However, as most of the three of you that read this blog now know, I get a sick, twisted amusement from writing about the things that bug me, amaze me with their stupidity, or just strike me as something all three of you readers should share with me. However, for the last seven to ten days, absolutely nothing outrageous, irritating, or even really funny has happened. So instead, I will just quickly fill you in on whats been going down...
1. I broke up with my scale. I hate him, he hates me, and if one more person reminds me that I am pregnant and its natural to gain weight, I will break up with you too. Lemme explain it to you: for the past ten to fifteen years, one of my at least underlying concerns has been to not be a fat, fat, Fatty McFatterson. I mean everytime I read a magazine, got on Yahoo!, or flipped the channels I was sure to check out the latest lose five pounds in five days meal plan, exercise plan, life plan, or Spanx plan. I had a number in my mind I would never reach on the scale and, well, I reached that numbet at some point in college, bumped the number up ten pounds, and have now, all of a sudden surpassed that number. And my scale laughed at me. That evil Bwahahahaha type of laugh. And if everyone was down with the whole gain 65 pounds during your pregnancy thing, it might not be a big deal. But no, everything you read/hear is this magical 25-35 pound mark. Well, what about when you gain 4 in one week? OMG. If I continue to gain four pounds per week for the remaining 23 weeks I have, I will gain like eighty something pounds. But, as of this week, I have decided to no longer worry about this magical 25-35 pound number. Screw it. And screw my scale. I repeat: I hate you. I have always hated you. And I will not let you take the satisfaction I am currently getting out of Popeyes fried chicken away from me. This is the only time in my life that I can skip over every magazine article regarding weight loss or fitness and go right to the "15 Recipes Involving Butter and Bacon" article. Whew....I feel better. And rounder.
2. I bought something for my Peanut. Please note, I am refering to the fetus as MY Peanut. Almost like a term of endearment. See, I am a sweet, nuturing person. Take that 10th grade Home Ec teacher who chastised me for losing that durn egg baby. Twice. Its an egg. They get lost. And break. And maybe even hardboiled. Sometimes, just for fun. But, I digress. I went to see the wonderful lady at the baby nursery place in Jackson (Bethany at Nursery Rhymes if anyone is particulary interested or nosy) and she seemed a little dismayed that I did not have any ideas for my nursery nor was I particularly excited about starting to plan/buy/overindulge for my unborn child. She basically told me to get with the program, buy something for my child, and do it fast. Apparently twenty three weeks is not as long as it sounds. And apparently by week seventeen, most women have at least bought a sock or picture or something for their fetus. Not me. I mean, I am still buying for myself. Which leaves no time or money for the baby. I figure the he/she will take enough of my time and money in approximately twenty three weeks so why rush it? HOWEVER, Saturday, with the stern talking to from Bethany still on my mind, I ended up Play Pen. Never been in that store. Nothing too surprising - they have baby stuff for any of you who have always wondered. But anyways, I was flipping through some rugs because, well because they were just hanging there begging to be flipped through, and I ran across one that I liked. And it was on sale. And . . . I bought it. There you have it ladies and gentlemen. My baby has its very own rug - a rug that my husband was quick to point out is mostly white and will probably be ruined within the first year, but a rug nonetheless. This was quickly followed by a decision about my crib, the wall color, found a dresser I like, found a glider, an ottoman, and a bookcase. Oh, and I bought a mirror I found on clearance. Not sure if I am using it for the nursery or giving it to myself as a happy for buying something for my child. It would look really good in the guest bathroom. Old habits die hard I guess. Regardless, I got the whole nursery planned out in my head and still not real sure why everyone gets so freaked out by this nursery mess. I mean I planned the whole thing in like twenty minutes. And your putting a baby in there people. Its not like it knows how to talk to complain if he/she doesn't like it. But, I do have a plan and a plan that I think is relatively not bad. Now to find someone to pay for it....
3. My mother cleaned out her house to make room for the grandbaby. Which apparently means forcing everything you have ever left at her house (for the main reason of you not particularly wanting it but not wanting to throw it away either) on you. She sent me home with boxes of old photos, memorabilia, and the like. And so, tonight, I sat down and started going through it. It started out innocently enough - 8th grade dance, 9th grade homecoming, church camp. But then somewhere about halfway down in that box things got real. The older I got in the pictures, the more fun I seemed to be having. And pictures don't lie. I remember these things clearly - and I was really having a really really good time, I mean really. It bothers me a little that most of these pictures were from only about ten years ago, And there is a part of me, that would give anything to go back to that senior trip or the Neshoba County Fair or even that Jitney Jungle parking lot. And not really to do anything differently, just to do it again. I mean how did everything change in just ten years. I went from worried if the guy with the cool sunglasses would be at the field party Friday night to worried about tax refunds and episiotomies in less than ten years. But there is another part of me that is petrified. My parents are very smart/decent/good people. And I called to check tonight - I didn't get away with nearly as I would like to think I did. I think they just figured it was easier to let me make my own mistakes (most of which I have yet to regret) and hope for the best. But, I know what I have done and put my parents through over the past ten to fifteen years. And even worse, I know my husband was basically just as hard on his parents. So, does this mean that my child, my sweet little 7 inch baby is going to do this to me? Is he/she going to one day in like twenty-seven years go through a box of old photos and call me up just to say, "Sorry Mom for all that. I mean it was fun, but gosh I was dumb. Glad I made it out okay." The answer is no, and Peanut if you are reading this, the answer is no because you are never leaving the house. Now go get back in your bubble.
I was not hard on my Parents. I was a sweet, helpful, God fearing child, and my parents were lucky to have had me around. Just thought I would clear that up.
ReplyDeleteThis is the Husband by the way. Not Ashley. Seems she has been on my computer again.
ReplyDelete