It turns out I didn’t need to be worried at all about leaving Baby Evan for a weekend, since not only did he survive without me, I don’t think he even noticed I was gone. As far as he was concerned, I was just at knitting group or the grocery store or upstairs napping for a minute and would probably be right back. It helps that 16 months is too early to have much concept of time. It also helped that he didn’t fall on his head or break any bones or knock out a tooth or accidentally cut off his arm with the hedge trimmers or something else that might require mama hugs.

As I said when I was still debating the trip, I wasn’t worried at all about E’s ability to handle the baby on his own – he’s a great father. Actually, I don’t think that’s a good enough title – a “Great Father” sounds like someone from a 50’s TV sitcom who provides a paycheck and health insurance, plays catch with his kids, and then maybe beats them occasionally, but only with switches thinner than his thumb. And of course when he does, he says “This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.”

E might do all that (besides the beating thing, obviously)(at least I hope that is obvious)(by which I mean he doesn’t beat us, not that he uses big sticks) but he’s really just a great PARENT. When he’s not at work, he parents equally as much as I do. He does bedtime and bath time on his own every single night. He changes diapers, even the cloth ones I talked him into, and voluntarily uses them when I’m not here to remind him. He can feed and dress and comfort Baby Evan as needed. He can take the kid to the grocery store or the hardware store or the electronics store and not be baffled by car seat straps and diaper bags and shopping carts and strollers. There is no bumbling or fumbling or oh-silly-man-pretending-to-be-a-mom pitying glances from strangers. And as Baby Evan turns more and more into Little Person You Can Actually Interact With Evan, E gets better and better at parenting.

(As I write this, my boys are actually missing. I think they went to Hartford to buy roller blades but the last time I saw them, E picked the baby up from the ultrasound appointment and just left. I came home to a silent, wonderfully empty house.)

That being said…you know what E is NOT good at?  Being pregnant. I mean, my being pregnant. He’d probably be terrible at being pregnant too, but unfortunately science isn’t able to provide that joyous experience to men so we’ll never know. I expect it would go something like this:

Wah, I feel nauseous! Wah, my feet hurt! Wah, I’m hungry! No I don’t want THAT to eat, I want something else. I don’t know what. But I need it NOW! Wah, I have Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction* and it hurts to do everything so I’m going to just lie here on the couch for the next 5 months! Wah wah wah!

No offense to E. I think ALL dudes would suck at pregnancy.

I just think it would be nice if E even NOTICED my delicate condition. When I flop down on the couch and say “Oh man my feet hurt” he says “Why?” When it’s 9 pm and I say “I’m going to bed” he says “Why?”  When I say “Honey, it’s too hot to cook and I don’t feel like having chicken tonight anyways” he says “Why?” When I say “Man, I’m really in the mood for a Frosty, any chance you want to go get me one?” He says “Why?” or more accurately, “No frickin’ way. Your legs aren’t broken.”  He’s never read a pregnancy book, not even the special chapter in the Girlfriend’s Guide I bookmarked for him and left totally inconspicuously on his pillow. And then in the bathroom. And then on top of his computer. And then literally hit him over the head with. As far as I know, everything he’s learned about pregnancy at all has been from reading my blog.** He doesn’t make a point to take off work for my (admittedly boring) OB visits, but he also doesn’t make a point of attending ANY of my appointments, including the one yesterday where there was a teeny tiny chance the tech would say something scary and turn the monitor away and I would end up alone in an office while the doctor said horrible things like “abnormal” and “physical defect”.***

Maybe I expect too much. Maybe I’ve internalized those commercials where some dude gets up at 3 am and drives all over town to find just the right flavor of chocolate fudgey mint chip ice cream for his pregnant wife. Maybe that – GASP! – doesn’t happen in real life. And I KNOW taking time off of work isn’t exactly easy when the U.S. Government literally owns your ass. Plus I need him to save those off days for things like getting my teeth cleaned and, oh I don’t know, GIVING BIRTH. I’m not expecting constant foot rubs or being waited on hand and foot or a surprise maid service to come in and scrub my floors.

But it would be nice, every once in a while, if someone would just go get me a Frosty.

*I have it. I had SPD last time too, but not this early, so I have no idea just how bad it’s going to get. I also didn’t know what it was called, although shockingly knowing what it’s called in NO WAY makes it hurt less.

**Which might be part of the problem – he often forgets that reading something on my site and then talking about it with guys at work is NOT THE SAME as having a conversation with me. The same way my blog-less friends often forget to call and chat because, duh, they already KNOW how I’m doing.

