Sexy, Pretty, or Cute?

My husband, J - you all have heard me mention him once or twice - is forever checking out the ladies.

Blatantly.

It doesn't bother me until he is slamming on the brakes on the 76 on-ramp, craning his neck to see a female driver coming from the opposite direction.

"What the hell, man?" I ask, as Ninja's tiny body ricochets through my rib cage.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I was checking out that chick."

Eh. At least he's honest.

It never bugs me. J's never given me any reason to be jealous, and as long as he keeps checking me out as well - and oh, nine months prego me is unspeakably sexy, what with the flatulence and the incessant grunting each time I attempt to turn over in bed - we're cool. I won't begrudge him a little eye candy, and besides, this is a two-way street. I am a notorious flirt.

Gah - what was I saying?

Oh yes. So last night! How I Met Your Mother was a rerun, and you couldn't pay me to watch David Spade smarm about on that abysmal Rules of Engagement show.

So I did as you do: I flipped to Dancing with the Stars.

"I want to see that hot guy that dances with Erin Andrews," I explain, as soon as J starts whining for me to change the channel already.

"Erin Andrews - she's HOT." (Emphasis: J.)

"Really?" I ask. "I mean she doesn't really have the body type you generally like." Read: huge ass.

"She's just BEAUTIFUL," my husband tells me. "She's not sexy or cute."

Damnit. She is beautiful. Shut up, J.

So here we have it, kids. My beloved believes that all "hot" women can fall into any one of three categories:



Sexy.

Pretty/BEAUTIFUL like Erin Andrews.

Cute.



For the last five years, I have fallen into all three of these categories, which, my H explains, is why I am such a catch. Aw.


So imagine my CONSTERNATION (emphasis: HomeValley) when last night, watching Niecy Nash jiggle her jubblies, my husband said to me:


"Yeah... You're not cute anymore."


"J! You're a bastard. How can you say such things to your wife who is 36 weeks pregnant? Take it back!"


The man just laughs. And goes on to explain that in my extremely pregnant state, I am somewhat: harsh.


Perhaps irritable? Stabby? Murderous?


"Whatever, J," I sulk. "Take it back!"


"Maybe... It depends on how cute you are when you write about this incident tomorrow on your blog."


"Haaaaaaaaaaaa. I am going to annihilate you, J."


Shocking, no?


How does one respond to such vicious attacks on one's inherent - if currently concealed - adorableness? I am thinking some creative sentencing: like forcing him to watch Jon and Kate Plus Eight marathons, or any show on TLC for that matter?


Any day now (please?) my tiny tenant will be evicted, and order will be restored to the universe.

Scratchy, Plodding, Whimpering Vermin. Happy Monday!

There is some creature living in my fucking wall.

Conveniently, the creature lives in the wall of my office.

So that's not annoying at all.

I have taken to throwing things at this creature when it starts its plodding. And also yelling, "SHUT UP!" when it moves, which often coincides to the times I am taking business calls. Classy.

It plods and scratches and sometimes - I swear to Lionel - it whimpers.

What the FUCK are you, creature?

If I were not 36 weeks pregnant, I would be on the roof with a machete prepared to annihilate you.

Obvs, I am all sunshine and light over here.

35 Weeks, Yes, But Almost 36 Weeks... Almost.

So, we've officially reached the state of pregnancy that goes something like this:


I'm done. Thanks for the memories, kid. Now, let's get this show on the road.


Unfortunately? I still have 4 more weeks.


Which makes me very, very tired.


I am achy. And tired. And sleep - though it comes easy - is restless. It's difficult to switch positions. There is much grunting involved. There is strategic pillow placement. And Lord, there are multiple trips to the bathroom.


And then there is Ninja, who is awake. All the time. Mah precious kept me up from 3 AM to 4 AM doing some crazy aerobic exercises. Yes, it is still totally heart-warming when his/her feet and tiny bum are stretching out of my abdomen. But seriously, baby? Aren't you sleepy yet?


(Which reminds me, I read somewhere that third trimester babies may already be crying within the womb. Doesn't that just break your heart?)

I finally uploaded the photos from the shower, but they are all the way downstairs on J's computer. And I am all the way up here on the third floor. And I walk these steps many, many times per day. And I am so tired.

Will cease whining and upload photos soon.

Tales of Woe and Car Seat Installations

"You are really emotional. You need to get a hold of yourself."

Aw. I am really going to miss my husband.

That said, he's totally right.

Am in a very weepy place right now. We had our baby shower on Sunday (photos and recap to follow!) and we received so many wonderful gifts for Ninj. As soon as we got home, I reviewed everything and made a list for thank you cards. At one point, I pulled out a book that Koos had given the baby.

It's called Whoever You Are, and okay, seriously? Here are the first few pages:

Little one, whoever you are,
Wherever you are,
There are little ones just like you all over the world.
Their skin may be different than yours, and their homes may be different than yours...
But inside, their hearts are just like yours.

Annnnddd... blubbering! "This is exactly what I want to teach our babies!" I sobbed to J, as I tossed him the book. "But I can't read the rest right now. I can't get through it."

