this american life.

8 PM, Sunday:

I am sitting on the floor in a skirt and tank top, with my upper body stuffed into the cabinet under the sink. I am using an allen wrench and the handle of a toilet plunger in an attempt to unstick the flywheel of my garbage disposal. Upstairs, my husband is catering to our girls, who are having a bedtime snack of carrots and loudly requesting to watch Alice Cooper videos on YouTube.

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still pregnant – an update.

bun.jpg

I like to make pathetic attempts at creating some semblance of order on my blog. I’ve done Half-Nekkid Thursday, Five on Friday, and I once had a photo caption contest. But my pregnancy makes me a feature in an anthropological freak show and gives me something to write about. It also gives me a free pass to eat as many Toll House cookie ice cream sandwiches as I want to without guilt. So there.

Anyway, this is my new feature. It’s a pregnancy update. And of course, it’s in bulleted list form.

WEEK 17

  • Fat: 9 pounds. Much better than last time, when I’m pretty sure I had already gained 30 pounds by this point.
  • Craving: Chocolate malts. Turkey salad sandwiches from Heavenly Ham. Sounds disgusting, right? But it’s so good. On a croissant with lettuce, tomato, and havarti. With barbecue chips. I’m hungry again.
  • Aversions: Marinara sauce of any kind, on anything. Parmesan cheese (had this one last time, too). Chicken, mostly for the texture.
  • Body weirdness: My veins are angry. I’m genetically predisposed to this, but damn. I even have a little spidery vein on my wrist. Constipation. Heartburn, oh my god, from everything. Even water. How does that happen?
  • Emotional weirdness: I really like looking at pictures of bunnies on CuteOverload. It makes me really happy. Bunnies make me think of babies.
  • And the baby: Little kicks now and again, but the kid’s only the size of a turnip, and I was kinda fat to start with, so I don’t feel a whole lot yet. Should find out the sex in a couple of weeks.
  • Anything else: I made a baby registry on Target. Because I fucking love the Target. It’ll be further updated when we find out the sex.

it’s romantic, in a way.

I’ve written before about the ridiculous conversations Scott & I have in bed. They’re usually bizarre, perverse, and probably to anyone but us, disgusting. Last night’s was a good one.

It’s been determined that, should either of us ever lose a bet to the other, the winner gets to administer an enema of any choice of liquid to the loser. Scott would get coffee or olive oil, and I’d end up with Code Red Mountain Dew or Orange Crush.

But that doesn’t come anywhere near the time we discussed what life would be like if you pooped out your bellybutton.

the man who drove the snakes away.

Yesterday was the first St. Patrick’s I’ve not really celebrated in a long time. No Irish Lion. No Guinness. No Bushmills. I’m not Irish, but it’s still a tradition. I guess I could have had an O’Douls. Or I could have made these delicious-sounding Guinness cupcakes.

Kya and I went to the grocery after school for some green-iced cupcakes and ingredients for pizza. On our way to our car, we passed a fat, bearded dude wearing a tall green-and-white-striped hat driving a low rider.

“Look, Mom! A leprechaun! Let’s catch him and get his gold!” she said to me.

“That’s not a leprechaun, honey. That’s just a fat guy with a hat on his way to get drunk,” I replied.

baby fever.

One of my best friends from high school had a baby Tuesday… welcome to this mad, mad world, Katherine Claire! Be thankful your mother doesn’t listen to so much ska anymore!

I can now feel the baby inside me kicking. It’s strange and really wonderful, and it’s making this pregnancy seem more and more real. I have about five weeks until my ultrasound, after which it will really hit me. Right now, I know very little about this baby, other than it’s likely to have about six names and has a good chance of being the tallest kid in its class.

Kya suggested the name “Firebutter” the other day. This is in addition to her suggestions of “Rosebud” and “Diego.”

to aughra, on her birthday.

Dear Aughra,

Happy 11,315-day Birthday! I wish I could present you an ice cream cake in person, because you totally deserve it. You’re one of my most favorite people in the entire world, and I’m so glad I got to know you off the Net. Just think, if I hadn’t had cervix and vein issues, I might never have actually emailed you! Okay, I probably would have, but still – those are the circumstances that brought us together.

As if you weren’t badass enough in the online world, you’re even more amazing in person. You’re classy and funny and bitchy and calm and collected and fancy and supportive and pretty much just incredible. You’re the ultimate super-mom, and you make it look good. You can run ten miles. I can barely drive ten miles, it’s boring. You send me the best care packages and clothing hand-me-downs, which I love. You have excellent taste in basically everything, from skirts to hairstyles to ice cream. You know more about dildos and buttplugs than any mother I’ve met, and I’ve never had such a good time in a cemetery.

Thank you for being such a true, wonderful friend. Hope you have a fantastic birthday with minimal sickness.

See you next month!

Love,

Jenn