i been caught stealing once when i was five i enjoy stealing it's a simple as that

It is Tuesday, Confessional Day, which has is a recent addition to Tuesday - Diarrhea Day, which is still in full force in our house. I think my immune system is getting back at me for buying yet another bag. Oh nuts - I owe you all a picture of said bag. However, said bag and camera are downstairs and considering that I some digestive issues and the lung capacity of a small squirrel, I am not moving. It will have to wait.

So... on to Tuesday Confession day. The other day, I watched the movie Eight Below with Paul Walker in it. It truly is a great and heartwarming story - I cried all the way through it. It would seem, however, that my subconscious, or my "ID" if you will for those Dr. Freud lovers out there was not so interested in the fluffy dogs and their sweet courageness. It was MUCH more interested in Paul Walkers' apparently perfect bone structure and fabulous abs, because I dreampt about them ALL NIGHT!
The main premise of my dream - and I'm only sharing this because I find it totally amusing - was that Paul and I somehow ended up as roommates in college (too cute!), and I of course immediately had a huge crush on him. But my sad little co-ed self esteem was sure he would never even look at me because he is SO HOT! But, one fateful day in the cafeteria, my sweet roomie Paul stuck up for me when the lunch lady said I had missed the deadline for pie (I was very distraught), and he used his suave and charm and got me my pie! True love!!! Later that day as we were both brushing our teeth in our tiny bathroom, we locked eyes, and then kissed with gooey toothpaste mouths. I'll leave the rest to your imagination, but suffice it to say, I will never watch a Paul Walker movie the same again. Heavy sigh.
Anyway, do the rest of you have dreams like this? And then do you feel guilty because your husband was not your nighttime McDreamy? I do!! Especially when I keep reliving that first kiss feeling over and over during the next day. It somehow seems wrong. I asked Ammon if he ever has dreams about other people, ex-girlfriends, etc., and he is always really vague and says that there is never a face and that he hardly ever remembers any of it. I knew it! I am a tramp in my dreams!
So Paul Walker is one thing since I've never met the man *sniff* and never will *sniff sniff*, but what about when you dream about an ex? Is this like your mind wanting to cheat? What's a little alarming to me is that since the PW dream, I have had similar dreams every single night since, but all with an old boyfriend, and mostly the same one. Yeeeeek! Do you ever wonder if your old boyfriends dream about you? My sister keeps in touch with the sister of one of my old boyfriends (was that a long enough connection?). Should I find out? I think not, because there really is no surreptitious way around that. "So, do you ever dream about Micaela?" "No, why would I? Is she so sad still that she dreams about me all the time even though she is happily married and so am I? Pathetic." This is a conversation I prefer to not take place. But darn it I'm curious!!!

I must hear all your stories out there. Be not afraid to post! This is true confessions time! Do you dream about ex boyfriends or just the Paul Walker/Jon Favreau/Zack Braff dreams (those are my most recent celebrity dreams). Tell all!! I must know!!! Really, you will be setting my heart at rest. Unless you are commenting that I am an unfaithful girl who should be punished for her subconscious' nightly escapades through the land of the naughty.

Chestnuuuuuuts roasting on an open fiiiiiiiiiire. Jack Frosssst nipping at your noooooooose.

I have a proposition for all of you. And NO, to those of you with the dirty minds - shame on you! Not THAT kind of proposition.

Due to the extreeeeeemely inflated ego I have developed as a result of all of your kind comments about the sheer hilarity of my life and how much you think I, little old moi should write a book, I have decided, to write a book! Well, that may be overshooting the mark a titch. Maybe we could just call it a jaunty little collection of my thoughts and whims as related to....and here's where you come in.

Realizing that I have no ability to create and actual storyline or any sensical dialogue, I was thinking my "book" could be more "bloggeresque" if you will. Just a sort of collection of my thoughts on as many subjects as I can think of and have the ninnies to write about.

So, I would like your ideas. What subjects would you like to take my critical eye, cynical views and slightly irreverent notions to? Pregnancy can certainly be added to list, although it may make more sense to make that it's OWN "book", although if you like that idea, than I want to know what you think my chapters should be.
Example: Chapter 1 "My thoughts and feelings on...pee inducing vomit". Too much?

The questions then are these:

1) Should I nip this is the bud with my salad tongs, or perservere - on to fame and much glorying?
2) If you think I should nip this in the bud, please turn around, find the cord that connects to your hard drive, and PULL IT OUT OF THE WALL YOU DISLOYAL MEANIE!!! You are forever banned from my blog!
If you suggested that I persevere, please move on to Question 3.
3)What format should the "book" take? A bloogeresque/Bridget Jones'ish diary approach with salacious stories and smoot. Or is that Smut? Aaaah yes. Smoot was someone who had a building name after him at BYU. Anywho.
OR: I could do a bitter diatribe about the ravaging furnaces of hell that are pregnancy.

4) If you like the former bloggeresque (that word looks more and more like booger everytime I type it) mode of writing, I need SUBJECTS. And lots of them. Give me anything! It could be about Diet Coke - Nectar of the Gods, or about Britneys lack of cotton for the nethers. Although I really don't think there is enough to fill a whole chapter on that. There isn't much more to say than "GOOD LAND WOMAN. YOU HAVE TWO CHILDREN. No one wants to see your goodies anymore". Get your naked little bottom over to KMart and by yourself some Jaclyn Smith panties and stop scaring the children - yours and the rest of the world."

Anyway. Thoughts?

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell.

Whoooooaaaablleleeeeecccchhhhh. I don't really know how to spell the sound effects of one barfing, but that is peaceful background music of the evening. This week has been a non-stop circus cacapohany of disgusting bodily functions. Wheee!
It started with me on Sunday coughing up whatever sludge had apparently taken up residence in my lungs and of course was accompanied by noseblowing, sneezing, hacking, and many varieties of something that sounded like: "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".
Monday was Addy providing me with the most monstruous baby throw ups you have ever seen. She actually threw up so much on me that not only did she cover my whole sweater, half a leg and the floor from wall to wall, but somehow managed to save an extra cup of the chunky stuff for...mommy's cleavage. The funny thing is that I did my darnedest to mop it out, but it was so cold outside that it turned into milky ice chunks in there! NOT A PLEASANT SENSATION!!
The next day was Tuesday, and Tuesday's at our house are..... Diarrhea Day!!! (how in the world do you spell that??) You might be suprised at the force with which a 15 lb baby is able to expel things from that tiny little scphincter. But don't let's it's small size fool you...that little schpincter could blow a Hell's Angel off his hog!!! She seems to really enjoy it too. She gets this almost Dr. Evil'ish laugh going after a good puke or blowout.
Wednesday proved to be Vomit Day round 2, Daddy Style. I have never in my life known someone who throws up as often, or with as much pure force than Ammon. Seriously - he pulled his shoulder this time from wretching so hard - and this is not a first. Poor man. I'm worried that he either going to get hemerroids from straining so hard, or that vein in his neck will just explode! There's got to be a medication for this sort of thing. If this doesn't happen from the barfing, it will surely happen because of the competitive Diarrhea Ammon was also working on on Wed. Whether he was competing with Addy, or his stomach, I don't know. Just let me say, that I was the big loser that day. In many ways.
Thursday is groan day. Groan because you're tired. Groan because your shoulder hurts. Groan because you haven't thrown up but you wish you would. Grown because your XBox isn't working and neither is On Demand. I'll let Ammon know how much sympathy this elicited.

And on to everyone's favorite day of the week...FRIDAY!

In my house, it's Friday-stick-your-finger-down-your-throat day. And no, I am not a bulimic. I seem to have developed a queer medical condition where I can swallow nothing larger that the size of a gnat without violently thrashing around and making strange gurgling noises (Cassy can attest to this) whilst I try to tame the wild beast in my throat. This has gone on my entire life, much to the amusement of all my family who totally ignore me now when it happens, and the friends that happen to witness it for the first time and find my family to be HIGHLY insensitive since no one lifts a finger to help me. It has also allowed many high minded folk (occasionally doctors) that kindly let me know that I AM CRAZY PEOPLE and it's all in my head. Hmmm. I hadn't ever thought of that. Thank you!! Problem solved!!! For those of you out there who may have made these comments at one point. I don't hold it against you. I may tell you that you might want to pluck your toe hair as rebuttal.

