I’m watching the horrible fourth hour of Today, which I would like to stop doing but cannot reach the remote. I am obviously not the target audience for this show. The commercials are all for cleaning products and air fresheners because God forbid you actually take out your disgusting trash when you can just buy some sort of scented oil candle spray crap to hide the smell. That’s almost worse than letting your feminine pad spill blue liquid everywhere.  One of the commercials stars that horrible Glade woman who spends all her time lying to her friends about baking, when she should really be lying to them about what kind of prescription drugs she mixing to make herself so insanely cheerful. ANYWAYS, this particular air freshener promises to hide the stench of your ass for 60 days! OMG!!!!

And it occurred to me: If I bought one of those right now, I’d have a baby before it stopped stinking up my house.

Dear Internets,

Hi there. Thanks for reading my blog. I can see you, and knowing you take the time to visit makes me ridiculously happy. Please feel free to tell me how smart and funny you think I am in the comments. You may also tell me I’m deluded and totally unprepared for motherhood. I don’t mind. And for my lovely friends (both real and interweb) who do comment, kisses.

XOXO
Suzanne

P.S. Here’s an amusing anecdote for your Sunday afternoon:

I almost punched E in the face this weekend. It was not when he refused to pick someplace to eat. It was not when he decided he wasn’t really hungry so maybe we’d just go to a bar instead. It was not when he wouldn’t let me watch Step Up 2: The Streets, even though it looked TOTALLY AWESOME. It was not when he laughed when I started freaking out that the baby was trying to kill me, Alien-style. It was not when he made another dismissive hormonal-pregnant-woman-joke. It was not when he told me he had to work all weekend. It was not when he “forgot” to clean out the fridge.

It WAS when I woke up for the fifth time in two hours with incredibly painful heartburn and a horrible back ache and saw him sleeping peacefully. On his stomach.

Being pregnant IS like being drunk:
1. Both can make you puke
2. Both can make you fat
3. It can lead to poor decisions – example: “Why, yes, I think Zoolander is a great name for my baby!” or “Dude, watch me jump off this balcony!”
4. You may crave Taco Bell at 2 am, but will probably regret that decision in the morning
5. You think and talk about peeing a really annoying amount
6. Both can make you forget where you parked your car
7. You walk funny
8. You have an immediate love for other people in the same condition
9. You become completely overemotional and may cry in public
10. Both happen quite often at high school proms

Being pregnant IS NOT like being drunk
1. More drunk is fun. More pregnant is not.
2. Drunk can lead to pregnant, but usually not vice versa (although there is this)
3. Even a really bad hangover does not last 9 months
4. …Or 18 years
5. When you drink til you puke, you feel better, but when you puke because you’re pregnant, you still feel like crap
6. There are no drunk preparedness classes (besides college)
7. Your mother is usually happy when you get pregnant
8. Although both can lead to drugs, I hear the kind you get during labor are waaaaay better
9. When you are drunk, a table is a place to dance. When you are pregnant, a table is a place to sit down.
10. No one throws you a party just for getting drunk

I totally forgot to mention the World’s Worst Husband from my doctor’s office today. I can only hope he was just a boyfriend, so it will be easier for his girlfriend to leave him once she comes to her senses. I noticed this douche-bag in the waiting room, complaining that it was quarter-after and their appointment was for 10 am, so why were they still waiting? Because babies are unpredictable, genius. Sometimes the doctor you’re supposed to be seeing is bringing a new life into the world two floors up. Keep your pants on. No, really, get a belt, you’re way too old for that look. After I was examined I had to wait for the nurse to give me a Rhogam shot so I was counting ceiling tiles when I heard the yelling. Apparently, WWH’s very pregnant wife was annoying the crap out of him. He didn’t give any details as to what was so annoying, but screaming “SHUT THE F*CK UP YOU ANNOYING BITCH!” made his feelings pretty clear. He ranted for a few minutes before one of the nurses decided that wasn’t really the appropriate way to talk to…anyone, and asked him to please knock it off. WWH didn’t really appreciate that, but screaming about how it’s “HIS DAMN BABY” didn’t do any good once the very large male doctor came to see what was wrong. I felt like applauding when they threw him out.

Seriously dude, I don’t care if your wife just called you the ugliest, stupidest, most worthless man-child on the planet, the OB’s office is not the right place for all that noise.

Since I was so brave at my 8 am lab visit AND my 10 am doctor’s appointment – both of which involved very large tiny but still painful needles – I treated myself to a mani-pedi. It was heavenly, especially the part where my nail tech put my shoes on for me so I didn’t have to bend over. I wanted to offer her the job long term but can’t afford to match the benefits she gets now.

My appointment was very unexciting. The doctor poked me in the stomach and said it feels like the baby is already head down in preparation for birth. She could hear his heartbeat the loudest below my belly button which is also a sign he’s facing the right way. I feel like he deserves a reward for being such a good, smart baby who is NOT going to make his mommy have a c-section. I think he’d like ice cream.

I also got a gold star for my weight, which is holding steady at about 210 lbs. God bless my nurse though, who sets the scale at 150 every single time and acts surprised when she has to bump it up another big step. I’m hoping to be one of those women who loses 20 lbs when the baby (and the…other stuff) comes out. I will feel more hopeful about losing the cheeseburger-related weight after one big drop at the beginning.

Tonight we going to an infant-care class at the hospital. I think E and I are severely lacking in baby experience and we will both feel better after a little refresher course. Babies are complicated – when you’ve got stuff coming out every hole, how do you know which end the diaper goes on?