Hormonal Overload

Last night was the big one. The emotional breakdown that had been building for 12 weeks. It was desperately needed. The tears fell uninhibited and I wailed like a pre-menstrual teenager who just broke up with "the love of her life" for close to two hours. It was not pretty and it certainly was not something I am proud of. Like the early morning glow after a night of indiscretion, I woke up with a heavy heart, puffy eyes and a nagging feeling I'd said something most definitely harmful. What spurred this overflow of emotion? Was it brought on by an emotional empty comment by the husband? Nope. Was it triggered by one of the many insensitive political mudslinging ads that bombard us every night? Nope. Maybe it was the result of a hallmark card moment between me and Riley the cat? Nope. I was just emotional and I couldn't hold it in any more. So I did the one thing any insane woman in my situation would do. I picked a fight with the husband. Now keep in mind I am no stranger to fight picking, I'm an expert. I've mastered my technique and perfected it down to a science where almost always can I manage to make the fight I pick look like the husbands fault. And in those few and far between incidences where that doesn't work I plead emotional instability. Last night was one of the latter. After rambling on about everything that he had done in the last millennia that bothered me I took a deep breath and realized I wasn't winning this fight. So I switched tactics, started crying and pleaded that the stress I was under was way too much for me to handle. While everything I complained about was true, in the middle of our little tiff was probably not the most appropriate time to bring it all up. When I still didn't receive the emotional pick-me-up my little preggo heart needed I instinctively switched back to bitching. About this time the husband decided he'd had enough of listening to me lay out out all of his flaws and stopped responding in a loving consoling manner. To a highly emotional pregnant woman is the equivalent of saying "I've had enough of your bitching and moaning, when you've run out of hot air, raise a flag in surrender." It took me a good ten minutes of this before I realized that he'd also switched tactics. Realizing my efforts were futile, I sadly acknowledged defeat and agreed it was best to continue discussing this in the morning. Looking back at the episode I realized that the husband has come leaps and bounds in his fighting technique. His phases of fighting were very much like the stages of life. Early in our relationship the mere sight of one of my tears would send him into a tailspin running around trying to find immediate solutions to my imaginary pain. Similar to a child still trying to figure out emotional backlash. Then he progressed to all out shouting back, in teenager fashion, which personally was not my favorite. He now has blossomed into an adult fighter who has learned all of my tricks and no longer falls for my petty attempts for attention. His fighting style is now that of a mature adult who's fights resembles more of a discussion than adolescent bickering. To the husband, I say Bravo! Congratulations! However for me, it's back to the drawing board. I've got 5 more months of pregnancy, I need to find his weakness and use it to my advantage. (insert evil echo laughter here)

Baby doctor day!

It's time for my monthly baby doctor visit. I'm just a teeny bit excited, hoping she'll do another ultrasound and this time the baby will actually resemble a baby instead of the pinto bean it looked like at 6 weeks. I'm also a bit weary, I've got to step on the BIG scale today. I'm hoping the scale won't lie and get me in trouble. I'm only suppose to gain 5-10lbs the entire pregnancy. Is this goal realistic, not really. And of course there's nothing like knocking a relatively confident woman down a peg or two by making her weight herself. However, fat or not fat, every woman is somewhat comfortable with her body. She may not like the fact that her thighs look slightly like cottage cheese, or that her belly is closer to a keg than a six pack, or that her increasing amount of wrinkles can no longer pass as "laugh lines". But there comes a point in our lives when we step back from ourselves, take a deep breath and evaluate where we are in life. Everything we currently have is everything we've always wanted. And we stop caring about how other perceive us, realize that who loves us now is who really matters and start living our lives. We say heck with the stereotype that women must all be one size and decide to enjoy that piece of pie, savor that slice of cake or revel in the taste of that fresh baked cookie. We go out to dinner just because it sounds like a good idea and we set out on a course to enjoy everything life has to offer. For today, I'm just hoping the doctor doesn't yell at me :)

Please explain...

Old Navy is selling maternity THONGS!?! Their description read as follows:

Designed especially for moms-to-be! Cotton-spandex blend is wonderfully soft and stretchy. Cute thong cut eliminates panty lines. Elastic waistband fits snugly under tummy, with lustrous elastic trim for style and comfort.

