I told her if she meant the point of uncomfortableness and just wanting the baby out, then yes. She said The Point meant the day she woke up in a panic screaming bloody murder until all her nieghbors came to see what was going on and she was having a nervous breakdown.
"Um, no, I haven't gotten to that point yet."
"Good," she said. "And whatever you do, DO NOT take a birthing class. I went to one and never went back."
I wish she told me this about ten minutes earlier.
So, after some pre-registration, I was told to bring two bed pillows and a watch that counts seconds to the first class which is a mere 24 days before my due date. Last minute Sally. "Do our cellphones count seconds?" I asked Stew. Looks like we'll be hitting up Walmart soon for a stop watch.
Happy that I was going to be prepared, yet still bitter about the $225, I went back to Court. One of the Public Defenders came up to me and eyed me up and down. "I may get in trouble for what I am about to ask you, but are you pregnant?" See, for a while now I have not acknowledged the fact I am pregnant until someone asks. I've just been letting everyone go under the guise that I gained a lot of weight in the past few months. It didn't help matters that I got "Girl Spread" before I got a belly. From the way I waddle now and often put my hand on my stomach while I grimace in pain due to getting kicked in the ribs hourly, I would imagine these movements would give it away. Not to mention how my badge sometimes moves all by itself thanks to a healthy kick or punch. So, yes, I'm either pregnant or the Matrix. I resisted the urge to burst out in tears telling her that I just got fat and I wish people would stop asking me that. But, she is so sweet, I couldn't do this to her so I fessed up that I, indeed, was knocked up.
"Have you gotten to the THE POINT yet?" She asked. I told her if she meant the point of uncomfortableness and just wanting the baby out, then yes. She said The Point meant the day she woke up in a panic screaming bloody murder until all her nieghbors came to see what was going on and she was having a nervous breakdown.
"Um, no, I haven't gotten to that point yet."
"Good," she said. "And whatever you do, DO NOT take a birthing class. I went to one and never went back."
I wish she told me this about ten minutes earlier.
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