Anyway, it's been especially bad this week for 2 reasons: during pregancy, it was grand. I could swallow eighteen Satsuma's in one shot and not even bat an eye (there are some small advantages to having every smooth muscle in your body just poop out and relax for 9 months). But soon after I delivered...zzzzzzzwwwwwppppp. It snapped shut like a mouse trap and I cannot even swallow my happy drug and an ibuprofen together, much less anything larger - like those HORSE CALCIUM PILLS!! How does anyone swallow these? Your espohagus would have to be a 2" diameter plastic pipe hose!
Back to this week. I have also (as noted on Sunday) had a cold which added to a bit of swelling in those regions which has caused even greater troubles. In the last two days, I have choked on: an antidepressant, a piece of bread, bagel, french fries, and lettuce. How does one choke on lettuce? It's mostly water anyway!
This would all be much less problematic if a) they would come straight back up or go all the way down (they like to lodge roughly right in between my boobs for about 30 mins or so, all the while giving me strange gassy pains and gassy sounds and gurgling noises again, or...b) if it didn't happen AT MY DESK~! It happened 4 times in the last 2 days that I have either tried to "choke discreetly" in my trash can (I put quotes in because I think the phrase choke discreetly is an oxymoron), or run maddly to the bathroom with my hand over my mouth while making noises that sound similar to what I think a drowning seal would sound like. sort of a half bark/gurgle.
Anyway, I know they all think I'm bulimic. I'll prove it to them too: "Hey baby, you don't come by this size 14/16 doing nothin! You gotta work at it girl!" You'd have to be pretty dim to think I was a bulimic.

Anywho, that is my blooogering of the night. It is 9:38 and soooo WAY past Mommy's bedtime. I am pathetic.

Aaaaahhh - on a happy note - tomorrow is a MOMENTOUS OCCASION. Hold your breath..........for tomorrow, I have FINALLY FOUND and will receive in my hot little hand......................................................................................................................................



THE PERFECT BAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I would show you a picture now but that would ruin the surprise. Check baby tomorrow for Mama's Christmas present to herself! Is it in poor taste to actually wrap it and put in under the tree? Perhaps not, but why waste this month when I can be GALIVANTING AROUND TOWN WITH IT like some cool famous person.

Do I love you my oh my? River Deep Mountain High yeah yeah yeah. If I lost you would I cry? Oh how I love you baby, baby, baby, BABY!

I find it really amusing how many concerned emails I have gotten about my "Ambien Addiction". I must also add that I am feeling a teensy defensive, and would like to explain my medical rational behind said addiction:
I NEED DRUGS.
Well...perhaps not, but it truly has gone like this: after not being able to sleep all summer due to excessive stressful events that will remain a mystery too all of you, my doctor put me on Ambien (per my request I should add if I'm being utterly truthful). And I've been taking it ever since for the following reasons:
a) I really am a chronic insomniac and really don't sleep without it
b) It's really really fun
c) I really am a closet drug addict and this is the only legal way I can satiate my need for the ultimate high. However, as I have no other point of reference, Ambien may not actually be the ULTIMATE high, which means I am buggered.

Really though - for all you concerned souls out there, my doctor told me very recently that he doesn't want me to stop taking it until our lives settle down a little more (i.e. never), and that it's not hurting me (minus the general spaciness and loss of intellect).
Do you realize how many times I just said "really"? I must stop.
Also, I write about Ambien a lot because it makes me do VERY strange and amusing things (like buying fat sucker-in-ers at 5am - aaaaah, good times).

OK so enough of my defensive stance. So, on to the question that is burning holes in your hot little minds....what is Micaela up to now, and what has she purchased, eaten, or crashed into lately?
There are of course many fun stories for all of the above, but in consideration of the busy lives of those reading this, let me sum up:
Since I last blogged, I have:
1) crashed our new car
2) seriously considered heaving the dog off the roof as she peed on the new rug for the 28th time. Why she feels like that fluffy white rug is her own personal toilet when she has a whole yard to pee in is beyond my comprehension
3) made the worlds worst ebay purchase ever (see above)
4) hosted 1100 people in my house over one weekend. OK; 7
5) not lost a single pound (yeah me!)
6) bought and forced my daughter to wear not one, but two Halloween costumes (none of which were actually worn on Halloween mind you)
7) had a very intersting conversation with someone in Latvia who was jamming out to Tina Turner in the background
8)consumed so much Diet Coke that I now bleed aspartame

Notes to the above:
1 - I am fine. No, Addy was not in the car. Yes, it was my fault. Yes, I had only had the car for one week. Yes, I crashed the Subaru after I had owned it for a week as well. No, I have not been sent back to Driver's Ed. Yet.

3 - Two words: Dust Rhinos. I saw this lovely rug at Pottery Barn (online only of course - I never buy things I've actually seen in person), and loved it so much, I searched eBay everyday with religious zeal until I found the same one. Thinking I was making a fabulous purchase and getting a great deal to boot, I immediately clicked Buy. My life has not been the same since. Never in my life have I seen one item create so much STUFF without having actually mated one of it's own and procreating. I swear I have already vacuumed up at least 5 complete rugs. How there is one piece of thread left on that floor, I will never understand. I have found what Ammon likes to call Dust Rhinos in every conceivable corner of the house, including, but not limited to: the garage, the neighbors yard, Addy's crib, and my tub. Not only can the rug multiply - it can also FLY.
And to top it all off, Idgie thinks this magical wonder of a rug is the happening venue for her daily potty party. Would anyone like to purchase a rug that magically multiplies and has 3800 "pet stains"? It's from Pottery Barn!

5) Two words: Orange Cupcakes. (or this that three? we must ask Mr. Hostess)

7) No, this was not a new husband I was trying to recruit for my harem from the Eastern Bloc, but someone for WORK. We were talking in a garbled, unintelligible, and pretty hilarious mix of Latvian and English. I think it's called Latvenglish, and the speakers of said language are known to pepperr their conversations with lyrics like "WHHOOOOA WHAT'S LOVE got to do got to with it. WHAT"S LOVE but a seconhand emotion?"

8) No explanation necessary. There was actually some discussion yesterday about the possibility of a Diet Coke fountain. Excellent notion.

As a final update, I must also confess that I have developed an alarming new guilty pleasure: watching The Bachelor. I'm obsessed! Who will Lorenzo pick? Will Sadie give up her virginity? Is there anyone more vuglgar in the world than the chick who keeps wearing crowns and referring to everyone else as commoners? If you understood any of what I was talking about, I feel your pain sister. It's a sickness.

Who ever said that life on this planet would ever be paradise?

Anyone that knew that the title is an obscure Oingo Boingo lyric gets an extra 50 points.

I am sitting at my desk, happily (or not) trying to do my work, but am horribly distracted by the two crazies across from me speaking Dutch in extremely loud tones. Do you know what Dutch sounds like? I was going to try and mimic it but I give up. It cannot be duplicated. What makes it even more annoying is that it is a guy trying to teach our latest sacrificial newbie about a system of ours, but of course, there are no Dutch words for 95% of what they are talking about so it sounds more like this: "...Logoport blah la ble ble blah security ooofshe bloglog not user friendly anuuuu toolbar open segment translate lala iffffdahling click get match". WHY BOTHER?? and WHY IS THIS BOTHERING ME?

Is it because the new woman has eyebrows the size of small volkswagens that she very obviously takes great time and care with? My former Wells Fargo coworker suggested I leave a pair of tweezers on her desk with a note "from a friend". While this is an excellent notion, it would probably just serve to confuse her because she obviously thinks they are wonderful. She also wears excessive amounts of perfume, laughs way too loud, and generally makes me very jealous and insecure because she is new but has much more experience than me, and I'm afraid my boss will realize how truly clueless I am and fire my sad little bottom on the spot. Sigh.