***The doctor actually said “I don’t know why you’re here” and “I’m sure your office saw something they questioned, but I don’t see anything worth following up.” And to be fair, before E took the baby away the tech did say “It all looks good, nothing serious, the doctor just wants to take a look.”

Last week my friend Kristi posted about one of her biggest pet peeves: people who ask stupid, obvious questions that could have been answered in TWO SECONDS by Google. Which is also one of my pet peeves. It is especially prevalent among pregnant women. As in “OMG I ordered an organic stone ground whole wheat veggie pizza and then ate it but it totally had SOFT CHEESE on it??!? Is my baby going to die!???!” (No) or “I’m, like, only 32 weeks pregnant and I’ve gained FOUR POUNDS! Is that too much??!” (Die in a fire) or “My husband want to have sex but I’m afraid he’s going to poke the baby in the head and leave a dent. Does that happen?????” (You are the reason Idiocracy is practically a documentary).

Anyways, I was thinking about my own pet peeves and realized most of them are driving related. How is it possible that there are SO MANY bad drivers, considering operating a car (unlike raising a child) is something the government actually requires a license to do.

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There’s a test and everything. In no particular order, things that make me scream and punch the steering wheel:

People who don’t understand stop signs
At the entrance to our Stop & Shop, there is a four way intersection with three stop signs. Incoming traffic is the one without a sign AND YET 99% of the time the car in front of me stops, usually for no reason. Although when there ISN’T a car in front of me there is always some idiot at one of the signs that thinks as long as they’ve paused for a second they magically have the right of way. I’m constantly almost t-boning someone who has suddenly pulled out even though I KNOW they saw me. I once had a lady roll down her window and yell “But I was already going! I can’t stop once I start to go!!” when I honked at her. Man, obviously she needs to get her brakes checked before she gets into an auto accident.

People who don’t understand parking
I could write a NOVEL on terrible parkers. Like the guy in the nice shiny Nissan 350Z who parked less than three inches away from my Jeep on the side with the car seat. Dude. You KNOW I need to open that door. If I could get my ass in that space you can bet your butt I’d swing my door open as hard as possible and leave you with a dent but since I am more than three inches wide all you get is a note on your windshield reminding you that you’re a douche-canoe. YOU’RE WELCOME.

Today it was the guy who parked in the middle of the road. It was a road in the park, so not extremely busy, but a real road with a name and lines and stop signs. His car was at the halfway mark between the curb and the double yellow line. I noticed him parked there on the way into the park and saw him getting in his car on the way out of the park with his fishing pole and bucket. The stupidest part – there is an actual parking lot MUCH CLOSER to the lake. Why not park down there? Are you allergic to convenience? I’ve also heard that our neighborhood is putting the best radar detector on areas where people constantly speed.

People who think the road is a sidewalk
This one is actually directed at pedestrians instead of drivers but it makes me practically blind with rage so I’m including it (I have issues). In the same park I mentioned above, there are miles and miles of walking trails, both paved and dirt. We use some of those paths for our Stroller Strides class so I can assure you they are well maintained and usually clear of giant rocks or branches. AND YET every time I drive the (very narrow, windy) roads I have to swerve suddenly to avoid walkers/runners treating the street as their own personal sidewalk. And then they glare at me. Death glares. As if I have suddenly driven my car right through a shopping mall and narrowly avoided killing several dozen school children and puppies. There was also a lady jogging in the street downtown next to a perfectly nice, clear sidewalk and blocking a whole line of cars from passing.

Speaking of biking, SHARE THE ROAD PEOPLE. Bikes are SUPPOSED to ride in the street. If it weren’t for morons like everyone in my town I could still take my bike to the grocery store without fear of being run over and left for dead.

*DEEP BREATH*

OK, I’m done. Feel free to share your own pet peeves – driving related or otherwise – in the comments. Rant begins: NOW.

Really I do. But this? IS RIDICULOUS.

Found in my mailbox. From my local Ocean State Job Lot flyer.

P.S. I am SO SORRY about the horrible blog loading time yesterday. My host swears it was totally random and not a real problem at all so it “shouldn’t happen again.” If you missed entering the giveaway because you didn’t have two hours to stare at a “loading…” page, PLEASE scroll down and do it today or some time in the next week!