In my continued heightened emotional state, I fretted about the shower. "I shouldn't have asked everyone to buy organic, natural items," I told my husband. "I feel like a brat." (Although, it was somewhat worth it to have my mother announce to the ladies present: "As most of you know, Melissa is 'green.'")

Yesterday, we had an interview with a pediatrician. I'm not sure how that went. Most of her answers were vague. (Taking a cue from Modern Family, I asked what her thoughts were on "Ferberizing" babies. I am not sure I can tell you what she said.) We didn't fall in love with her, but then, she could be a brilliant doctor. How do you know? I asked her how many vaccinations a child would receive over the years, and she couldn't tell us. But she did have a website we could visit. So... there's that. There are four other doctors in this practice. Do I now make appointments with the rest of them, or just hope that one of them is more our style?

Yes, I am probably overthinking this.

On the way home from the doc's, J and I decided to stop by the fire station to have the guys there take a look at our car seat.

How many firemen does it take to install an infant Graco Snugride? Three, apparently. And it takes awhile. These three gentlemen were very kind to help us, but at one point, seat installed completely improperly, they told us that we should probably by a new one. (Our car seat is a few years old. We got it from my aunt and uncle, who's baby is two now.)

I think my engineer husband actually figured it out... Which, he could have totally done anyway. But at least it is now fire safety approved.

So there's that.

When we finally arrived home, I bugged J to go online and figure out if this particular seat had ever been recalled.

"Do you want to just buy a new one?" he asked me, ever so slightly exasperated.

"What, J? I am not supposed to be concerned that our infant car seat works properly? You just want me to forget about it?"

"You're right," he said.

"You know, I just need to be alone right now," I huffed. I retreated upstairs with my O magazine.

So, yeah. Just a tad touchy over here. I am confident we'll weather this influx of hormones. Good luck, J.

In other news: pregnant Brazilian waxes? TRAUMA.

34 Weeks - But I only really want to discuss Glee.

I mean, honestly: we don't need to sugarcoat it. Yes, this chick's adorable. But she also looks like she could have delivered last week. That baby is LARGE, yo.

But I only really want to discuss Glee this week.

Darling baby sisters bought the DVDs on our NYC trip in February, and we watched one episode together before I took off for yoga class - begrudgingly. Because sweet Lord, I love this show.

I happened to catch the cast on Oprah a few weeks ago. And I cried. Tears of unimaginable JOY.

Where did this show come from??

There are people spontaneously bursting into song!

And they are supremely talented!

So, having only seen one show and then Oprah, I watched the first episode of the new season the other night whilst I was holed up in my Gaithersburg, MD hotel room.

And as if the show wasn't spectacular enough, they go and bring in IDINA MENZEL.

This is the stuff that musical theatre nerd dreams are made of, y'all.

Also, as if my heart wasn't bursting with joy already, I have found one friend who is committed to using cloth diapers! His wife is due just days before me. And here is a direct quote:

"I am so committed to using cloth diapers... I've stopped wearing underpants."

I smell a new tagline.

Enjoy your weekend, kids. Stay classy out there.

The Complete Idiot's Guide To Birthin' Babies

J and I attended all day birthin' class on Saturday, which was a rare treat. Our instructor was a bubbly lactation nurse named Jen, and she did a fantastic job with the material.

We learned a whole hell of a lot, and some things I have chosen to disregard completely. (I'm lookin' at you, Group B Strep test. LORD.) And one HI-larious thing I learned was that J and I? We've got identical classroom dispositions.

We're uber-nerds.

Yes, friends, not surprisingly, we are the geeky kids in class. (Although we did not have the opportunity to learn, if J - like me - chooses to sit at the head of the class. I think not, but only because his vision is so good.)

Neither of us is shy (nay, we are extreme extroverts), so we asked questions. Many questions. And shared. A lot. But come on, guys! You all paid good money for this class! Let's get all of our burning questions about pooping during delivery out in the open here! (For the record, I did not ask that question. Someone else brought it up.)

At one point, my loving husband raised his hand and said, "My wife thinks she is blogging during labor. Is there WiFi?"

Real funny, J. The class chuckled, and I shrugged sheepishly. "Not during delivery," I mumbled.

(For the record, there is wireless. Score!)

So now we know how to swaddle, how to comfort, and how to diaper the Ninja, plus, you know, the ideal birth process. They even had doulas come in and talk to the class about relaxation techniques, which warmed my little urban hippie heart.

6 more weeks.

Wit's End

On my birthday (back in February), J's parents and Pop-Pop came over for dinner. We ordered burritos (have I mentioned that every time they come over on a weeknight, we're ordering take-out? Dead-beat daughter-in-law, I know.)

That night we talked pretty openly about parenting. I love these conversations with J's mom and dad. I adore how thoughtful they are about parenting and parent-child relationships. Sure, everyone makes mistakes; but they have certain convictions that I agree with today. It certainly helps that they are delightfully liberal, loving people; when we have conversations like this, I get the distinct feeling that though they had their babies 30+ years ago, the chasm that separate the generations is not so vast.

