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Thursday, May 21, 2015

The Indignities of Pregnancy: My outie looks like a nipple

It is generally understood among women that if your nipples are poking out through your shirt, you need to do something about it. Get a better bra, or wear warmer clothes, or tape them down ... whatever will help fix the problem. Because problem it is.

Visible nipples are incredibly distracting, and while they can occasionally be considered "hot" under the right circumstances ... every single day, all the time, at the office, around the family, and in the presence of young children are NOT the ideal times to be turning on your highbeams. It's trashy.

So with that in mind, let me just show you a picture of my stomach in its current state:


Or maybe a nose?

"Hiiiiiiiidy ho!"

It sticks out when it's cold. It sticks out when it's warm. It sticks out when I wake up, and it sticks out before I go to bed. 

When I was pregnant with Audrey, my belly button didn't really start to stick out until much, much later in the pregnancy ... and even then, it was barely noticeable. 

Even when I was 8 months in, it was barely worth a boop.

But this time around, that sucker has been saying "howdy'a do" for months now. And I still have months to go.

There is nothing to be done about it. If I wear more layers of underclothes in an attempt to tame it, it laughs in my face:

This is three layers working together to push the belly button back into submission.
Belly button's response: "Lol."

If I wear a single layer, it borders on obscene:

Wow ... is it cold in here, or like ... ?

This is my life now, guys.

I have a visible nipple on my stomach at all times. People look at it. I see it when I talk to them -- they can't help but glance down. And I don't even blame them. It's impossible not to look.

That's a, uh ... great haircut?





*boooooop* *boop* *boop*

Audrey is always poking it. :-(

The outie belly button: just another one of those indignities of pregnancy. 


Past issues of "The Indignities of Pregnancy" (which are all from when I was pregnant with Audrey like 37 years ago):

Monday, May 18, 2015

In which I am punished by a toddler

So last weekend, I left for Vegas on Saturday morning and returned just as Audrey was going to bed on Monday night. For a kid in the throes of a "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY" phase, this was apparently a cruel thing to do.

Now, don't get me wrong; Jesse is a great father, and he and Audrey really enjoyed their time together. Their relationship is the better for it. After all, Audrey really only prefers me when I'm around. If I'm not there, she doesn't really care that much and is happy with whoever is playing with her and reading her books. And she loved her Daddy weekend ... even though Daddy took her shopping on a dog leash :-/

Questionable, Jesse. Questionable.


I'm back now.

And Audrey was pissed, and had to punish me for leaving. Here are a few of the things she did last week to let me know that while she's happy I'm back, I am NOT to leave her again:

She hit me in the face with both hands

She had something she wasn't allowed to have, so I told her to give it back. She refused, so I took it out of her hands. 

And she wound up with both hands and smacked me right in the face, as hard as her pudgy little toddler hands would allow. She did this a few times when she was younger, but I always responded with a very stern "No!", an angry face, and a momentary withdrawal from whatever we were doing, and she quickly learned that hitting wasn't cool.

But the other day, she was angry enough at me that she hit me even though she knew it was wrong. And I said "NO!" and looked mad and told her "we DON'T hit," and then she got really sad and apologetic, but ultimately reminded me that I had driven her to it, and if I hadn't taken away the object in question, she never would have been forced to hit me. So really, the whole thing was my fault, when you get right down to it.

Ha ha just kidding; she cried and I hugged her and told her I loved her anyway, and she sat in my lap and snuggled me and hasn't tried to hit me since -- even when I wrestled her toothbrush away last night because she had dipped it in the bathwater but wanted to continue brushing her teeth with it. That's nasty, Audrey. You don't brush your teeth with bathwater.

She stole my chocolate

I had this box of fancy chocolate truffles that a friend got for me, and I had been slowly eating them at a rate of perhaps 4 per week. When it was a chocolate night, I would bring the whole box over to the couch and get myself comfortable before selecting my chocolate and savoring it slowly over the course of several minutes.

But then one night, I left the box of chocolates on the couch.

And the next morning, Audrey got it. And she pulled out one of the fancy truffles, walked over to the garbage can and threw away the little paper cup it sat in, and looked me right in the face before taking a bite.

I only had two chocolates left.

Now I have one.

She wouldn't share the chocolate or her cookies

I knew it wouldn't be right to take the chocolate away from her, since she'd found it fair and square and I knew that it was my own fault for leaving the box on the couch. If I tried to wrestle it away from her, she'd just have a big screaming fit, and then what was I supposed to do with it? She'd already put her mouth on it, so it's not like I was going to put it away and eat it later. So was I going to steal it out of her hand and then eat it myself right in front of her? How was that the better parenting option??

So I let her have it. But I asked her if I could have a bite.

And she was like "NO!" and shoved the whole thing in her mouth so I couldn't get it.

Also, last week, she got two cookies for snack at daycare just as I was picking her up, so we brought the cookies out to the car. As I was strapping her into her car seat, I asked if I could have a bite of one of her TWO cookies ... and once again, all she said was "NO!" and looked super offended. I leaned in to try and take a bite anyway, and she yanked the cookies away.

Nah, it's cool Audrey. Not like I ever do anything for YOU.

I let you dip your toast in my breakfast.
You weren't even eating the toast. You were just dipping it in whipped cream and sucking the whipped cream off the toast before coming back for more.

Also, she made me eat a Cheerio that had been on the floor for a day and a half and then had already been in her mouth. That's like ... the opposite of giving me some chocolate.

She took my underwear and hid them

Literally pulled them off my ankles while I was sitting down to pee (don't worry; I had just gotten dressed for work, so I only wore the underwear for a minute) and then shouted "MINE" and ran away and hid them somewhere. By the time I was able to chase after her, the underwear were in Narnia and I didn't have time to search for them. Had to put on a different pair. I'm sure we'll find the original underwear in like six years though.

