Week 24- Tan-stache

I am blessed with a head full of hair and a face which is not. I have very little need for painful hair removal techniques. An occasional plucking to keep my eyebrows neat is all I need. So why then, does it appear that I need to have my mustache waxed? Take a closer look and you'll see that it is actually pigmented skin, not hair, that has darkened my once lovely upper lip. I also have weird tinges on my cheeks. What. The. Fuck? I'm really not this self conscious. I have no problem traipsing around the beach in my two piece for all the Floridian fitness freaks, with their toned and tanned, bodies to see. My body is weirdly shaped; a tiny upper body, an ever growing round belly, and an extra cottage cheesy ass and thighs. I know it's there and yeah it bugs me, but not enough to obsess over it and try to figure out some clever and inventive way to cover it up when really everybody knows what's going on under there. Overall, I kind of love my prego body. I think my big round belly is cute and as for my cottage cheese ass, I just don't turn around to look in the mirror. Besides, as Micha told me, he likes cottage cheese. But a tan-stache! Really?! Sure, it's fine when I wear make-up but what about when I want to forgo that ritual like when I'm running late for work or I'm going to the pool. Or when I sweat? This is summer in Kansas! What then, hmm? This isn't fair! I wasn't out in the sun for hours with sans sunscreen. I wear it everyday! And hats! I bought big hats and big sunglasses to keep the sun off my face and still I wound up with this ridiculous....TAN-STACHE! Micha says not to worry about it, 'it's cute'. No buddy, this is the exact opposite of cute. There is not a culture on the face of the Earth that thinks a mustache on a woman is cute! Sigh...
Anyway, the realization that a very tiny, additional person will be occupying my house in just a little over 3 short months has me motivated to get down to the nitty-gritty preparation. The room, the videos, the classes, the shower and preparing Micha and Taylor for what is sure to be a wild ride. Maybe I'll start making a list and a time line because, yes, I am that anal.

Pregnant, Barefoot and in the Kitchen

This is a phrase I've uttered many a time, as in "He's one of those neanderthal idiots that thinks all women should be pregnant, barefoot and in the kitchen." Now in my second pregnancy and coming into the final stretch, I've decided to re-think this phrase. I have a lot of time to re-think things. My job is incredibly boring. In fact, all of my blog posts are written while I am at the office. I don't do it to make them think I'm busy either. I've made it abundantly clear that I need more work. They just haven't come up with any. At any rate, here I am stuck in my office with nothing to do. I'm wearing a dress and shoes with a heel that isn't too high. The sun is out and I know it's hot because I ran out for lunch today. All I can think is the numerous other places I'd rather be. The pool might be nice. Taking a nap would be blissful. Pregnant, barefoot and in the kitchen wouldn't be too shabby either.

My feet hurt and are starting to swell, ever-so-slightly. Most days the thought of having anything on my feet is irritating. Barefoot just feels so much better but isn't exactly 'business casual'. Neither are the clothes that I'd rather be wearing. I can wear whatever I want in my kitchen. No shoes, no shirt, no service doesn't apply there. Dress code, smesh code!

At work, I have a desk drawer full of snacks. I am, by nature, a grazer so I keep them there so if I need a nibble, I have something. Funny thing about being pregnant is it has to be the right something. I may not want a granola bar for breakfast but that's what's in my desk drawer so that's what I get to have. If I was in my kitchen, I could whip up some eggs and bacon or maybe pancakes or a grilled cheese sandwich and cucumber slices with a little bit of salt.

So yeah, pregnant, barefoot and in the kitchen sounds pretty good right about now.

Breakthrough

I feel like a broken record.

"I really don't want to spend the very little free time I have cleaning up after you guys."

"You know it really pisses me off when I come home from having worked all day, and the house is trashed."

"Could you please pick up after yourselves?"

"How many times have you walked by this in the last week? Why couldn't you just pick it up on your way?!"

