Wednesday, August 27, 2008

What a drag it is getting old!

Just in time for my birthday, a prescription in my hot little hands for drugs that promise to make me less crazy.

I told a friend about this over lunch, and she proceeded to tell me about what all of our mutual friends were "on."

Is everyone taking something? Or do I hang out with people like me?

Regardless, I'm happy someone finally listened to me. I had a different OB today because mine is on vacation. This one didn't tell me I needed to eat more protein when I tentatively began, "is there such thing as prepartum depression?"

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Am I below the line now?

Last night as I was lying awake, having to pee but not wanting to get out of bed because at 7 1/2 months pregnant I'm as mobile as a turtle on his back, I had an epiphany. Maybe my husband is no longer humoring me (hence this blog) because I've fallen below the line on the crazy hot scale. You know, because I'm 7 1/2 months pregnant.
When asked about this, my husband acted confused, so I must be right.
In other news, hanging out with black people probably saved my life. From Slate:

The strongest determinants of college bingeing are weak state and campus alcohol control policies (the regulatory environment) and the presence of lots of bingeing older adults (a locale's overall drinking culture). ...
In addition to lobbying for these kinds of local laws, college presidents could also promote alcohol education (obviously) and racial and ethnic on-campus diversity (less obviously). ... young whites drink far more than young African-Americans and Latinos, men drink more than women, and younger students drink more than older students. When mixed, all the groups moderate their alcohol consumption; thus, colleges with greater student diversity
have less bingeing across the board.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Intro to my inlaws (old post)

Posted 3/18/2008 8:43 AM CDT

My in-laws are nosy. "So what?" you ask. "Everyone feels that way about their in-laws. Where would sitcoms be if they weren't?"
Yes, but I have written proof! The following is from an actual email from my mother-in-law to my husband. (I also need to say that my in-laws are wonderful people. And I love them.)

Dear [Son]:
I'm speculating again and with good reasons. I've come to the conclusion that Anne is pregnant again and I couldn't be happier. I haven't even told your father of my suspicions. These are my reasons:
1. Her getting to bed earlier than usual.
2. She drank only one drink during the entire time we were there. [actually, I didn't have any, that was just a club soda.]
3. She has a bit of a tummy.
4. Her boobs look bigger. [please take a moment to let that one sink in]
5. She seemed a bit tense.
6. There was a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" on your bedside table.
I'm thinking that you're just waiting to announce the news in order to give [pregnant daughter] a little moment in the sun. I hope, hope, hope I'm right.
Love, MOM

Old post, usual theme

Posted 3/20/2008 11:06 AM CDT
Last night, I was lying in bed. And feeling lousy from what my brother-in-law calls "hormone poisoning." I look over at my husband, blissfully reading after having scarfed down a Klondike bar which will not make him fat.
Me: "Do you feel the same every morning when you wake up?"
Husband: "What do you mean?"
Me: "Well, some days are you queasy-ier or bloated or crampier or ache-ier?"
Husband (speaking condescendingly, as if I've asked him whether unicorns exist): "Yeah, if I have the flu. Or if I drank too much the night before. But no, most days I feel exactly the same."
"And I suppose every time you want to lift something heavy, you just do it?"
"I can't lift everything I want." (At this point I read his mind, which is saying, "I can't lift my car. DUH.")
"It is so not fair that I can't live even one day in a man's body."
"Yeah, I can pee standing up."

A happier post from a now-defunct blog

Posted 4/15/2008 9:55 AM CDT
Yesterday was one of those days with my daughter that I'll want to remember.
Since we had a 9am appointment with the pediatric allergist, we had time for a more leisurely morning. We took our time eating blackberries for breakfast. I love to watch my daughter happily make a mess by squeezing them, letting the juice run down her chin and her fingers.

Then we walked the dog together. Walking the dog with her always takes twice as long to go half as far. She runs off and gets distracted with all the flowers, and then the dog seizes the opportunity to dawdle and sniff. My goal is to get my dog exercised and emptied as soon as possible. But neither of them care for my goal.

Off to the pediatric allergist. See, she has eczema and since my sister is allergic to just about everything, I was worried that the real cause was allergies. A nurse scratched her back with 14 potential allergens. My daughter was cool with it for a while, but of course she lost it eventually. At two, she understands so much--but not enough. "No, that hurts!" she says, and I tell her it hurts now but it will make her feel better later. When the nurse comes in to check on the test spots, my daughter goes ballistic. And then she's all sweetness and light for the doctor, who seems to feel guilty. "The nurse gets that all the time, but I'm the one that ordered the tests," he sadly says. It turns out she's not allergic to milk or the dog or eggs or the other things I was worried about. Yay.

My girl recovers beautifully, and I'm SO proud of her. Off to daycare, where she's pleasantly surprised that her day is going to get back to normal. "I see Lucy? I see Emerson?" she asks me as we pull into the parking lot, naming her little friends.

That evening is the book fair at school. We eat hot dogs and drink lemonade at a tiny table with tiny chairs. My daughter solemnly explains to me, "this my table." "Is this where you sit for lunch?" I ask. "Yessss."

After buying us each a hot dog, I only have enough cash to buy a book for her classroom and not enough for the Clifford book my daughter so nicely asks for. She puts the book back and cries. And I think this is one of the first times that she's really asked for something reasonable--politely, using her words--and I've said no. Wow, it hurts. It's easy to say no to candy or to riding in the front seat or to playing PlayDoh on the couch. But this is hard and I'm gonna have to get used to it.

And for the second time today, she recovers quickly.We drive home and she's good during the trip. We talk about how her shoes are dirty and about the birds we see out the window. At this point, she can do no wrong in my eyes. When we get home, I give her some gumdrops. I tell her dad how wonderful she is. And her dad and I let her stay up a few minutes late just to play with her dad some more.

Crappy things my husband said to me this week

(1) You keep saying you'll dye your hair blonde but you have only two colors--brown and orange.
(2) I'm so fucking sick of your bad attitude. (husband does not see irony)
(3) What are you sighing about now?

...this is fun but now I can't remember all the things he's said. I'll be back.