She's dressed in yellow she says hello come sit next to me you fine fellow. You run over there without a second to lose and what comes next...

hey you bust-a-move.

OK seriously. Has taking Ambien made me lose IQ points? If so, we are in trouble because I am already at dangerously low levels post-baby. I don't have much more to lose! I was reading back over my blog (again. I am very self involved) and I have some of the saddest and most pathetic grammatical/spelling/pure taste errors I have ever seen! It looks like my little babykins Addy wrote this blog! I am so ashamed. As one who claims to be a Super Speller (4th place in the 4th grade spelling contest don't mean nothing, yo!), I am mightily embarassed at such a lack of good and proper English. Deepest apologies.

Anyway. Other than the obvious loss of intellingence it seems to cause, I now have an even deeper and more abiding love for my favorite drug. When I ran out last week (AAAHHHHHHHH!!! I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!!!! I MUST BREAK INTO THE SAFEWAY PHARMACY AND STEAL ALL THEIR AMBIEN!!!!!!!!!!!!! that wouldn't be dishonest would it? alright fine) I took 2 (because the bottle says so, darn it!) Tylenol PM's, only to discover that in addition to the weight of my head increasing by 45 lbs, I also developed that oh so fun nocturnal joy called "Restless Leg Syndrome". This is actually a real syndrome. Typically it is experienced by old people on lots of meds, but I seem to have pushed myself into that category at an early age.
So, restless leg syndrome is where you feel the unquenchable urge to shake and wiggle your legs around like a complete spastic crazy person until either the meds wear off, or the weight of your head becomes so great that you are overcome with sleep (the latter is what finally happened to me). I don't think that's what the AMA Diagnositc Journal says, but so be it.

So after roughly 3 hours of Tylenol PM induced death-sleep, my alarm went off to me experiencing what I can only imagine feels like the worst hangover anyone has ever had. Minus the barfing. Needless to say, I was just a titch (2 hours) late to work that day because I didn't feel it would be safe for me to operate heavy machinery. Luckily for me, my boss and fellow co-workers were sympathetic as they too have experienced the TPM hangover. And of course, they had all sorts of natural remedies to recommend for insomnia - remember, I live in Boulder - home of the overly obsessed herbalists/naturalists/vegans/physical fitness addicts/ and other such health enthusiasts/crazy people. Did you know that I know of at least 4 people in my office that actually go RUNNING at lunch and come back and use the showers in the bathroom? I know those exist in lots of office buildings, but I have never in my life met someone who really USED one. And I wonder why I could stand to lose a few LB's myself. =)

"Well, enough gloom for one day!" (name the movie and i'll give you $100000). I'm off to try and sleep without the assistance of a tiny white pill. Or.....not.
In closing, here are a couple of pictures of my little button. Is there anything cuter than a naked baby? Definitely not a naked old person.
OK so she does not look terribly thrilled in this picture. I swear she really enjoys her baths! Honest!




Doesn't she look like she's going to attack you in this picture?

The dogs have commandeered the baby's piggy chair. How rude.

i'm waaaay too pooped to think of a good song title, so blaaaaaaaahhhh.

Um. Yes. Why did no one kindly remind me that working full time is butt hard? And it is significantly butt harder to work and have a baby in day care. And his the butt hardest to work, have a baby in day care, and a husband getting a phd. Why did know one talk me out of this craziness? Calgon, take me awaaaaay!!!
My job is actually very intersting, but with the sad side effect that people at this company actually seem to work! It't the weirdest thing, but I walk in in the morning, and NOT ONE PERSON is surfing the net! No CNN, no gossip blogs, nothing! This does not bode well for me as I am used to having my requisite 4 hours of internet surfing everyday. I don't know how I'm going to be able to handle doing ACTUAL work for 8 FULL HOURS!!! This might explain why I have been mainlining Diet Coke these last two weeks. I literally do not have enough energy to hit the space bar, much less type a whole email without it. Soooo, if I have been slacking on the personal emails, I am very sorry. I miss it more than words can say.
Aaaaaah - there's my song of the day..."I need you nooooooow, more than words can say, I need you nooooooow. I've gotta find a way, I need you nooooooow. Before I lose my miiiiiiiiiiid, I need you now".
I'm going to lose my mind if I write any more of that songs lyrics.

So, you will all be alarmed to learn that I at a dangerously low supply of Ambien. The red light has started flashing and the alarm is blaring!! Luckily, one of my fellow addicts has kindly offered to send me a stash until my insurance kicks in and I can have more. Dang insurance. Do you any of you find it a little alarming that I am actually having someone send me drugs via USPS to feed my addiction? I think I need to move to Compton and live in a crack house. I might fit in better.

So yesterday, I had a bunch of errands to run. I dropped off Ammon at school, picked up a 800 ozer of DC, went shopping at the outlets, bought a car, picked up Ammon, and went home. Full day, no?

I should also warn you that the purse addiction has reared it's ugly head again. I have found need for a different size/color/shape/personality etc. and of course the first 3 I have purchased are not QUITE it yet. I think I may be becoming OCD. But only with purses. Is there some other fun medication I can start for that?

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly...I'll do what it takes til I touch the sky

I CANNOT get Kelly Clarkson out of my head! Perhaps this is because I was belting along with her in the car this evening and the lyrics have now been permanently etched into my subconscious. Before any of you starting making fun of me for enjoying my Kelly Clarkson, I ask you to take a close look at yourselves and be honest about YOUR guilty pleasures. Is it Dr. 90210? Jennifer Lopez romantic comedies? Or maybe just everything every written about Britney that you can get your hands on? Fess up now. Enquiring minds want to know! Actually, now that I write this, I really do want to know. So let's take a survey: please respond via comment as to what your favorite guilty pleasure is.
I'll list a few more to help you along:
1) Obviously belting in the car to Kelly Clarkson
2) People magazine and all forms of gossip, including everything on E! News, especially the Daily 10. Debbie Matenwhatsenthingy gets on my nerves but I still like to hear the goods
3) Really really really stupid action movies
4) The Apprentice (and Donald Trump - he kills me!)
5) Vin Diesel
Your turn. Bare your souls! It will feel like a great weight has been lifted.

On to new subjects. Sadly for all of you, it is 1am and I am up, but I have NOT taken an ambien tonight! Yet. Seeing as how I'm still coherent enough to write this, I may need to inhale one shortly so I get at least 23 minutes of sleep tonight. What the heck is wrong with me? I didn't even have any Diet Coke today, and you KNOW how hard that is for me! Anyway, I am up surfing Ebay, bidding on things I shouldn't, and listening to Ammon snore on the couch. He conked out after we finished watching Zathura tonight, or Zenthura for you Apprentice watchers out there. (and yes, Zathura could be considered another guilty pleasure. It was actually fairly clever and charming, but that is because it was directed by Jon Favreau, my secret love). So do I wake Ammon up, or let him snooze there happily until he wakes himself up with a nasty neck kink? Tough call.

This is probably a fairly boring blogging tonight, seeing as how I am not hopped up on both caffeine and sleep meds. What a shame. Well too bad. One has to take control of one's mental health I say! And actually, I am getting nervous that the Ambien is starting to do scary things to me. Like making me exceedingly spacey. And not just forget your own name kind of spacey, but drive off the road because I am looking at the prarie dogs in the field kind of spacey (incidentally, Boulder county has more rules about safety for prarie dogs than it does for humans, so there are quite an excessive amount of them running around. they are cute little buggers though). I kid you not; I have done this enough times that I starting to scare myself, not just Ammon, Addy (if she were aware of how badly I have been driving), and all the other drivers in a 50 mile radius of me. I have also been flipped off at least 4 times since moving here (all in Boulder), and I'm not sure if that is because I really am driving like a drunken prom date or because Boulder is full of crazy, angry hippies. Probably both. It is alarming how angry all the hippies are here. It's very strange. It's as though they all have had an overdose of wheatgrass juice, and have turned into a bunch of mean, mini Hulks with dreadlocks and socially conscious vehicles.

