Hump Day

One nice thing about the husband going out of town is that I can do things I would never do with him around. For example, I haven't made the bed since he left. It has remained a nest of pillows with a hole carved out for my perpetual fetal position and my basketball belly. I have left dishes in the sink for days. Many of them I didn't know existed because they were buried in the very back of the cabinet. I have also been able to turn the TV on in the morning when I wake up and listen to the chatter of talking heads as I spend the time necessary to dig myself out of my nest. This morning, I turned the channel to Regis & Kelly, a show I have never been fond of but I usually get sucked in to and it's all Kelly's fault. Regis is rather predictable in his on screen banter but Kelly shoots from the hip, is reckless, slightly daring, and sometimes, very amusing. Today, she talked about the padded bra she was wearing under her skimpy pink tank top. I, too, am normally endowed with your average B-cup (but thanks to the wonders of growing a person in a person, you get a nice set of ta-tas for a quite a while...right now I'm shooting for a D-cup!) and was completely riveted by her confession of what her boobs looked like post nursing 3 children. As she described them, I kept thinking of yams in socks, sand in socks, soggy socks, things of this nature hanging from her tiny chest...AND I WAS HORRIFIED! So what's a girl to do to avoid this fate? Any suggestions, my friendly internet voyeurs? Further research must be done! My husband is a boob man (sorry, honey, but we both know it's true) so this is of grave concern to me. Jessica Alba, some actress that has come out of nowhere and is suddenly everywhere was a guest on the show. Among many covers of magazines her lovely figure has graced this month, one of them is Rolling Stone. It is impossible to overlook her lovely youthful cleavage but dammit if she didn't reassure Kelly that she was wearing shoulder pads in her bra to prop them up! *GASP!* And she's in her early twenties! I almost started clapping with glee! But then I realized what time it was and needed to get my buns, belly, and boobs out of bed and get ready for work.

Flying Solo

Eleven weeks and counting. Junebug will make his or her arrival in eleven short weeks. Am I ready? You bet! Am I prepared? Not in the least. Our house is without walls, floors, countertops and just about everything. A network of wires, plumbing and support beams are crudely exposed like a trauma patient on an operating table. When are the contractors gonna sew this project up? It's been rather quiet over there, too. Something about awaiting permits. My baby isn't going to wait on any permits before it arrives on the scene and all I know is, in eleven weeks, I better be perched in my new bed, in my new bedroom, in my new house with Junebug on one arm and my man on the other.

My husband is gone for the week to write songs in Nashville with country artists. This sort of trip is so far removed from his womanizing, misogynistic "Guy Fantasy" persona. I wonder if it will be difficult for him to switch creative gears so he can write those sappy "Honey, I love you and the kids and America" songs. I imagine him sitting in a room with some God-fearing, meat & three snacking, oversized (and successful) Nashville songwriter pondering a line to follow...

"When you walked away, baby
I knew that kinda love
was sent by the good Lord
from the heavens above..."

Guy's next line would most likely be...

"but my God is whiskey
in the jigger in my hand
and when it's empty I'll go join the band
at the edge of the stage, right next to the pole
where I can catch a glimpse of Bunny's sexy mole..."

Hee, hee.

I join him in a week and we'll drive to Kentucky to visit family for the Fourth of July. I'm thrilled about the trip but not the impending meals so I'm currently stocking up on all sorts of snacks to get me, Junebug, and hubby through. (Cue banjo music here.)

Baby All Weekend...And It's Wednesday Already?