What on God's green earth makes them think that:
A) We would need one more thing to make us uncomfortable especially in the form of dental floss
b) We are in need of something cute to attract the opposite of sex, apparently we are not lacking in THAT department
c) These would even look remotely cute on our butts that now require their own postal zip code.
d) That with the million other things going on we'd be worried about panty lines!

Not to mention that these are described as "low-rise" Honey, when your belly is expanding everyday, everything is low rise. Nothing fits like it use to and everything falls well below the belly not to be seen again for the better part of a year. Forget cute panites, give me the good old-fashion granny panties. The kind with pink and blue flowers, that come half way up to your boobs and have enough material in the butt to blanket the state of Texas. I'm much less likely to suffer from perpetual plumbers crack with those.

Bonus Days!

It once again is the arrival of the holiest of holy days. The days that make my heart flutter, my step and my wallet a little light. Clinque bonus days! Oh how I treasure thee. I can barely wait to go down and see what our special little present will be this time! And how wonderful is it that I have $20 left over on a Macy's gift card from forever ago. I will try to resist purchasing everything the counter girl suggests, but I'm simply not responsible for any purchases made during these stress full times. Happy shopping!

It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's just me having a fat day

I meant to do laundry this weekend. I brought everything down sorted it into piles and somehow got distracted by the kitchen that couldn't keep itself clean. So my wonderful husband said he'd help and do several loads of laundry! How sweet, considering he was sick most of the weekend. Secretly I think he was feeling useless and needed something productive to make him feel like he contributed. But either way, it helped out a lot. Then I remembered why I don't let him do laundry. Everything goes into one load on warm and EVERYTHING goes into the dryer. Not to mention that his folding skills leave something to be desired. I also discovered that of the three loads he did, almost all of it were his clothes. Oh I had a few select items thrown in for good measure, but were any of the pants that actually still fit washed? Nope, how about the three bras that still fit? Nah, and forget anything else appropriate to wear to work. Hence today I am wearing a parachute. I was able to find in the far recesses of my closet, a pair of cargo pants that sadly resemble parachute material. I swish when I walk, I have strings with no purpose hanging from my legs and way too many zippered pockets to be absolutely necessary. Not to mention that nothing looks good with them. Good thing no one at work is really worth impressing. I could come in wearing a garbage bag and they'd just be happy to see me on a Monday.

Here's your sign...

The husband and I had to attend a wedding over the weekend. My stepsister's big day had finally arrived. Naturally, I tried to look impeccably put together, but as usual I failed miserably. I had chosen not to purchase a special dress for the occasion, instead I wore a dress that I adored but only had worn one other time. Unfortunately, to my own dismay, one half hour before we were scheduled to arrive, I put my dress on only to find that I looked WAY more pregnant in this get-up than I should. I was just 2 weeks shy of beginning my 4th month, however it looked like I had stuffed a half deflated beach ball down my dress. Now what! However with no other alternatives I grabbed my pashmina, sucked up my pride and my stomach and headed out the door. The husband tried to reassure me I looked wonderful, but I think he could sense my hostility and was just trying to avoid world war 5. While at the wedding I felt comfortable in the safety of my church pew that no one could judge me. However at the reception was a completely different story. I felt like everyone was staring at me, in awe of how large I was. And sadly most of these people probably just figured I was just really FAT! Which just made the situation even worse. I decided I needed a sign for all the onlookers that read:

"No, I'm not this fat, I'm pregnant, thanks"

After two pieces of cake, which I thought would make me feel better, I told the husband I wanted to go home a wallow in my own misery.

Sunday, feeling just as fat and looking considerably more pregnant than yesterday, if that was even possible, I decided to test my theory. I donned a shirt that a friend had given to me several weeks ago that read "I heart baby" right across my belly. Genius! Now there shall be no confusion as to why my belly had the circumference of a yoga ball. However, this plan back-fired, people continued starting, most with blank looks on their faces of complete confusion as to what my shirt actually said. That's just great, people, maybe next time I'll try a cardboard sign. Or maybe I'm just cranky today.