UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
Mother’s Day: A summary May 13, 2007
I had a fantastic weekend. Full of all kinds of boring details and sentences that start with “why I love my family” and end with “I had three sips of beer!” Instead of boring you with all the details I’ll cherish for months to come, I’ll just give you the brief overview:
The short short version? Even on the best of weekends, a mom’s job is much the same.
Hope yours was just as wonderful.
Satisfying like a Rice Cake May 12, 2007
When I was a little girl, I had this feeling I would describe as a used-up audio tape.* In my limited understanding of the world at seven years old, I knew enough to use objects to express my feelings to others. So, when I found myself completely dissatisfied with the length of audio one could obtain when using her Fisher Price Tape Recorder, I realized I felt this way sometimes with my life. My poor, pathetic, seven-year-old middle class life. Oh, woah-is-me, I know.
I quickly learned not to tell my Mom I was bored. This usually led to raking the yard or cleaning my room. So to say, “I feel like a used up audio tape,” I was actually saying how completely unsatisfying the day was turning out to be and how even if I tried to rewind and go back, it would just be the same crap I heard before.
I was deep for a seven year old, yes?
I’ve actually thought of this analogy from time to time. Like, now, for example, when I’m sitting here wanting something…. something… but I really couldn’t say what. If I said to you “I’m bored,” you might point to the various projects and the todo list I really should be working on. I would then glare at you and flip you off behind your back like the thirteen year old girl inside me. If I said, “I just want to have my body back,” you’d remind me that I won’t be sleeping for a year or so and there’s a long, hormonal roller coaster waiting at the top of this ride. Wheeee! HORMONES! It’s not as thrilling as it sounds. Trust me.
Some days, like today, I can sift through my music collection and find nothing that fits. I can thumb through the books on my shelf and not find a single thing interesting. I can look in my closet only to sit on the bed and exclaim, “I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!” (which, as a very large pregnant lady, would be absolutely correct, and not some teenage exaggeration.) Days like today, I feel like I’m missing something… something… but I can’t put a finger on it. Whatever “it” is.
The only comforting part of this feeling is that I know I’ll have it again. And again. Just like I’ve had it before. I guess the lesson here? It doesn’t matter what stage in life you’re in, working mom, single gal, very large-esque pregnant woman; sometimes you just feel like a used-up audio tape.
And that’s ok.
*(I’m sorry, for those of you born after 1988, an audio tape, or cassette if you will, is a magnetic tape that records sound. It’s a lot like VHS. What’s that? VHS? Well, you may be lost on this analogy. I promise to bring back Britney Spears and Paris Hilton for the younger generation.)
His first video May 10, 2007
Little Man will be staying put until the already appointed eviction date. As much as I’d like to kick him out early, I also know I’ll be screaming to put him back in about two weeks later, so I’ll just use this time to freshen up my mad nesting skillz and organize the closets and myriad of children’s clothes he’s already accumulated. We’re all just about ready. We’re putting the final touches on things like “put together cradle” and “wash clothes” and “install car seat.” LB is repeating what happens when mommy goes to the hospital and how she’s a big sister just like Dora. (Including how Boots is also a big sister and will be coming home from the hospital with her baby brother. I let this one go.)
Since we have four weeks until we meet the little man first hand, I’ll be re-watching his Ultrasound Video over and over. Thank god it’s not VHS. I think I’d already ruin the tape by now.
**What you see here is my favorite 2 min segment from our 32 week ultrasound. The gal tickles his back with the wand and he arches in response, then pushes his nose on my uterus, which looks like a screen in the video. He smiles, grins, opens and closes his mouth and then tries to eat the umbilical chord. Yes, I realize it’s nearly impossible to actually get all of that from this tiny video screen, but I assure you, he’s extremely active and completely hilarious. If your his parent, that is. I think shortly after I cut the video off here, he tap-dances and looks directly at the camera and says, “Hey yo!” but I didn’t want to show off or anything.