Anywho. I am off to wake the sleeping beastie. Good luck to me!!

Gotta make a wish, take a chance, and make a change....aaaaaaah Kelly. You sing it girl!

response to yesterday...

Sadly,"the pegster", you are incorrect. The correct reference is Cinderalla via Masterpiece theatre with Jennifer Beals and Matthew Broderick. True cinematic genius. However, you get a nickel because you were close.
By the way Pegs, I've noticed you have a new name everytime you post a response. Have you become schizophrenic? Kisses.
Signed,
the mickster
(p.s. if you ever call me this i'll bite your knees off)

...a dream that will neeeeeed all the love you can giiiiiiive, everyday of your liiiiiife, for as long you LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVE!

I was just rereading over my blog because...okay I can't think of another reason than it is almost as good as hearing yourself talk. Anyway, I was rereading my blog and realized that I was much funnier in Seattle. Perhaps Colorado is not a funny state. Or maybe I am just a lot funnier when under extreme duress. I love that word. I suppose that makes sense: funny = coping mechanism. Aaaah. So since I have now entered The Salad Days and only worry about whether the orange or the red curtains would go better in the dining room, I have ceased to amuse.

In order to address this situation, I have decided to think of more things to be stressed about.
#1) I cannot go out in public without wearing an entire Joann Fabrics worth of spandex sucking in every wayward and rogue fat cell on my body. This is not good as the spandex tends to cut off my air supply ($.50 if you can name this quote: "'but mother! I won't be able to breathe!'. 'One night of suffocation isn't going to kill you'"). It also leaves VERY scary deep red canyons all over where my skin has been sucked in with too little mercy, which incidentally take hours to go back to normal. Sort of similar to having edema when you're pregnant and walk around with thumbprints in your feet all day.

#2) The amount of stretch marks I have could honestly be a world record. From neck to knees and slightly farther, I look like a striped tiger, although much less graceful and fluid (and hairy thankfully), and just a smidge less fit. No, I don't think a striped tiger does it justice. Those few of you lucky enough to have seen some of them, any suggestions? Looking for a righteous metaphor here. Honestly though, words utterly fail to describe the unholiness of these stretch marks. They are like mad beasts that multiplied underground and made giant troughs in my skin. Oh I know! They are like those nasty underground monster things that Kevin Bacon had to fight in Tremors. Man those were nasty, and these stretch marks could give those suckers a run for their money. This didn't bother me until now (I was feeling very noble and giving and put this on the list of maternal sacrifices for my little nugget) because Ammon wants to start taking Addy to the pool, and unfortunately, they tend to frown on mumus as swim attire as they tend to strangle and drown the wearer. I bought two swimsuits yesterday from the clearance rack at TJ Maxx (you can tell I don't consider this a good investment) but I am still too afraid to try them on. I just don't feel like I can inflict the site of these thighs on the unknowing public! Too cruel. I will have to wear sweats and hope I don't drown.

#3)I am stressed that I am the only person in my ward that does not own a denim dress/jumper/floor length button up skirt or vest. I will never fit in becuase I refuse to buy any of the aforementioned attire (I don't even know where you find that stuff anymore. Wasn't it all confiscated by the government back in the 80's and hidden in a nuclear waste plant?). Alright. I know. This is starting to sound snobby and judgemental. My apologies to denim everywhere. I will add for posterity that I do have a knee length denim skirt, but it in no way screams "everyone wore these in Can't Buy Me Love!", so it passed the test.

I think we'realone now (alone nooooooow); there doesn't seem to be anyone aro-hound.

Does it frighten anyone else that some unknown person keeps putting comments on my blog about buying Ambien online? Isn't that just a really, really, really bad idea? I sort of think that if I were to do it, one of three things would happen:
1) instant death by spontaneous combustion
2) i will grow large hairy horns (out of my head, I hope)
3) i will be in a perpetual state of ambien bliss, which granted, is really fun for me; not so fun for anyone trying to communicate with me, i.e. the rest of the world.
So whoever you are out there, please please please for the love of all things holy, stop suggesting that I buy drugs online, likely from some 15 year old pimply faced teenage boy with a playboy sticker on his notebook...it is giving me nightmares.


Anywho. So it looks as though I have become extremely computer savvy and have *gasp* actually learned maself real gud how to upload pictures. This is my two spastic dogs rolling with unhibited joy on their new lawn. It actually looks sort of freeing and fun, however, it did (thankfully) occur to me that the neighbors might become alarmed if they see me out there writhing around on my back with my legs in the air like a dying beetle.


I also need to post a picture of my little round-headed child. Ammon told me the other day that he was often called Charlie Brown as a kid, and this made me very nervous for Addy's future self esteem. I hope she doesn't read this someday and either hate me or feel mortified (or both). At least at this age, her little round head is totally adorable (at least I think so). Her fat rolls are pretty cute too. Have you noticed that we love fat rolls on babies and mercilessly tease those with fat rolls as adults? Not fair. I really am just an older and much larger version of Addy and I think everyone should come up and pinch my rolly thighs and chubby cheeks and squeal about how cute I am. Don't you?

And since I am having so much fun with pictures, I will leave you with two parting visual images for the day: two of my sisters in law, Neoma and Carol, who are both with child, by the way. Perhaps that explains the outfits? Behold:

Response to the horror that was last night's blog, written by: The Conscious Micaela

OK I am laughing so hard I can hardly write this! I just read over what I wrote last night, and it makes absolutely, positively, not one lick of sense! I must have missed a word at least every other sentence, not to mention just throwing the wrong one altogether in occasionally. So sorry. I am officially cut off from Ambien blogging. It is socially irresponsible. No one should be subjected to such nonsensical blather. (By the way - when I said "mean", I meant "move". Dont' ask; I don't know).

Today I continued my epic quest for the perfect bathmat, only to fail again. Now it is not too small for the space, but too big! The trauma! The travesty! However, this didn't seem to be a problem for Idgie who promptly peed on it. I wonder if that was her welcome to the house love token. I'm just glad she hasn't decided to welcome my closet to her realm. Anyway, as my mom pointed out today, it seems a trifle strange that now, instead of heading up the quest for The Ultimate Purse (which, I might add, my mother is the chief master/neurotic head hunter of - more on this to come in a later blog. My mom's black purse obsession is the stuff of great novels), I am now hunting with extreme fervor and dedication for towels and just the right toilet brush holder. This somehow seems wrong, not unlike Lisa Marie Presley and Michael Jackson's wedding of yesteryear - it just doesn't jive with our known sense of what is normal. I am an admitted and committed Coach purse whore, so the fact that I am now thrilled by a cute toothbrush holder on sale at TJ Maxx is a very foreign and slightly unnerving sensation. It is also now a bit embarrasing that anytime someone calls me, I am at one of three places: TJ Maxx, Target (a given), or Bed Bath & Beyond. I won't even tell you how many times I have been to each in the last 8 days.

OK I have to stop now because the chocolate cake in the fridge is calling to me with soothing tones..."Micaaaaaaaela...you are soooo hungry, and I am soooo soft and spongy and chocolately, you must eat me...all of me...RIGGGGGGHT NOOOOOOW!".

Aaaah!! I give!

My girl wants to party all the time party all the time party all the tiiiiime.

oiy! This is going to be a bleary one, which means extra fun for the readers! I swear I couldn't see a noodle if it was sitting on my nose.