So last night, because of the mountain of laundry to be folded and because I really wanted to watch the movie Blind Side and because I knew that I would not be home on Tuesday night to pick up and because I didn't feel like coming home on Wednesday and having a major melt down before yoga, I instituted Family clean up time. Think of it sort of like Martial Law and I am the Army. The usual drill involves me cleaning up the kitchen and all the random crap they leave laying around the house while everyone else (by 'everyone' I mean Micha and Mumbles) watches TV, plays video games, dinks around on the computer or texts their friends. This routine makes me crazy. Especially when this routine takes place the same day as or the day immediately following a day when I've spent the majority of the day cleaning/working. Seriously, our house does not stay picked up for more than 30 minutes. The kitchen table only stays cleared off for about 5 minutes and the sink never, NEVER does not have a dirty dish in it. On any given day you can walk into my house and find: hats, shoes, tools, pens, keys, computers, phones, recycling, dirty socks, food containers/wrappers, empty toilet paper rolls and dirty dishes. All of which have an appropriate place but none of which are in said place. Am I a bit neurotic about the housekeeping? Yes. Would I be willing to let certain rooms, Mumbles' bedroom for example, go in an effort to keep the peace? Yes, if it weren't for my fear that they will become a bio-hazard. Last summer, we (actually Lily the Destroyer) found a half eaten bologna sandwich under Mumbles' bed. Under her bed! For the record, I don't buy bologna, that was all Micha. The mere fact that it was a bologna sandwich was gut wrenching enough. My child has always been a bit of a hoarder and not a particularly neat one but Micha was not like this when I met him. When I met Micha in college he had a male roommate and it was pretty much a guarantee that the common areas where going to be trashed, but Micha's bedroom and bathroom were always clean, immaculate even. When he moved and had a female roommate, he was still the neater of the two, even cleaning the rest of the apartment when he knew I was coming to visit. When he lived on his own, his apartment wasn't the nicest but it was neat. So what the eff happened? Where are the freakin' sparkling clean bathroom countertops and toilet seats you can eat off? My countertops are covered with shaving gunk and some days I'm not certain the toilet is fit to be shit in! WTF?!?

Anyway, back to last night. I told everyone during dinner that I had laundry to work on and I wanted everyone to pitch in and help out so we could watch the movie. Micha went down to the basement to play Call of Duty and Mumbles joined him after she put the dishes in the dishwasher and ran it. Not quite the mark I was hoping to hit but rather than get mad and start yelling, (alright I yelled a little because I hate Call of Duty) I gave them all marching orders. The pile of shit that's been on the landing for two weeks, Micha, take it to the garage. Mumbles, the dishes in the sink have your name written all over them. Empty all the trashes. Take the recycling out. Pick up your hat. Seriously, I should've been in the military. I helped out too and in no time the house was picked up. I said "I like family clean up time! We're going to start doing this all the time!" The reaction I got was a little like the reaction Micheal whatshisface from Seinfeld got when he 'heckled' a heckler. Which leads me to this conclusion: my family likes it when I get pissed and yell at them. They thinks it's hilarious when I swear and stomp around. It keeps them in stitches when I shout that I'm moving out and I'm not taking dogs, or kids, or cats or Spousal Equivalents with me, that way they can just go right on ahead and live like a bunch of slobs. All this time I've been concerned about trying to be a more patient Mom and Spousal Equivalent and what I really need to be better at my roles is a mega-phone and maybe a cattle prod.

One of my bossy, but classy idols, Katherine Hepburn.

Week 21- It's a Boy!

The baby is basically the size of a Barbie so the clarity is pretty amazing!

"Our baby is pretty metal" according to Micha. (It's a Metalocalypse reference for those of you who don't know.)

Charlie was awake and very active. At one point, we got to see him reach up and rub his eye. He was also practicing sucking and had the hiccups. He was a little shy about showing his face but.....

totally comfortable showing us his 'junk'!

Micha had us all write down on a peice of paper what we thought the baby would be, before the appointment. We arrived at the Doctor's office to find a bit of commotion. Apparently, a transformer blew and the building was running on emergency power. Nuts! No sonogram for me! The doctor went ahead and saw us just as they were trying to evacuate the building and the nurses pulled some strings and got us in for a sono at another facility. Woo hoo! So we got to see Charlie after all and were all amazed! We decided that, to let everyone know (all three of us were getting text messages all day!), we'd send a picture message anouncing the news. My family still eats together at my Grandmother's house every Wednesday, so they all started getting the messages and found out together!