***You’ll need the quicktime plugin to view it.
Call God or maybe Bruce Lee; the baby is EATING MY BRAIN May 09, 2007
Hi there! Well, hello! I can’t seem to keep my mind focused on one thing longer than .2 seconds, which is not long enough to write a post, mind you, and thus have attempted to write FOUR THOUSAND posts in the last two days, all of which look something like this:
“You know how when….”
“One day I was…..”
“It was a dark and stormy night….”
Ok, no, that last one was the start of my latest best-selling-novel that never got past seven words long. It was a damn fine read, though, in my head.
I’ve started seven projects, three websites, two loads of laundry and a grocery list, all of which remain unfinished. I believe I washed half the kitchen floor, but the kitchen floor runs in to the dining room floor and runs in to the living room floor and that’s just too much floor to wash at one time. So I took a nap instead.
My daughter is loving the new thrilling life we lead. She seems to communicate better with me on this level. “You want to watch Sesame Street?” “Yes!” Three minutes later we’re both bored and unsure of what we were going to do. “How about we go to the park?” “OK!” Five minutes in to packing the bag I’ll remember an email I need to send, which is just fine because she’s now engrossed in a village of little people and unaware we had plans. Thirty minutes after I download six songs from iTunes, start another website and email two people, none of which was the original email I remembered I need to write, I’ll stand up, stretch, and say, “Should we watch Sesame Street?”
She seems to like this new Mommy.
I, on the other hand, am having a hard time remembering to go to the grocery store or, say, shower once a day, which does nothing for one’s social life. It’s funny, at first, this new dizty version of myself that I’m carting around. It’s almost as if I should go back to that year I was blonde, start wearing makeup, and show more cleavage. Instead, I’m waddling around town with my head up my ass, totally unaware that I’ve knocked down three small children (I can’t see you down there, FYI), stepped in a pile of dog crap and clothes-lined some old lady crossing the street.
I have an OB appointment tomorrow. I may ask to move up the C-section if it’s at all possible. I’m no longer asking for myself. I’m asking for the good of all man-kind. And also my shoes.
I like my cars like I like my jeans: Compact looking, roomy inside. May 07, 2007
We’ve hit another milestone in life, much like the expanding wardrobe and increasing panty sizes, our cars are feeling a little too tight lately. I’ve had a Subaru Outback Sport (see? I’m SPORTY! My car says so!) for about five years now. Five years ago children were a mere mention. One child, let alone two, was hardly conceivable and as a single woman with a nice job, I was able to make whatever decision I wanted. I wanted sporty. Because? I felt sporty.
Just like Guess Jeans, my car isn’t meant for a behemoth pregnant lady coming dangerously close to weighing the same thing her husband does. In fact, we’ve recently traded cars so my belly would fit behind the wheel and I could get the SheChild in the car without breaking a disc or giving myself a hernia. That’s right, Internet, we’ve “de-balled” the Xterra and placed them in the mason-jar next to Mr. Flinger’s. Last week he climbed in the Xterra, looks around, sees cheerios on the floor, toys strewn about and Dora blaring from the CD. “Oh, Jesus, the man-mobile has been neutered.”
It’s time to update the Subaru. It’s time to let go of “sporty” and find something “practical.” I’m not ready for a mini-van but I’m not trendy enough for a Prius. What I want is a smart, sensible, reliable vehicle that gets a million miles to the gallon, can fit two car seats comfortably, two adults, a stroller, diaper bag, gear, and have an iPod hookup. That the equivalent of Eddie Bauer jeans you find on sale that slip just over the hips snugly, lift and contour the ass nicely, and leave a little room in the leg with a slight flare.
Because If you hear me ask if this car makes my ass look big, you’ll know I caved.
Taking love a little too far May 07, 2007
You remember two years ago when I got my DVR for mother’s day? Remember how I dry-humped the box when it showed up? Remember how we never have to resent our first-born child because she prevents us from watching LOST or Grey’s Anatomy?
Last night while we sat on the couch watching the DVR recorded Grey’s, the baby made some convulsive moves and my belly jumped three feet to the left. “LOOK!” I yelled, “Wait, Let me rewind it…” I said as I pointed the DVR remote at my belly shortly before realizing what I was doing.