So, the news with me and mine of course if that I have a completely altered lifestyle (no, I am not gay). I just have a new house, baby, still no job, etc. However, I am feeling much more hopeful on the point about the job. I will let you know how that all pans out. I had a strange thing said to me related to working...someone asked me if I've found anyone to babysit when I go back to work, and I said no, and she told me in strictest confidence not to ask ANYONE with clearing it with her first, and for the love of all things holy, do NOT make a general announcement becase you will have all kinds of weirdos responding who frankly cannot take care of their own kids! Eeee gads. I also heard today that some poor little one year old boy got hand foot and mouth disease from some kids in the ward he was playing with. Could land! Where have I moved into? Is this going to slowly turn into a scene from Deliverance - Mormon style (whatever that would entail)?


By the way, you have the pleasure of hearing from me today, because we hijacking our next door neighbors wireless because ours still has to be fished out of the pooper (things not going so smoothly with the comcast setup - I swear I've never seen the veins in Ammon's head get so large). Which brings up another question. Don't you all just sort of assume that when you mean, some things, and maybe many will go horribly wrong? Like someone all of your stuff falling out of the back of the truck onto I-80 because some idiot didn't strap it down right, or noticing that your dog is now mysteriously missing a leg. OK that is obviously worst case, but I think it behooves one and all to... *cliche of the day!!* ...:"expect the unexpected". Then maybe we wouldn't have so many ulcers. So what if the cable mans pants have fallen so much farther down his backside that Levi's ever intended. He'll get it done! So what if talks incessantly and gets nothing done and you may never have cable again.. Bllllaaaaaa!!! This is how Ammon is feeling. I really am getting concerned that is developing freaky digestional problems due to unrealistic expectations that we would move in, pull a big knob, and everyone would magically be set up, put away, ready to go, and all in it's rightful place. Anyone have a suggestion? I'm thinking of slipping him some valium. Would that be morally wrong?

...you other brothers can't deny. When a girls walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung...

So, I am officially... a loon. Or maybe a dodo bird. Either way - picture a large, mostly flightless waterfowl, who tends to crash headfirst when it has lifted off the ground, and who tends to run into things on dry land, and you have me. With hair. And contacts. I say this because tomorrow, I am moving to another state where I know officially one person, have no job, have a house I haven't the foggiest idea how we will pay for, and a teeny weeny little girl who is used to being held all the time by her 1100 aunts/uncles/cousins/grandparents, etc. and who will now have to get used to being held primarily by her bouncy seat when mommy gets tired. Eee gads. Is this faith or insanity? There is a verrrrry fine line between the two, and one must be exceptionally careful when trying to tell the difference. In my case, I think there is a good chance I have crossed into the netherworld of insanity. I'll update you in a few weeks and let you know if that was the case.

Random Story #1 - I don't know if it's the stress or what, but I had an extremely wild and unruly hair this week and died my hair the MOST horrific and unearthly shade of orange you have ever seen. You know how some colors wash you out? This one actually made my face disappear completely. The ironic thing is that my husband actually liked it - he said it looked retro. This proves one of two things, or maybe both: 1) he is color blind, or just completely blind, or 2) he has as much taste as a giraffe. Also ironically, most of our male friends that saw this horror agreed with him. Perhaps all men as a gender are color blind? Except the gay ones. I'm pretty sure my friend Omar at work would have told me (and rightly so) that I looked hideous and to go get it fixed post haste. Which I did by the way. My hair color is now one that can actually be found in nature's wide palette of haircolors.

Sidenote: OK this woman on What Not To Wear has the biggest boobs I have ever seen. Why do such a large percentage of women with larger than F size boobs tend to wear the smallest tops they can find? What is this? Do they think that if they put on a size small their XXL boobs will magically shrink? I'm interested to see how Stacy and Clinton cover those bad boys up. I think they're going to need a tarp. Do they make tarps in cashmere?

Pardon my madness - I just realized that this is an extremely random blogging today, but nothing can be done. I have been so spastically stressed out and crazy that it's a miracle if I complete a full teeth brushing without thinking of something else I need to do and running off to take care of that instead (with toothpaste foam still dripping out of my mouth). Speaking though of crazy things people do when they are stressed - I have another fun Ambien story, Good land I love this stuff. Please don't think I am a naughty drug addict - just another person who really enjoys the medication legally and ethically prescribed by her doctor.
Anyway - Random Story #2. I heard this story about a woman who was gaining an absurd amount of weight for no good reason until she discovered that in the middle of the night, she had been horking down giant 24 packs of hot dog buns like a ravenous wolf, and then going straight back to bed and not remembering a single thing in the morning. True story. One night last week, I noticed that there was a bag of Skittles lying on our table that had been there for several days. I remember thinking to myself that I either needed to put them away or throw them out so I wouldn't be tempted to eat them, which was pointless because I only like the red and purple ones anyway (yes I am a Skittles discriminator). I got up the next day and proceeded to give my husband a very bad time for being a pig, because the Skittles had been carefully opened, mostly eaten, and then laid carefully back down. I was very confused and incredulous about his denial until I poured the remaining Skittles out to discover...you guessed it...there were only orange, yellow, and green left. Apparently I quite painstakingly opened the package and selected out my favorite colors without having any conscious awareness whatsoever about what I was doing. This actually scared my husband - he thinks I am now going to become the crazy night fox who attacks all carbohydrates after 1am with a vengeance, but remains blissfully unaware the next day.
I suppose he may have a point, and there have been a few other MINOR incidents to make him think this may not be the best route to take for my insomnia. Good example: the other day, I actually ordered something off of TV and from an infomercial. The Super Slim Shaper to be exact. I have a vague recollection of thinking that maybe I shouldn't buy it since I was feeling a little tipsy, but that went away quick and out came the credit card. Apparently I have also started shouting crazy things in the night and flailing about uncontrollably. According to my husband, it was "Addy fell out of the bed!!!!!!!! I can't find her - she is not in the bed, she fell OUT AND YOU HAVE TO HELP ME FIND HER!!!!!!!!w@#$@$##@%%$%$#% ". Snoooooooore. I of course have to memory of this one either. Oh and my kind friends will tell you that I have also started Ambien emailing, which is akin to drunk dialing, where I send out an email some random friend sounding like a total whackjob. I have started cringing everytime I open my Sent folder.

With all the above info, I would like to pose a vote.

Vote A if you think I should stop the madness and go cold turkey on the Ambien

Vote B if you think these stories are pretty funny and you want to see what bizarre thing I will do next. And you like me well rested (my Vote would be B).


I'll keep a tally:
A = 0
B = 1

Alright, time to go drunk dial; I mean Ambien email.

Smelly cat; smellllly cat: what are they feeding you?

OK this should be interesting. It's 12:30am and I just took an Ambien, so we'll see how long this lasts, or how crazy it gets before I faceplant into the computer. If I start writing about noodles and tulips, just move on to the next blog. Anyway. I took an Ambien because I was lying in bed trying to use reverse pschology on myself to make myself sleep: "do not go to sleep; dooooon't sleep; do NOT go to SLEEP!". Note: when one is trying to get oneself to sleep, one should avoid yelling things at oneself in ones' head. It is counterproductive.
Let's be honest though: the real reason I took an Ambien, other than the nice side effect of sleeping for 7 hours, is that I really, really like the super drunk feeling you get when it starts to kick in. You get all dizzy and unstable - it's very fun. I took one about a week ago, and I was watching Superman II on TV, and I was so into it that I wouldn't turn it off even though there were two each of Christopher Reeve and Gene Hackman and I spent most of the time trying to figure out which of the two was the real one. Sidenote: did you realize how absolutely ridiculous and cheezy those first two Superman movies were? Especially the part in the first one when he takes Lois flying and she is saying in her head "Can you read my mind? Do you know what you do to me? I am yours if you want me....", yada yada yada, sap sap sap. Another example of unproductive self talk, as apparently, Superman does not seem to read minds as he didn't take advantage of Lois until the second movie. Bygones.