On behalf of my husband's busy schedule, we attended an all day baby labor and delivery class this past Saturday. I couldn't imagine subjecting him to a collection of Thursday night sessions like some of my friends have to endure (Hello, Brent!). It was held in the waiting room of my OB's office from 9-4, a bataan death march of sorts. It was your typical Readers Digest version of a moment that will change your life forever distilled down to an abbreviated series of leg crossing, vagina clenching topics. You wonder if a) the instructor (a great nurse, by the way!) covered everything you need to know and b) if you'll remember anything she has said. We watched a video circa 1984 that highlighted 3 different deliveries by 3 different couples. In one, the woman barely made a whimper as her baby burst on the scene. Who delivers like that? You could barely hear her breath much less give birth. Her husband was saying all of the right things and they lived happily ever after. The second delivery was hilarious. Young couple, woman in what seemed to be a normal, painful labor and her youngish husband doing the best he could to console her. He stroked her hair (which she angrily made him stop doing), he blamed the labor on a philly cheesesteak sandwich she had eaten earlier, and held up a photograph of their calico cat for her to focus on. THAT provoked giant laughter from the group. It is suggested that we bring with us something visual to focus on when we are in labor but the random kitty head shot was just too funny! At the end of the all day course (filled with many potty breaks and rummaging through the basket of free cookies, candy, gum and breakfast bars), we toured the Seton Hospital delivery rooms. It's your standard intimidating collection of Frankenstein-esque beds with wires and gadets attached, hidden emergency medical gear, monitors and the uncomfortable reclining chair for dad to nap in and man the TV remote from. The tour ended with a peek into the delivery room where a newborn was getting it's first bath. A shiny new daddy was standing over the tiny bright pink person with a shellshocked, befuddled look on his face. It didn't help that 20 pregnant women and their spouses had just crowded the window to share his overwhelming moment. Poor fella.

Sunday was Junebug's karaoke baby shower and it went off without a hitch! Great fun was had by all! It didn't take as much effort as I thought it would to turn the Elk's Lodge banquet room (est. and still looks like 1953) into a cozy partying retreat. With the mammoth swimming pool, stuffed elk head and Austin skyline in the background, how could you go wrong? Many in utero thanks go to Sharon, Bonnie and Christi for their tireless help. I couldn't have done it without them. The "make a clay figurine for Junebug's room" table was a hit! I couldn't believe the creativity that resulted in tiny reditions of a fireman, rubber ducks, a rainbow, a cabaret performer, a rockin' skunk, a sword fighting mouse, and many, many others. Lest not forget the vagina and penis expertly crafted with a plastic baby sitting at the base of the member. I love my naughty girlfriends! Mommy will have place that one at the back of the display shelf. Sorry, girls.

My husband comandeered the karaoke machine switching back and forth between Guy Fantasy, David Bowie, Elvis, Mick Jagger, and himself. He was completely in his element heckling our friends and striking Ziggy Stardust poses. Junebug got some great gifts and mommy had fun opening them the next day as she recuperated from the lengthy event. The long day and late evening of loading out (daddy got to go play a show at the Hole In The Wall and missed the post-party clean-up, of course) kept me in bed most of the next day as I was swollen, sore and a bit disoriented. Whew!

Oh, about mom's date. Let's just say I put the kibosh on men who are almost 50 and live in duplexes, don't own their own business but make it sound like they do, and talk about their mother A LOT. Oh, and don't interrupt my little brother...ever! I'm not making a judgement call on all personalities or lifestyles of this nature, just when they have the potential to be with my fabulous mom.

It's All About Me

I must say that I'm doing a terrible job of keeping up with this blogging thing which makes me feel like I don't deserve to have my own blog. It would be easier to maintain if we were actually living in the home where we are paying a giant mortgage and where our wireless internet access is housed but instead we are pretending that the duplex we are living in now is home, sweet home and has everything we need.

I'm hosting my own baby shower this Sunday. I'm too much of a control freak to let someone else do it and besides, I don't have anything else to do (still need to pick out floors for the house under construction, design the kitchen cabinet layout, decide on exterior paint colors, plan the nursery, go to my day job, be a wife, grow a healthy child...). I'm calling the soiree "Junebug's Karaoke Baby Shower" and it's turning out to be quite the bash. Hopefully, I'll get everything done before it actually starts. My to do lists are ridiculously lenghty.