Bump's first name will be Charles (we'll call him Charlie) after Micha's grandfather who passed away last year. We're still thinking about middle names. I'm looking forward to decorating Charlie's room. I like the idea of vintage toys. I think Micha does too because it will give him a chance to dig out some of his old childhood favorites! ;)

Evil Evelyn vs. Lily the Destroyer

I've delayed writing this epic battle because if either Evil Evelyn or Lily the Destroyer turned up missing, I didn't want there to be any incriminating evidence linking me to their dissappearance. I'm over it now so I feel safe sharing the tale.

By day, I work in an office that never deals with the general public. Almost never. We deal with first responders, public safety, and law enforcement, mostly. So when Evil Evelyn called I felt certain this would be another civilian inquiring about amateur radio parts and I would have to tell her I was sorry but that isn't the business we are in. Was I ever wrong?! Apparently Evelyn knew precisely what business we were in as evident by the way she asked "Am I talking Greek here? Do you install antennas or not?" A couple of weeks later, I came back from lunch only to be greated by a seriously pissed of install manager and Evelyn. Great. Evelyn was to be charged for an hour of shop labor and a part that was installed on her truck. A part that she insisted we install, against our advise, to plug a leak, which we were certain we told her, would continue to leak. Antenna mounts don't plug leaks. Plugs plug leaks. Body shops plug leaks. Never the less, she insisted the work be done so we obliged but now she was unhappy. She was told it would only be $55. "Well, yes that's correct. It is $55 for the labor rate but you were also told that we'd have to charge you for the part. With tax that brings your total to $87.67", I said.

EE: "Do you take checks?"
Me: "No Ma'am. We accept cash and major credit cards. Do you have a Visa or Mastercard debit card?"
EE: In a pissy tone, "Yes, I have a debit card."

Now normally, when I run my customers' credit cards there's no tax involved so I ran the card the way I normally would. Realizing my mistake, I quickly refunded the card and ran it again for the correct amount. I apologized and explained what I had done. "Well, that's just great. I have no money now!", she says. She goes on to tell me that she has been moving all day, she has to finish moving her stuff and she already owes her apartment manager $5 but now, because of me, she has no money for gas so that she can finish moving. Now look, I'm not a heartless person and even though up to this point she has been incredibley rude to me, I still feel bad for her, but what can I do? She insists that she needs to call her bank. Sure, I tell her, I'd be more than happy to speak with them if she would like. It's during this next part that I start not to feel quite so bad for Evelyn. She was just a rude to the people at her own bank! After she bitches the people at her bank out for the fact that the refund will not post faster, she continues to bitch me out. She demands to talk to a manager. I calmly tried to explain that there was no manager here. I even motioned around the office as if to say "Lady, do you see anyone else here?" "Well where is he?", she asks. Uh, he's not here. "Well why do I have to talk to you, you're just the secretary?!" she says. At this point an engineer comes out of his office and poses as a manager. He calmly tries to explain that we've done what we can do. I calmly walked back to the install shop and exclaimed "Spanky! Evelyn will not leave! She wants to know if she was supposed to get some kind of cable.", so he comes up to talk with her. Did I mention, the Fed Ex driver came in and now she is telling him her sob story about how I took all her money?! God love Spanky because he ended the entire thing. He told her that she was charged the correct amount and if anything she had already gotten an antenna for free (he told me later, he gave it to her to get her the hell out). And as for her predicament "It's a hard knock life.", and that was that. She signed the credit card slips and stormed out. I could feel my face on fire. Whatever. I'm going to pick out a new desk so we can clean out the baby's room and a new washer and drier after work, so nah na--na boo bo!