So you may be wondering why I am not sleeping? Well, it just MAY have something to do with the fact that I am trying to close a mortgage raise a baby find a job pack my life find a moving truck not lose my mind be a nice wife not shoot the dogs run 1100 errands and get rid of this nasty little cold I have added to the pot for extra fun. I would also like to add that I have become a very poor email corresponster (no, that was not the Ambien talking - it just looked like a fun word) and I would like to apologize to anyone I have not responded to in over, say, 10 weeks. This seems to be the going rate of return, so if it's been 9 weeks and you're getting ancy, just hold your pants on. Alright, I am annoying even myself with all this complaining. I will cease and desist.

Unfortunately for you and me and the longevity of this blog, I cannot think of another topic. I am CONSUMED. Have you ever found yourself at a really stressful point in life, where your thoughts always drift back to whatever it is you were worrying about? I find it sad and a little wrong that I lie in bed atg night thinkind about things like whether we should give away one of our two Costco sized ketcup bottles (food storage gone horribly wrong) or haul them to Colorado, and should we pack my husbands guns in a long skinny box of their own, or just throw them in the van and hope they don't shoot the dogs in the hiney? Am I ready to pack up the cornmeal I bought 2 years ago and never used, or do I want to leave it out in case I get a wild hair in the next 2 weeks and decide to make 40 batches of cornbread? And why do we always end up with more cake mixes than frostings? There is something wrong there. Can you tell I am looking at my pantry? Perhaps I should clarify that no, the guns are not in the pantry, that just happened to be a refugee thought that tagged onto the food line of thinking.

I sense this is starting to not make sense, especially since it took me 10 mintues to think of the word "cornbread", so perhaps I should stop for the evening and go see how many Christopher Reeves I can find in Superman III.

A couple of parting thoughts: I want to announce to the worlds that our Ghostbusters and Say Anything posters arrived yesterday in preparation for our 80's dance party to be held on the 29th in honor of ME ME ME, oh, and the fact that we are moving. So those of you out of staters - please feel free, nay, compelled to post your favorite 80's song to add to our play list for the event.

Final Though #2: You will notice I have changed my blog titles. They are now either the lyrics of the song I have stuck in my head, or the most ridiculous ones I can think of at the moment. If you can name that tune, I will give you $.12. But not today's - it's too obvious.

And that makes you larger than life...

Alright, who is P-Funk??? Someone out there posted a comment and I have no idea who you are. All I know is that anyone that inadvertently snorts Diet Coke due to excessive laughter is a friend of mine.

OK I had just had a large swig of The DC and I am seeing stars. Is that normal? I am assuming this is either do to a diet of DC and chocolate, or the 3 hours of sleep I got last night. I feel pretty, oh so pretty...I feel pretty and witty and gaaaaaaaaay!

cont. of "I am 16..."

I forgot to mention he also brought home a hot fudge sundae, and a McFlurry. And no, Julie, you may NOT have my Skor. =) Kisses.
Oh, and you are all correct. The past tense of flee is FLED. This was a grammatical test and you passed. Good job!

I am 16 going on 17, I know that I'm naiiiiiiive. Fellows a meet may tell me I'm sweet, and willingly I belieeeeeeve

I need to write today's post verrrrry quickly, before I recover from my current sugar high. Since having a baby, I have become an "opportunity eater", meaning if there is an opportunity to eat something/anything, I'll take it. This morning it was a raspberry cheesecake brownie, which is alternately making me sing songs from the Sound of Music and feel like vomiting. Honestly though, if it is on the counter and requires no preparation, I will eat it. Stale popcorn from last night? Yup. Half a piece of pizza we forgot to refrigerate? Bring it on. Anything that doesn't require any effort other than hand to mouth is free game.
I've decided that I am a buzzard, circling my next meal; not a vulture, as those are more devious and generally skinny. Buzzards seem awkward and bumbling, and large, and therefore a better descriptor. I'm sure that I have this all wrong and will soon receive an angry phone call from animal planet, but it makes sense to me.

Anywho. You may wonder why someone who's doctor told her to get off her rumpus and exercise is keeping cream cheese brownies in the house. I will tell you, young padawan. So last night, I asked my darling husband to get me a small treat on the way home from his errand running; preferably something with chocolate. When he got home, he had forgotten. Ah well, no harm no foul because he promptly grabbed his keys and headed for the door to try again.

You might imagine my surprise though when I walked into the bedroom 25 minutes later to find him playing with his latest new toy (palm pilot), completely oblivious to time, space, and the fact that he even has a wife, much less one he was planning on buying a treat for. Apparently in the 3.2 seconds it took him to go from the living room to the garage door, he suffered an aneurism and completely forgot who he was and continued on to the bedroom, where I found him. When my laser stare caught fire to his pantleg, he quickly regained consciousness and flew the house (could not think of the correct grammar for past tense flee. He fleed?). This is what he returned with, and I am kidding you negative:
1 Three Musketeers
1 Big Hunk
1 Skor
1 O'Henry
3 raspberry cream cheese brownies
1 bag of Dove milk chocolates
3, yes 3 pints of Haagen Daaz, various flavors
2 swedish chocolate bars
1 chocolate mousse
and
1 glass of chocolate milk

I just realized that the above looks like if you stuck it all in a blender and hit frappe, this could be a recipe for a diabetic death drink. As you may have noticed, my husband does not do anything halfway. At least it worked! Chocolate makes mouths happy. Or is that something else? I can't remember. I have to much sugar running through my veins to even see straight.

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the viiiiiiines...

It just occurred to me as I was rereading over my entries (I just REALLY wanted to relive the whole experience), that on March 15, I made some fairly extreme comments in reference to my mandate to only eat 1700 calories a day, and how 1700 calories might a teensy bit too few for a regular Joe. I think my exact words were something to the effect of "I haven't eaten so little in 20 years and I will shrivel up and die in 48 minutes if this is all I'm allowed".

It seems now that perhaps this was a slight exaggeration. Apparently, 1700 calories is quite enough for many people, and I feel a tad silly for my dramatics on the subject. However, I think it is legal to claim temporary insanity due to hormone overdose. I would also like to point out that when you are pregnant and starving, 1700 calories sounds like the equivalent of two very old saltines.

Ummm...44 weeks and no, I am not still pregnant thank all the holy stars in heaven

Per some friendly and also some rather forceful requests, I have caved and will faithfully (ummm right) update my blog. However, I have a bit of a conundrum. You see, the name of this blog at present is 29 year old toddler. Obviously (or not so obviously according to my niece), I am no longer pregnant and therefore the term no longer applies; again, thankfully.
Yes, it is true. My days of barfing, pant wetting, and spitting daggers out of my eyes are a thing of the past and now I get to laugh without mercy at all my friends that are still in the throes of the horror we like to call "pregnancy". What a pleasant name for a truly masochistic experience.

Anywho. I need a new name for the blog, but since my brain departed my body along with my little bean (I mean baby if you are scratching your head), I need some assistance coming up with something remarkably clever and charming. So please post your suggestions for all the world to read and mock. It's fun!

Part of the reason I didn't want to update this blog is that there really is not enough mg's, gb's, or whatever to hold all the stories of all the hell that I went through in bringing my little nugget into the world (again, BABY. Pay attention people!).

Perhaps I could recap and then provide detail as I so choose at a future date? Alrighty then.

To sum up: on week 31 and after blowing up to the size of the worlds largest bloated blowfish, I was checked in to the Overlake Hilton where I was told I would be held captive prisoner for the duration of my pregnancy. I was actually admitted solely on the size of my ankles. How many people can say that?
You may wonder how long the duration of my pregnancy was. Here's how it went: "OK Micaela, bring all the books and movies from home your car can carry, because you are going to be here for at least 5 weeks. Well, maybe we'll hold you out for 3-4 weeks. I think we'll shoot for two. Can you last till next Friday? Ummm...we're booking the O.R. for 20 minutes ago". This conversation took place over 3 days, and the last statement came after they realized I had gained 15 lbs over the weekend (and NO, I did not eat 1100 donuts in 72 hours. It's called WATER), had blood pressure readings like an 85 year old 800 lb man who ate only onion rings and cheeze whiz his whole life, and spilled enough protein out of my failing liver/kidneys to allow someone to live on the Atkins diet for a week. Not a pretty picture.