I wish I could say the same for my side of the family. Sometimes? When I talk to my mom? I feel like we were raised on different planets, and that no matter how delicately I phrase things, we'll never cross that divide.

I have always been fiercely independent. I suppose that's putting it mildly. The bottom line is: I trust myself. I trust that I know what is right for me, and what is wrong for me. With my advancing years, I've also learned to forgive myself. Sometimes I make bad decisions. I choose to learn from those mistakes. I never blame anyone else for them (well, sometimes these days I'll blame J when I forget something that he never reminded me to do, but that's totally justified. PREGNANCY BRAIN, y'all. Do not fuck with it.)

J and I make a lot of choices that, I think, confound people. Like, we get on our sustainability high horse, and we talk about our decision to eat organically. To buy organic items for our Ninja. To use low VOC paints in the Ninja nursery. To use - wait for it - cloth diapers.

There is not one, single solitary person that I have spoken with that understands our decision to use cloth diapers. Most people wrinkle their noses and tell us we are nuts. That we'll change our minds.

And other than my mild exasperation at this thinking, I suppose what confounds people the most about us? Is that most of the time, we just don't care what other people think. We make decisions that work best for our family. And we make them together. We talk through them. And when our decisions feel good, we feel good; and then we hold hands while we walk down the street and giggle at our good fortune in this life. Seriously, we are pretty happy people. Why you tryin' to bring us down?

I just wonder... on the cusp of parenthood... if you had one wish for your children - what would that be?

I ask myself that question everyday, and I always come back to this. I want the Ninja to be sublimely happy in life.

If that means that the Ninja needs to move to Equador to build orphanages, and J and I only see him/her once a year? That's what it means, y'all. That doesn't mean that we don't secretly want the Ninja to live next door to us for the rest of our lives, but we want our baby to do what makes him/her happy (you know, as long as that is not selling meth from a trailer park, or serial killing).

So since I am no meth-dealing, serial killer living in a trailer park, and am sublimely happy most of the time, I wonder... why isn't the one who raised me happy for me? Why isn't she somewhere sighing with contentment that she raised a daughter who is confident and clear-headed (except for the pregnancy brain)?

I wonder.

Site Blocked! Sacre Bleu!

I just tried to access QITNM on a business center computer at the Columbus Marriott, and access was denied.

Apparently, some of the content on this site is deemed "harmful" to children.

Dude, Ninj. Your mom is edgy.

(Actually, the "content" in question was the word "fisting." Which, er, I haven't written about... lately.)

(Dudes, I kid. I am fairly certain I have never written the word "fisting." What the deuce is going on here? Sick bastards.)

(Annnddd... this is why my mom is not allowed to read this site.)

33 Weeks - And This Birth You Cannot Change.

J has accusingly called QITNM a "pregnancy blog." GAH! He's right, but hey, that's the happs. I blog my life. And my life revolves around this 4 - 5 pound squishy kid in my uterus right now. So deal with it, J.

That said, here is a non-baby related story I call: Overheard in Our Bedroom:

HV: Do you think that raccoon is back?

J: Nah, I think it's just squirrels at the neighbors. Nothing we can do.

HV: Well, if it is the raccoon, wouldn't it be weird if it somehow clawed through the screen, jumped on our bed and ate our faces? Wouldn't that be WEIRD?

(Days pass. HV notices that the windows are conspicuously shut.)

HV: Can we please open the windows? Am sweltering. (whined in dramatic pregnant fashion, thank you)

J gets up to open the window furthest from our heads. Also concocts elaborate "trap" with a picture frame to alert us of attempts by raccoon to attack.

HV: What are you doing, babe?

J: I'm not letting that raccoon in here.

Fin.

Now, back to my pregnancy!

I completed my birth plan today. I know many people roll their eyes at birth plans, but I like having an organized, bulleted-list of my preferred methods of birthin' babies jotted down for all to see.

Duh, we're flexible. We know that things happen, and that we can't control the situation. But these are our preferences. The main priority is keeping everyone alive and healthy. And if we accomplish that, I won't be disappointed that I had to be given some Pitocin or that I didn't get to nurse immediately following delivery. (But so help you God, nurse, if you come near the Ninja with that pacifier before he/she has latched. Beware the wrath of HV if mah precious is nipple-confused!)

Other than that, I can't wait to share photos of the completed nursery. It's everything we never knew we wanted, and we are absolutely delighted by it. It's a mish-mash of old and new: lots of the miscellaneous art we scored abroad that magically works in the room. And it makes us happy. Most of the time, we stand in the doorway looking in and we smile and sigh. It's a comfortable space, warm and inviting.

The Ninja is going to love it.

32 Weeks - Fatty.

I swear we will return to our regularly scheduled programming v. soon. I am in the home stretch of business travel (2 more weeks y'all!), and the H and I are clamoring to get all baby stuff done in the upcoming weeks.

(Oh, and I did compose about 3 posts last week, but they were all pretty lame. You deserve better, Internet.)

So whilst I get my life in order, feast your eyes on my evah-expanding belly, and squishy prego arms. GLORIOUS.

More later today, or tomorrow. Depending on how distracted I am by my Easter candy. (Cadbury Creme Eggs!)