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    What the hell was I thinking?

    January 4, 2009

    Which, might I say, sounds like a new maternity tee.  Maybe with hockey sticks in lieu of the L’s.

    I was lying on the couch today watching Iron Chef and getting really nauseated.  Not from the food (even though it was beans) but from the speed at which Bobby Flay was moving.  Would that be motion sick then?  I don’t know.  I had a long day.  I went out to lunch with the girls in the ‘hood for Alicia’s birthday and we discussed everything that anyone could discuss in three hours. Including my husband’s lesbian ex-wife’s tell-all book that we are going to start a book club JUST so we can read it together.  Except I don’t want to pay for the book unless she’s gonna send back some of that alimony he paid her.  All the big ticket items.  Three hours.  I think our waiter wanted to kill us.  I would have killed us.  I felt for him.  I mean, when I wasn’t breaking one of my first New Year’s resolutions, which is to save the general public from seeing my butt crack at every turn.

    Could someone explain to me what is so damn difficult for the maternity clothing makers to make a pair of pants that don’t want to make its way to your KNEES at the earliest convenience.  Having already sacrificed fashion AND embraced elastic, you think the elastic could just hold up a pair of pants.  Grant it, the pants are probably on their 10th pregnancy after having been passed around but elastic is not a difficult concept, people.

    And there is nothing nastier than a pregnant backside bearing pink flowered maternity thong underwear.  It isn’t necessary.  But I can’t keep my pants up.  I have contemplated suspenders but how would that work?  Would I have to wear suspenders that go up my sides and over my arms? It’s not like suspenders would make maternity fashion any tackier.  You think we would have gotten rid of the bows by now but NO.

    So I would just like to take this opportunity to apologize to everyone who had to see my ass today because I couldn’t hold up my pants with both hands.  I needed one to wield my fork.  I mean, you don’t think my ass is getting this big out of sheer luck, do ya?

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    Not just another boring cereal blog

    February 13, 2007

    Sunday, February 11, 2007

    7:30 a.m.  Wake up
    7:40 a.m. Shower
    8:25 a.m.  Eat cheesecake.  Only a piece but want to eat half of cake.
    9:00 a.m.  Contraction.
    9:12 a.m.  Arrive at church for 9:00 a.m. service because God forbid we ever arrive on time.
    10:45 a.m.  Go to Target because now seems like a good time to get latch to install carseat.  No latch.
    11:14 a.m.  Go to other Target.  Larger, only same stuff with greater quantity.  No latch.  No bike for The Boy, which has now been added to list.
    11:43 a.m.  Lunch at Famous Dave’s.  Eat pulled pork sandwich, all of The Boy’s chicken fingers, all french fries at our table and the table beside us.  Start to notice contractions.
    12:45 p.m.  Head to Babies-R-Us for latch because now seems like a really, really good time to put car seat in car.  Have more contractions in Babies-R-Us because I can’t find anything.  Common reaction by anyone in Babies-R-Us.  Think nothing of it.
    1:15 p.m.  Get in bed at home to make contractions stop.  Husband decides to put car seat in car and truck.
    2:30 p.m.  Suspicious sounds of husband’s truck driving off.
    3:00 p.m.  Confirmation truck is gone and husband is at Wal-Mart.  See the color red. Have more contractions
    3:32 p.m.  Husband arrives home and realizes error of his ways.  Too late.  Has bike for The Boy so not in dog house with everyone.
    4:45 p.m.  Arrive at sister’s house because it seems smarter to be closer to birth center rather than further away.  Eat all of sister’s pita and hummus in house.  Dump off The Boy, who begins to party like rock star with his cousins.
    5:30 p.m  Call midwife.  Sheepishly complain of contractions every 5 minutes.  Can’t really talk but not really noticing it.  Told to go to center.
    6:00 p.m.  Midwife drives up to center to find me hunched over mid-contraction, 5 cm dialated, trying to steal wireless connection from the neighbor.
    6:30 p.m  Get into jacuzzi bathtub.  Not as much fun when in labor as when NOT in labor but much better than rolling on the floor.  Realize that it was better that there was no wireless connection to blog because everyone knows a jacuzzi, laptop and labor make a deadly combination.
    7:00 p.m.  Go to restroom, cause husband to panic that I might have baby in the toilet, which I of course have no intention of doing. 
    7:38 p.m  Water breaks in bathroom in an Alien-like scene, spraying all 5 people in the bathroom.  Seems ironically fitting since there were 5 people in the bathroom the size of the lav on a 737. 
    7:39 p.m  Crawl to bed of horribly decorated room reminiscent of tacky southern colonial-style B&B run by a woman named Mae, determined to have baby in a bed like a normal decent woman. 
    7:47 p.m.  Begin screaming manically “Get him OUT.  SOMEONE GET HIM OUT.  I JUST WANT HIM OUT.”
    7:48 p.m.  Give birth to the sweetest baby in the whole world.  Am really glad I did NOT have a silent birth.

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    When asked by the midwife where the dark curly hair came from, my sister casually remarked that he looked a lot like Mike, the UPS guy

    February 12, 2007

    Introducing Nathan Clark, ata 7:48 p.m., 2/11/2007, 8 lbs. 8 oz., 21 inches.

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    Self-Portrait, Mid-contraction, just after realizing that my husband had snuck out of the house to go to Wal-Mart

    February 11, 2007

    38 weeks, 8 days, possibly in labor, all alone

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    I just want to know WHEN I can eat a handful of chocolate covered raisins without getting heartburn

    February 7, 2007

    That’s a rhetorical question, People.  The first person that leaves the “when you give birth, you can have chocolate covered raisins” comment will find me unexpectedly at their front door, ready to beat them senseless with a blunt object.  You too, Tara.  Don’t think you are immune because you live on an island.

    I would like to take this opportunity to thank God for the 1/16 of an inch of snow He sent showering down on us last night.  It was pretty.  I would like to kick the county in the shins for cancelling school for the entire day due to that 1/16 of an inch.  You would think we live in Atlanta. 

    K:  I’m taking The Boy to school soon.
    D:  Babe, the county cancelled school today.
    D:  I heard it on the radio.
    K:  They cancelled Mada’s and Carter’s school and I just laughed, laughed, laughed at Jen this morning.
    D:  They cancelled ours too.
    K:  Bastards.  What am I supposed to do with this kid today?
    D:  Gotta go.

    The man has perfect timing.  Meanwhile the kid is running around the house yelling “Haircut, Mommy, haircut” repeatedly.  He has had a total of 2 haircuts in his 2 years and it has been 8 weeks since the last one.  And it’s not like when he was there they handed him a triple scoop cone of chocolate ice cream and let him sit in a pool of whipped cream while he got his haircut.  I mean, Bob the Barber was nice, but it wasn’t the kind of event that would have him talking about it 8 weeks later.  8 weeks later and he still looks like a Marine.  I don’t even know what Bob will be able to do to his head.  It sounds like something a father and son should do together, don’t you think?

    I gotta go vomit up those chocolate covered raisins and then download some music for labor.  Any suggestions?  Leave them in the comments and I’ll take you up on them.  I’ll even let you know how dialated I was when I listened to your music.  And how many contractions I had.  Oooo, fun, fun.  

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    Self Portrait

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