Really, I wish you could see the pictures. But not enough to post them. Only people who watch horror movies for recreation are allowed the visual. Do you remember that Mike Meyers character Fat Bastard (sorry Mom) in one of the Austin Powers movies? Add that to the Stay Puft Marshallow man with teeeny slits for eyes and you have me. This should help paint the picture: I was so swollen that they couldn't find MY JUGULAR (yes, I do mean that giganto vein in your neck) without an ultrasound machine. Not a joke.

So shortly after noticing my body's not-so-subtle way of screaming "TAKE THAT BABY OUT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!", I was wheeled (in the large bottomed wheelchair mind you) into the O.R. and approximately 48 seconds (OK, after the 25 minutes it took to find my spinal cord for the drugs) and one confused question by me "what's that burning smell?" (answer: my burning flesh), Adeline Reese Crapo was born at a whopping 3 lbs 2 ozs.

Sidenote: have you ever considered that you weigh X times more than your child? In my case, that was a very alarming number.

More on Addy later and her fun filled and festive five weeks in the hospital. Rest assured, she did great and is eating like a champ and gaining weight like a little porker. I never thought I'd be so happy to see a double chin!

For those of you who haven't had kids yet, don't be alarmed. Only 1 in a gajillion has as much fun with pregnancy as I did, and it really is not necessarily an exercise in masochism as I alluded to earlier - except it might be for me if I do this again. But don't cry for me Argentina, because it is OVER, and it was over 2 MONTHS EARLY! Neener neener I say to all you smug preggers who aerobisize until your 38th week. I may have looked like one of the bad guys in the Lord of the Rings movies, but I was still done two months before you!
Throw me a bone here - there had to be at least one positive to all this - besides of course my cute little poopsie!

30 weeks. HURRAH! A milepost. CS=3/4

Ha HA! I have hit the 30's. It's a miracle I have done so without inflicting bodily injury on anyone.
Oh my land I just ate a rather large but exceptionally tasty cinammon roll from the bakery downstairs (which luckily for me is closing tomorrow) and my blood sugar is in the toilet. Would it be inappropriate to crawl under my desk and lay my head on my shred bin for a little nap post-vomit? Bird woman nutritionist would be SO disappointed in me. You can tell that I care. A lot.

So it occurred to me that what everyone probably wants to know about our Colorado trip is...did we do the deed and buy a house? Answer: yes. Well sort of. We "ordered" our house. They are going to break ground within the next week or two, and it should be done by Aug. 1 barring any acts of God - the contract actually says that.
Anyway - we got to do all the fun things like pick out our cabinets, flooring, lights, etc. etc. I have to say though, it was fun for the first hour, but on hour 4...gads. It is BAFFLING how many choices there are! "Do you want laminate countertops? If so, do you want standard, upgrade or upgraded with variation? Or tile? What kind of tile? Porcelain, slate, travertine, granite? Granite brick or slab? On the diagonal or straight? 6" or 12"? By the end, I felt like screaming JUST COVER THE WHOLE BLASTED HOUSE IN CHARMIN FOR ALL I CARE!!!
It actually really was exciting. Now if I can get over my very minor case of FREAKING OUT I'll be just jim dandy.

*Sidenote: I read my disclaimer from yesterday, and it sounds a wee snarkier than intended. Woops. Know that I love and appreciate everyone who has said nice and comforting things to me. I promise to become a much more pleasant and sane individual after the birth of this unnamed girl child. When I've had lots of sleep with a newborn. Ha!

29 weeks, 6 days CS = 3

La la la I am back from Tatooine! This blog has been on hiatus as Ammon and I went for a little please-come-to-our-school-so-we-can-get-more-grant-money at CU Boulder this last weekend.
I have to confess that as excited as I was to move to Colorado, I was REALLY alarmed upon landing at DIA and driving out of the airport that it actually does (as Ammon said) look like Tatooine (is there a dictionary to help us spell all words Star Wars? Probably, and how sad.). It is as brown and flat as...something really amusing. I am at a loss. I blame this partly on the pregnancy hormones and partly on not sleeping for a week, but I literally cried when we flew back in to Seattle and saw the lovely greenness of it all. I am going to have a seriously hard time on this move. Ah well. Life is change, no?

Sidenote: did you know that there are approximately 1800 country music stations in Colorado? This could prove problematic. If I start quoting Kenny Chesney lyrics as pearls of wisdom within the next year or so, would someone please stage an intervention?

On to the recap. So, while Ammon was schmoozed at CU, my skin slowly began turning into parchment due to the seriously decreased amount of humidity in the air compared to Seattle. It was like going from a very cold sauna to a dry vacuum. So I have been itching and scratching like a fiend since Friday. Argh! Is there anything more irritating? This is not just due to the dry CO weather, but the acquisition of yet ANOTHER fun and strange pregnancy related ailment: PUPPP.

If anyone is interested, PUPPP stands for: Pruritic Urticarial Papules and Plaques of Pregnancy. Since this is totally incomprehensible, I would like to suggest the following name instead: Particularly Unacceptable and Peevishly Painful Paroxysms of Prickling. OK so I added another P. Sue me. Basically this just means that you get a crazy bad rash that will drive you mad, which there is no cure for except giving birth. Wonderful.
According to my very kind and sympathetic dermatologist, most women only get this during the last two weeks of pregnancy, but you know me...the overachiever...I just HAD to outdo everyone I know and get it at 27 weeks. Trust me, it's been a hoot. So anyway, the ridiculous dryness of Colorado has, as I mentioned, caused my skin to shrivel up like old parchment. Gross, I know, but I now have little scabs all over the place from my incessant scratching. I know, I know. I can't stop! It's like drugs! Or candy! I MUST PARTAKE OF THE SCRATCHING.

That's enough for today, but I must post one disclaimer:

**This blog is not intended to elicit sad and mournful emails/phone calls/text messages from friends and family who want to condone on my sad state of affairs. While I appreciate the thought, how many times can one respond to "so, how are you holding up?". Hence the blog. It is a way for me to let you all know that I am doing fairly wretched most of the time, but I am finding humor in the sheer and utter bizarreness of it all, which is helping to keep me sane. So what would help me most? Just tell me how hilarious you think this is and how dearly you love reading my blog. If someone else can get a laugh out of this too, that will make me feel much better than an endless stream of "I am so sorry you are going through this you poor thing what can I do I feel so bad but you will be so happy to have a baby yada yada yada".
Grazie!

28 weeks, 6 days CS = 5 DO NOT SPEAK TO ME EXCEPT TO TELL ME THE BUILDING IS ON FIRE

I blame my mood today entirely on the LAME nutritionist I had to go see this morning. Lucky me, I have gestational diabetes, and so was ordered by my tender loving doctor (thhhpppffft) to go see Bird-Woman-Who-Has-Obviously-Never-Been-Pregnant.

Her first mistake was to begin our relationship with a weigh-in. While perhaps necessary, she should know that this is not a good way to form a lasting bond with a cranky pregnant woman.
Strike One.

She made her second mistake by following the weigh in with random comments about how I really need to watch my weight gain because I don't want to gain 60 lbs and have to have a C-section yadayadayada. (see more on C-section threat abuse below)
Strike Two.

Her advice on not gaining a lot of weight? Eating 1700 calories a day. You heard me. 1700.

Ummmm. Yeah. Survey says crack smoker?
I think the last time I only ate only 1700 calories in one day was when I was a prepubescent 9 year old. Not only that, but I presently have a living, breathing, giant 2.5 lb PARASITE in my uterus who I swear consumes that many calories on her very own in 24 hours. All those books and magazines that say you only need an extra 300 calories when you are pregnant are complete and utter HOGSWALLOP. I'm not sure what hogswallop is but it sounds like the equivalent of pooh, which is what I am going for.

Strike Three. Bird Woman is officially out. But does she stop there? Ohhhhhh no. This lady is an overachiever.