Not cool, Audrey.

The moral of the story is, if you need to travel and leave your young children behind for any length of time, expect to pay the price for it. Your face may be smacked, your breakfast defaced, and your underwear may be stolen ... but sometimes, that's just life, I guess.

Oh and you might be savagely beaten with a balloon.

I got that balloon for her, too. So much regret.

This kid, I swear.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Las Vegas roundup 2015: I still hate that place

I'm back from my annual pilgrimage to Las Vegas, and I've got a few stories for you to enjoy. I still hate that terrible place, just so we're clear.

In which I try to take proper care of my fetus:

Doing this trip while 6 months pregnant is a rough situation from start to finish. When I got to the airport, they were using the stupid millimeter wave detection machine to scan people at security 

This stupid piece of shit.

... which meant that I had to opt out and have a TSA pat-down instead. Is that machine safe for pregnancy? Maybe. Probably. Not really. But at the end of the day, I'd just as soon NOT go through it than go through it, so alas I got a brief full-body massage from a large but friendly TSA employee. I felt good about myself, knowing that I had made the right choice to protect the baby inside me from damage.

... and then I spent the next two and a half days breathing a mix of 50% air conditioning and 50% secondhand smoke, because you can still smoke inside pretty much everywhere in Las Vegas. I also had sushi for dinner one night, because that's where everyone else wanted to go and because I LOOOOOVE sushi (and it's okay to do in moderation).

But hey, I opted for another pat-down on the trip home, which I'm sure totally made up for all the other damage poor Trevor had endured. I got your back, buddy.

In which the ATM angers me:

Knowing that I would be splitting checks with coworkers and such, I decided that I'd better get some cash out. So I went to the ATM and withdrew $100.

And that stupid f***ing ATM gave me this:

The only way this could have been more inconvenient would be if the machine spat out 100 Sacajawea golden dollar coins instead. At my face. At high speed.

A $100 bill? Seriously?? So then, I had to find one of those bill breaker machines and use that to turn my stupid $100 bill into twenties. So my trip to the ATM involved two separate transactions at two separate machines that were located roughly one mile away from each other.

Thanks, Vegas. I especially appreciated the $5.99 "convenience fee" you charged me for this incredible inconvenience. At least USAA refunds that shit, or else I'd probably be in jail right now.

In which I accidentally do the saddest thing in the world:

By midday Sunday, I was kind of peopled out. I don't consider myself an introvert by any stretch of the imagination, but apparently even I can reach a point where I need to not be around people I'm expected to talk to and socialize with. So I decided I would sneak off early and go out to lunch by myself. At a restaurant. I was gonna "table for one" it up and I was looking forward to it.

When I was younger, I thought that going out to eat at a restaurant by oneself was weird and sad, and totally something people looked at you funny for doing. But now that I'm older, I realize that nobody gives a single flying f*** about what anyone around them is doing (unless it's REALLY weird ... like if I went to lunch by myself whilst wearing a clown suit), so I have no problem treating myself to a lovely meal alone. Hell, I'll even order appetizers and dessert if I want to. When nobody's watching, you can do whatever the hell you like.

So I went to a restaurant in the Paris casino that I have been to before and that I know is good. And I walked up to the hostess, staring nervously at the giant crowd of waiting people, and said "umm, how long for a table for one?" And she responded that I could be seated right away. Woop woop! All these suckers waiting 45 minutes for a table should have considered being weird solo losers like me!

I got to my table and sat down. 

And was handed a brunch menu.

And then I realized: today is Sunday. Mother's Day.

I am at a Mother's Day brunch.

By myself.

This is the saddest thing I have ever done in my life.

See this woman, happily surrounded by her children and loved ones?
This was not me.

But you know what? It was f***ing outstanding. I had Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon on it (DELICIOUS) and hash browns and bread and butter and endless strong-tasting decaf coffee. I sat there looking around at everyone in the restaurant, watching people walk by out the window, and letting my exhausted brain rest. 

And I convinced myself that I wasn't out to brunch alone at all, but rather that Trevor-the-fetus was treating me to a nice mother-son brunch. How sweet of him! Audrey, how come you never take me out to brunch? WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR BROTHER.

In which I learn that I am lucky to be married:

So it turns out that I find pretty much everything that is currently in style for young men to be absolutely repulsive. At the airport in Vegas, as I prepared to head home, I saw all these groups of guys and my thoughts were pretty universally "ugh". 

The Hitler Youth haircut -- ugh. The light linen button-down shirts that are unbuttoned to halfway down the chest to show off some wisps of chest hair -- ugh. The tight pants -- ugh. The beards -- ugh. The goatee with very light facial hair over the rest of the face -- ugh. The brightly-colored tight-fitting board shorts -- ugh. The loafers and boat shoes -- ugh.

The "Hitler Youth" look: short on the sides, long on the top, combed over to one side.

If I were single and trying to date right now, it would not be a good time. I'd have to start dating women. Women always look good. And they can't grow rapey facial hair, which is a huge bonus.

Also, one guy had the Hitler Youth haircut but the hair on top was so long that he had pulled it into a little ponytail in the back.

This guy even has the rapey facial hair.
Double ugh.

Thank God I'm married. To a guy in the military. Whose hair is usually cut by me. If Jesse ever loses his mind and is like "leave the top a little longer this time," I can just be like "Oops, I forgot that the smaller numbers mean the haircut is shorter, not longer! MY BAD."

Not in my house, bitches. Not in my house.

But I'm back now. And not a moment too soon. Smell ya later, stupid Vegas.

You did look pretty nice from the turnaround point on my morning walk, though. But you'll never hear me say that out loud.