My mother and youngest brother (20-year-old fine hunk of paramedic/fireman) are making the four hour drive to the shower day of. She called night before last to tell me she's bringing a date to the shower (mother is somewhat recently divorced). She could barely contain her excitement. This is her first date post years of painful dishonesty with a man who really let her down. The "date" has no idea what he's in for. Being the eldest, I feel it is my duty to screen all prospective suitors interested in my wonderful and deserving mother and put them through a battery of tests, quizzes, physical agility feats, and personality screens. I also require a complete financial statement before date number two. We'll see how it goes.

I went to see my massuse last night and I got buffed to a blissful shine. She is truly remarkable in her technique and I can barely drive myself home after the treatment. Unfortunately, Junebug felt it necessary to train for some in utero marathon the whole hour so just as I'm channeling a nice warm spot on the beach in Kauaii, the baby's breaking pole vaulting records. At least I know the kiddo's active and alive.

Today is my glucose screening at the doctor's office. I get to drink a very unnaturally orange beverage and then have blood drawn. My friend, Wendy, claims the drink is REALLY good. In fact, she's mentioned it a couple of times. I'm waiting for her to offer me money for it any minute.

Friday Solitude

I just ate a whole foot long coney WITH ONIONS, MUSTARD, CHEESE AND CHILI from Sonic. I ate the whole thing. And tator tots. With ketchup. I can't even remember the last time I went to a Sonic. It's been a few years, at least. I originally wanted a steak sandwich but it's no longer on the menu. All kinds of un-Soniclike stuff is though...chicken wraps, salads, PowerAid slushes. What happened? I do eat well nearly all of the time and prefer to eat healthy but being pregnant makes you crave the most unhealthy foods. My problem is I'll see somebody eating something and I'll want it. Just want to take it from them and eat it. That's how I wound up at Sonic. After paying a small fortune for a collection of faucets and shower doo-dads for the house, I drove by Sonic on my way back to the office. I could see a long line of silvery burger wrappers in the hands car diners. I didn't really internalize the effect it had until I was running errands after work. There was the Sonic again and without hesitation, I turned the car to the left, sped to a vacant stall and within minutes, my coney combo had arrived. Almost ordered a root beer float, too, but I do try to have some self control.

The husband is out of town this weekend. He plays music for a living and thankfully, he makes a living at it. I enjoy our brief moments apart. I'm sure he concurs. When we first started dating, he toured constantly. I signed up for that arrangement. I liked saying hello and goodbye with such frequency. He kept that new car smell. It's been about 3 1/2 years since he's been on the road for an extended period of time. Now, with a new musical endeavor under his white star studed belt, the road beckons again and before too long the new car smell will return. Or will it? He does have his first offspring on the way. Stay tuned.

A Dysfunctional Debut

I have finally managed to find the time (and many reasons) to create a blog. For months, it has been a manifestation eloquently written in my mind on a daily basis but actually getting this thing to become a reality has been a challenge. So, now, here it is and it feels pretty dang good.

I have only recently begun reading other peoples blogs, namely "mommie" blogs, and find them to be a great outlet for the quirks of everyday life. In my case, things have gotten very quirky. I am in my 26th week of pregnancy and have a burning desire (yes, similar to prenatal heartburn) to write about this very surreal and life changing event. In addition to my child's impending arrival and very present state of being in my belly, my husband and I are in the midst of remodeling our home (it MIGHT be ready by the time Junebug makes its appearance). This situation has forced us to relocate temporarily down the street from the chaotic scene and we can now view the construction from a safe distance. Right behind our shack-to-a-castle dwelling, an overzealous developer is cramming 10 3-story condos in a lot once home to a peacefull collective of homeless beer-in-a-bag drinkers. I miss their jungle of privacy and mystery. Now, with all underbrush and trees removed, the temperature on our block it 10 degrees hotter, much noiser, and condusive to construction workers helping themselves to our backyard contents (I hope you enjoy the patio bricks!).

So in the coming hours, days, weeks, years even, I will describe the details of what it's like in this little world of mine and I truly hope you find some enjoyment, entertainment, and encouragement in it. Anon.