Pregnant-brain is a dangerous affliction.
Brought to you from the makers of tampax, hose, and heels May 04, 2007
I want to tell you about the amazing Baby Shower we had last weekend. About some of my favorite people that all came to celebrate our little boy’s birth. About the loot, the food, and the activities. I want to tell you about how we painted canvases and wrote birthday cards to our little man and how these things mean more to me than a million gifts.
I want to, but I can’t because maternity clothes are made by a man.
While rummaging through all the shower photos, I realized ninety percent of them were not fit for the World Wide of Webs. Some smartass at Old Navy, Gap and Motherhood Maternity came up with the brilliant idea that bellies will look great under cute little shirts that show ample cleavage. (Because? Pregnant women have cleavage, yes, thank you, we do.) Some smartass didn’t think that bellies grow after week 25 and certainly don’t ever appear to be about to “pop” at week, say, week 33.
Or, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this really is the fashion and I’m just so unhip, I wear socks with my Tevas and Pads during my period. Because if it was made by a woman, I’d be wearing a muumuu.
From Sane to Totally Losing Your Shit in 12 hours or less: A timeline May 02, 2007
May 1: Officially 34 weeks pregnant.
11:00 AM- Whilst talking to a group of moms, have contraction. “BlahblahBlah.. uugghhhhh… uuhhhhhh… pppffffffff…. BlahBlahBlah.” Perhaps mention that you’ve been noticing more of these braxtin gigs lately. Also, they hurt.
12:00PM- Have lunch outside with Mr. Flinger. Choose a Venti water at Starbucks instead of coffee because uuugghhhhhhh… uhhhhh.. ppffffffffff contracting. Remember that last time around false labor is most usually brought on by dehydration.
1:00 PM- Pee
1:30 PM- Pee
2:00 PM- Keep contracting. Mention to a few people that you feel like the “Pre-Labor Flu” you were so thrilled to feel at week 37 last time around. Mention that labor feels eminent. Mention how you still have to pay bills this month and paint the dining room and set up the cradle and send out thank you notes and…
2:30PM- Run up and down the stairs roughly four million times to get child to nap. Continue “pick child up and throw her in the bed” game for roughly an hour and a half. Alternate Peeing and Contracting.
4:30 PM - Decide child may enjoy jumping off second bunk alone for a while so you can lay down and time contractions because HOLYMOTHERGODFORTHELOVE these bad boys are hurtin’.
5:30PM- Decide you’re too hungry to time contractions anymore. Family heads to Red Robin: The ALL American Pre-Labor Meal.
6:30pm- Eat less than half your burger between running to the bathroom at Red Robin and swearing to god you will knock the block off that big Red Bird if he doesn’t move outta your ... UUGGHHH.. UHHHH. PPFFFTTTTTTT… way…
7:00 PM- go home in tears.
7:20PM- Alternate between contractions and peeing and checking the cooch for an arm or an eyeball or something poking out from there like those Enquirer magazine births.
9:20PM- Call doc. Get same speech Charla got… “blahblahblah.. Braxtin hurts more second time around, blahblahblah.. if doesn’t stop in an hour.. blahblahblahblahblahblahblahhhhhhhhhhh.”
Uugghhhh.. uuhhhh.. pppfffttttttt
11:00 PM- Contractions stop. Sniffles start. Child waked up four times in as many hours. Husband sleeps on the couch downstairs (blissfully unaware of child’s non-sleeping).
3:00 AM May 2nd: Fall Asleep creating “TODO list”
Now: Write up “If I go in to labor early… ” list. Don’t forget to paint the dining room! Because? The baby cares what color those walls are…
The 25th hour May 01, 2007
Damn that blog karma. Naturally, you make a large, sweeping claim like “haven’t been to the ER this pregnancy..” and VIOLA! Contractions started at 4:30 today and haven’t stopped. I’m feeling like general dog shit and expecting to see a face looking up from my cooch every time I go potty.
Five weeks and three days left.
I think I’m done.