She asks if I know the risks of G.D. (answer: yes), and proceeds to tell me anyway, with great solemnity that 1) it increases the risk of Type II later in life (yes, yes, I know. If I don't lose this extra 50+ lbs 2 weeks after birth I will die at age 38),

and 2).....drumroll please....

it will make me have a really big baby and I might have to (GASP!!!) have a C-SECTION!!!!

Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!! THE HORROR! The absolute utter awfulness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is a new war tactic I have previously been unfamiliar with that nurses/nutritionists/brothers in law, etc. like to engage in when attacking a pregnant woman. I like to call it the C-Section Threat. The C-Section Threat is great for the attacker because there is a dizzying miriad of applications. Is she gaining too much weight? Use the CST. Is she not exercising the requisite amount? The CST. Does she have bloated ankles, a puffy face, high blood pressure, a skinny pelvis, or you just really feel like she needs to put down that cinnamon roll? Or do you just think she is a wuss for not looking forward to labor? Again, use the CST.

As a pregnant woman who already knows, for very good medical reasons we won't get into on this blog, that she HAS to have a scheduled C-section, this is C-Section Threat ABUSE and it must stop!!! While I admit that having a C-section is not comparable to say, a picnic at the beach, it is not instant death and disbmemberment as we are made to feel.
You will not die, you will not have a 40 inch scar up to your forehead, your baby will be just fine, and life as we know it will continue on even if you do have to have the dreaded C-section.

For the LOVE, people, does having 50 stitches from an episiotomy sound better to you? Birth is traumatic no matter how it happens; you can bet it will be fairly unpleasant somewhere along the way at least in part.

I would just like to appeal to anyone reading this blog: do NOT assume that having a C-Section is as bad as having your legs ripped off by man-eating lions as everyone likes to make you think; and do NOT assume that the already emotionally unstable pregnant woman you are talking to needs a healthy dose of the CST because she COULD ALREADY HAVE TO HAVE ONE AND YOU ARE JUST BEING MEAN.

Thank you for your consideration.

28 weeks, 5 days Cranky Scale = 3

Oh it's been too long. I think partly I've still been trying to process the horror that was my weekend. You know how you get really excited for the weekends, thinking of all the fun things you'll do, or the many long naps you will take on the couch in front of the TV (which is what I always looked forward to the mostest)? No more. For me at least, these little luxuries lose their luster (nice alliteration) during gestation.

For starters, doing anything other than lying in a prone position appeals about as much as sticking toothpicks in my eye, so that cancels out pretty much everything. Except going out for dinner. I will put up with a lot for food.
However, to add insult to injury, even lying on the couch has become a chore. Not only does it hurt your back while lying there (laying? lying? what are the mysterious rules of grammar here?), but watching TV sideways tends to give you a ripping headache after a while. And tell me, have YOU ever tried to sit yourself up with a 40 lb bag of flour strapped to your stomach? Not an easy feat. I feel more and more like my grandmother. This is the sweet woman who once tried to get out of one of those IKEA poing chairs, but had gotten herself so wedged in, that she ended up kneeling on the floor with the chair up in the air, still attached to her backside. I kid you not. It was oh so sad, but oh so hilarious at the same time. Poor woman.
Anyway. Take that visual and apply it to me everytime I get off the couch. If there isn't a person or crane there to hoist me, a good ten minutes of grunting and swearing ensues.

So on to the highlight of my weekend...

After a probably too large breakfast of waffles and bacon (per my request), I proceeded to get violently ill in the kitchen sink. By the way I must mention that there is some value in becoming ill after a large meal. I enjoyed everything I ate, and after I'm done throwing up, I just go back and finish up (after the requisite teeth brushing/mouth cleansing of course). I'm starting to think that maybe those bulimics are really on to something. Anyway - bygones.

So, apparently this time, I became a little TOO violently ill, because after I was finished and went to the bathroom for said requisite cleanup, I took a look in the mirror and scared myself to death. I had thrown up so hard that all the blood vessels on my eyelids and under my eyes had burst, leaving me looking like a really puffy, crying vampire. Seriously - it was one of the more terrifying things I have seen yet.
You know how they say not to say that it can't get any worse? THEY. WERE. RIGHT. Don't ever say that or you will turn into a TURNIP! That seems like the next worse thing that could happen from here, but who knows? I'm sure my body will come up with something even better.

28 weeks, 1 day, many hours...CS= still 4

I am sitting here at my desk feeling a little nauseous, a little hungry, and a lot crabby. I was musing to my work email buddies about what would make me feel better. A chocolate milkshake? Fries? A knife?
One of them suggested I have a big fat doobie instead. While I applaud the originality of this suggestion (minus the obvious moral and health concerns), that would just make my munchies worse.

Is there a magic food that solves all ills? Is it chocolate? I'm curious to hear your thoughts.

28 weeks, 1 day CS=4

I think I need to institute a rating scale of crankiness for every day so everyone will know to come hither or run away v. v. fast.
The scale will be like this:
1 = I LOVE THE WORLD AND BEING PREGNANT HAS BROUGHT ME NEW INSIGHT AND JOY I NEVER THOUGHT I COULD EXPERIENCE (FYI - this is unlikely to ever occur)
2= I actually feel pretty good today. I'm really excited to have a baby, and I can consider the idea of having another child at some future date without clawing my eyes out.
3= I am a large, bloated beast, but I have not thrown up or wet my pants, and I managed to put on shoes today.
4= I am tired, cranky, itchy, nauseated, hungry, whiny, yada yada yada. Probably best to postpone any non-urgent communication until I bump up to a 3.
5= If you value your life at all, please back away slowly without speaking, looking directly at me, breathing loudly, or making any noise whatsoever. I have a large kitchen knife and am looking for any excuse to use it.

What do you think? Should I tape a sticky to my head each morning so the world will know? I will at least include it in my daily blog title if you have an important matter to discuss with me and would like to know whether this is a good time. Today, not so much. You'll notice for today my Cranky Scale is a 4.

28 weeks

So I thought that for my maiden blogging voyage it might be helpful to provide a detailed list of why I feel like my pregnant body has turned me into a toddler.

1. I randomly and violently (yes, still!) throw up - in the car, in the sink, in bed, on the bus (although that only happened once), etc.

2. I have become a pant wetter again. In my defense; only when I throw up. And NO, Kegel exercises have NOT helped so don't ask. We aren't just talking a trickle here either. It's as though my body has built an extra 4 cup capacity bladder reserved strictly for the moment I vomit.

3. I have developed cankles (calf/ankles for you unlearned ones). Sadly, these are not the cute rolly-polly cankles that babies and toddlers have, but they look more like a giant tuber starting at my cantalope sized knees that continue until they are violently cut in half by the strap on my shoes.

4. Ridiculously dumb things make me cry. For example, my husband was tired one night and didn't cuddle me after saying goodnight, which made me inexplicably (to me and him) burst into sobbing tears. Or trying to pull my pants up in the morning. Almost always guaranteed to send me into a tizzy of tears and cursing.

5. Apparently, I stink. Luckily this has not been caused by a dirty diaper, but not so luckily seems to be a new scent related to my ridiculously increased amount of sweat.

6. This once savvy shopper/high maintenance makeup fanatic now thinks of bathing and pulling on more than my housecoat as the ultimate achievement in grooming and fashion. Those who work with me will attest to this. I also HATE shopping now, which is shocking enough.

7. 95% of my meals must be prepared either by my caretaker (aka husband), or the person at Subway/McDonald's/Dairy Queen, etc.

8. I cannot put on or remove my own shoes.

9. Occasionally I can't even remember how to put on shoes.

10. When I think of something I want to eat, I want it NOW and will have hissy fits until I get it. The hissy fits are hopefully more silent in nature than a two-year old, but if you could hear what is going on in my head...

That's enough for today. As I think of more, or have more pointed out to me by my sweet, sweet husband (see # 5), I'll be sure to add them.