Or maybe this weather Al Gore’s fault. I think just to be safe we should go ahead blame all dudes named Al and force them to fan us with giant palm leaves and spritz us with Evian. That’s getting off pretty easy if you ask me. What I COULD do is trap them in an unairconditioned house with a grumpy, rashy, non-napping baby who screams unless he is ON YOU at all times. Of course, to make them TRULY appreciate my pain they would need to be pregnant too. And now I have an image of an Al Roker-Al Gore love child suck in my head. Even air conditioning can’t help me now.

We’re currently headed into week three of what the weathermen like to call “unseasonable warmth” which is a bit of a misnomer as the only place you could call 95 degrees “seasonable” is the surface of the sun or the fourth circle of Hell.

(I’m watching the Today Show as I write this and they’re doing a story about Yellowstone, where it is cool and shady and pleasant. Jenna Bush is on my TV wearing a FLEECE JACKET. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a member of the Bush family more than I do right now.)

The real problem with this weather isn’t the actual temperature, it’s the duration. There are generally a few days every summer in late July or August where the humidity is out of control and the heat is unbearable and half the population runs off to Walmart to fist-fight for the last of the AC window units while the other half stands naked in front of box fans reminding themselves over and over that this too shall pass. When you know you’ve only got a couple weeks to go before Labor Day you can sweat through this kind of misery.

But it is JUNE, barely the start of summer in Connecticut, and I am one of the many many residents of the North East who have no air conditioning (or any hope of getting some – our windows are the wrong size, the house is too big and leaky to do much good, we can’t afford the unit OR the electricity). This is also barely the start of my second trimester, which seems to have gotten confused with my first trimester, since it’s given me all day nausea and zapped my energy and ripped away every ounce of patience I was clinging to when it comes to handling a toddler. The best I can do right now is pray for some relief from the afternoon thunderstorms the weatherman keeps promising but never seem to appear, drink iced tea by the gallon and refuse to move any more than absolutely necessary.

Or maybe move to Seattle. I hear they don’t have this problem.

Today started out so well. Baby Evan not only slept through the night, he slept IN, not making a peep until 8:30 am. E is home today so I got to pass the buck on the horrible morning diaper while I took a beautifully long shower. I managed to shave both legs, including above my knees, for the first time in weeks. Our possible agenda for the day included: going to the lake, boating, swimming, walking downtown for some lunch, Ikea, watching a movie, taking the baby to the park, the aquarium, or any number of other super awesome weekday-off-of-work summer activities we rarely get to do. We decided to start with Ikea (aka Home Design DisneyWorld). I packed up the diaper bag, changed the baby and ran downstairs to feed the cats before we left.

Actually, I only made it half way down the stairs. Then I noticed the water.

And then I noticed the smell.

This isn’t the first time we’ve had plumbing problems in this house. The day I moved in (E was at sea) the sewer backed up into the basement and I stood on the bottom step just staring at the mess until my father suggested I find a phonebook and call a plumber. I didn’t even know if the house HAD a phonebook. Eventually I got a guy to come out who hemmed and hawed and poked things and removed drain covers and stuck things in pipes for a couple of hours before declaring he had no idea what was wrong but we definitely needed a new line from the house to the street so did I happen to have $2,500 as a downpayment? Plus $200 for his opinion?

I fired him. Later, my neighbor said she hired him to do some work and he was even more of an idiot that I had originally suspected.

Fortunately, that first back-up turned out to be just a result of the house being empty for 8 months and my normal use of the plumbing for a couple of days flushed everything out. I lived in happy denial for 6 months.

The second back-up involved a dozen people stomping around the house hemming and hawing and looking for the problem and never really coming up with a permanent solution besides replacing the entire line out to the street. And that time it cost $800.

So this morning, although it’s been 2 years since the last backup, when I saw the water and smelled the smell I almost cried. Our plans for the day – for the week, maybe for the month – now all revolve around wet-vacs, rubber gloves, plumbers, RotoRooter, city workers, pipe cameras, and juggling bank accounts and credit cards until we figure out what exactly we have to do and how much it’s going to cost. Our plans for next week that previously included adding pantry shelves and a new workbench for E in the basement are now scrapped. Basically all the fun and joy and happiness in our lives has been sucked up along with gallons of (literal) crap by the shop-vac. Stupid, stupid house.

*One of the weirdest parts of our old house: random basement toilet. There isn’t an actual bathroom down there, just a sort of partition made out of random pieces of leftover plywood and a door that doesn’t shut. Also, no sink. Just a toilet. Which is where all the gross disgusting stuff that doesn’t make it out to the street line comes up. BLECH.