I have made it no secret that I think the people who lived in my house before me were disgusting. I've since made it my mission to scrub every remnant of them out of my life. The last thing that needed to be done was the carpets, so as soon as we had a little extra cheese laying around I scheduled to have them professionally cleaned. As soon as I returned home, I litterally wanted to roll around on my semi damp but very fresh looking and smelling carpet. We promptly installed a dog door to avoid any accidents in the house. Much of my motivation to get this done is in preparation for the baby, as was my desire to get a new washer and drier. So despite Evil Evelyn's best attempts to shit on my parade, it was still going to be a good day. But after arriving at the store, I got a text from Mumbles, 'I threw up'. Terrific. I try and hurry home... in the rain....in traffic. I arrive to find Mumbles standing at the top of the stairs and....puke. Everywhere. Horrified, I looked at Taylor, expecting her to be positively green. Instead she was pointing to Lily, who was puking. Oh, what fresh hell is this?! I quarantine Lily in the kitchen, a proceedure I've become accustom to doing because the damn dog eats everything. Socks, underwear, shoes, paper, speaker wire, a wooden Christmas tree ornament, a tampon, nothing is safe in the house with Lily the Destroyer. Pissed, I walk back to my room to change my clothes so I can commence the clean up. She's puked on the bed, a new pillow, the last remain clean pair of the the three pairs of maternity pants I own. Fantastic. Then I discover what it is that she is puking up. She ate an entire bar of Costa Rican dark chocolate and half a bag of truffles. Holy shit, that dog won't make it through the night, I thought, but I was too pissed off to feel bad for her. Micha tried to figure out what to do with her while I tried to clean cocoa puke out of what were my nice clean, beige carpets. I yelled at everyone. I left the chocolate on the night stand, my bad, but Micha left the door open and Mumbles let her out of her kennel without keeping an eye on her. I told Micha I didn't want her any more. We can't have a dog that doesn't know better than to eat everything in whole damn house, especially once the baby comes. Of course, then he got upset and started blaming Mumbles, which only served to piss me off even more. "A dog is supposed to bring us enjoyment," I said. "All she does is tear shit up and make us fight!" And that was it. I lost it. I went to the bedroom and started bawling. It's not that I don't love the stupid dog but she's cost us more money in the last year than the entire 5 years I've owned Bruiser, all of his vetting and neutering included. She ruined the carpet and the padding in our old apartment and we had to pay to replace it and was on her way to doing the same in the new house. She's ruined numerous pairs of shoes, of course, always the most expensive ones. She barks incesantly. She terrorizes the cat. She ate all the leaves off of my pepper plant and she digs in the strawberries to eat the worms. She's basically the worst dog ever and that's even with obedience training.

So in the epic battle between Evil Evelyn and Lily the Destroyer for who could ruin Sparkie's day, Lily came out the victor. Evelyn hadn't brought me to tears, although she did call the following week and pissed me off so bad I broke out in hives. I refunded her money but only after telling her that if I did so, she was not ever, EVER to contact us again because I would not tolerate her being so rude to myself and my staff. Lily survived her near death experience and now has resorted to eating cat shit out of the liter box. I did find one of my sandals that she'd apparently thought about chewing on but decided that it was cheap and not worth the effort. Even the pepper plant whose leaves she ate nearly every one of has come back and is beginning to bloom. After some ginger ale and a good nights rest, Mumbles was fine. Micha and I are very much enjoying the brand spanking new washer and drier in my gleaming house with carpets that are mostly clean.

Lily the Destroyer

Week 20- Half way there!

Next week we find out what we are having (fingers crossed that bump co-operates). I'm still convinced the baby is a boy. Micha thinks that the baby is a girl. I've asked him if he wants to place a small wager but he's declined, saying he doesn't want to jinx anything. Bump is about 10 oz now, almost a whole pound! And s/he's a mover and a shaker for sure! It seems like I feel his little kicks all the time now! Micha is a little less weirded out feeling the movements, but his eyes still get huge and he still sucks in his breath at each little rumble.

We are counting down the days until our babymoon! I'm excited about getting to see some place new and best of all- I get Micha to myself for a whole week! I've already told him: No emails, no phone calls! If it is work related, it can wait. I'm also looking forward to no boring job and no housework. I feel like my free time has been sucked up by the vaccuum of housework. We watched 'Couples Retreat' last night, not that funny, but I kept looking at the beaches and ocean and thinking 'That is where I need to be.' Florida here we come!