Old People Are Pissing Me Off

And I'm not talking "old" like my grammie and grampie (in their late 80's), I'm talking about those damn meme's that are in their 60's and have bad dye-jobs.

I just left an intramural soccer game at The Kid's school and I was sitting behind one of these meme's, which is where my bad mood started. Keep in mind that this was an intramural game - no high stakes, no trophies, no World Cup, just a bunch of kids running around chasing a soft yellow "soccer" ball in a pint-sized gym.

"Come on Hannah! Block the ball Hannah! Run Hannah! Good block Hannah! Dribble the ball Hannah, dribble the ball." And on, and on, and on. Jesus God. Really? And then when Hannah would miss-kick, "What ah ya doin' Hannah? Get on that ball Hannah!"

It's a f'ing intramural game grammaw! Half the kids playing in this game are doing so because they're not qualified to play "real" soccer. Just ask my kid, "Syd, are you good at soccer?"

"Um, no. I pretty much suck. But that's why I play intramural's. I can still play but just have fun."

And that's the way it should be.

So then I decided that I needed a change of scenery today since half of my office is disassembled upstairs and the other half is re-assembled in the basement, I've made the decision that I'll surf all the free Internet I can find in town today (meaning Panera, Border's and the library). I no sooner get to Panera and another one of these goddamn meme's is bitching because there's no light roast coffee in the urn. And as the manager comes walking out of the back with an urn in each hand she huffs and says, "Oh! So there you are. I was wondering if we were ever going to get some light roast."

It's a good thing I'm not the manager. I would have thrown the light roast right at her, hopefully drenching her ugly snowman sweatshirt and her ugly mouse-brown dye job. I mean, really, if you're going to dye your hair, at least pick a decent color.

24 Weeks and 15 Pounds

I was sitting in a client meeting yesterday with my legs crossed ever so daintily (which, btw, is no easy feat when you've got a protruding belly). I had an itch on the back of my thigh and when I rubbed my hand over it to scratch it, I actually FELT cellulite THROUGH my pants.

Seriously?!?

And while the doctor assures me that my 15 lb. weight gain over the last 24 weeks is entirely normal, I'm so grossed out by the fact that I can actually feel cellulite through my clothes that I can barely even stand it.

Here's what's interesting though. When I was pregnant with The Kid, I put on a total of 50 pounds - so right around the 24 week mark I was probably 10 pounds heavier than I am now. And I didn't care! So why am I so body conscious now?

I'm 31, feel like my boobs are becoming cow udders and my thighs are permanently soldered together. Shaving my legs has become a chore and if I stand on my feet to long, my socks leave little lined in my calves. I sleep sitting up because I have heartburn from everything I eat, whether it's a cookie or an apple.

Hi, my name is Stacie. I'm 31 and pregnant. And I fear there's no amount of therapy that will cure me.

The Ultrasound

Last week we went in for the standard 18-20 week anatomy scan of the baby. For weeks, the boy has stressed about his reaction if it wasn't a boy. I assured him that, if he were to swear out loud, it would be okay - he's surely not the first dad to be pissed off that they're having a girl instead of the coveted boy.

Instead, I was the one swearing. No, more like demanding that the ultrasound tech take it back. She lead me on, first of all. Which is entirely unfair to a hormonally imbalanced pregnant woman who has had just about enough of tween drama.

"See those three little dots right there?" she asked.

"Uh-huh....." I responded dreamily, my eyes quickly misting with tears at our good fortune to have a boy. 3 dots surely means two testicles and a little turtle, right?

"It's a girl!"

I nearly punched her in the face. A girl?!? What?!? How am I supposed to deal with that? How, when I am FORTY-TWO-years-old am I going to deal with a whining tween coming home from school, rolling her eyes and telling me how wrong I am about everything that comes out of my mouth.

At nearly FIFTY, how am I supposed to deal with horny boys and eating disorders? I am not prepared for such things.

In the elevator, the boy tried to console me, "maybe there's still time honey - maybe one will grow."

My reply? "Honey, if it's this small now, I don't want it to be a boy. No son of mine will bear that burden."

Of course, now the guilt is setting in. My rational side is telling me that I waited a long time for this baby. I should be thrilled, even if it is a girl. I should feel blessed and overjoyed that we will soon be parents for a second time.

Instead, I'm a neurotic mess (this seems to be a golden thread that runs throughout my life). So, welcome to the family Ella Alexandra. Your mom's a neurotic nut job, your dad has decided not to put you up for sale on eBay as was his original plan if you were a girl and your sister has already picked out your wardrobe for the next 5 years of your life. We love you, even if we are crazy as hell.

The Weekend Wrap-Up

So yeah, the weekend officially ended like, 5 days ago. And there is a new one starting in approximately 7 hours, but hey, who's counting? And the fact that I'm just getting around to posting about my ever-so-exciting weekend of last, we're all just gonna go with it.

#1. I found shit in my bathroom cabinet. Not like crap that people don't bother putting away - actual HUMAN FECES folks. On toilet paper.

Now, I know my own kid well enough by now to understand that she would not do such a thing. And certainly the boy and I would not do this either. So who exactly wipes their ass and then puts the dirty toilet paper in my bathroom cabinet with my nice Downy-fresh towels? Oh, that might be the neighbor kid across the street who I heard going through my cabinets when she was using the loo the last time she was over. And I know it's her because she's the only other person that's been in our house since then. Hm.

#2. My kid was offered a Playboy. By the same neighbor girl. Who's like, 8. WTF? She came over to our house and was like, "you've got to come over, I've got to show you something." Apparently, she'd been in her parents room and (shockingly!) been pilfering through their private spaces (between the mattress - how original) only to come up with a Playboy which she promptly hid in her own bedroom to show my kid. Lovely.

The first question that I have is, "why is she rifling between her parents mattress?" The second question I have is, "why must I have this knowledge?" I can no longer look out my kitchen window without seeing the man who owns the Playboy and getting visuals that no one should ever have. Short, squat and with a beer belly, he's a man that loves his leaf blower a little too much.

#3. I wasted 3 hours of my life that I will never get back at the spanking new Wal*Mart Super Center. It's a lot like Meijer's. Which was a little nostalgic for me. Anyway, the Sunday before many kids went back to school, 30 lanes open, every one of them 15 people deep. Who do I end up in line with? The old lady on the motorized scooter with an 18-pack of Ensure, a 24-pack of Busch Light and a value-size pack of Depends. I didn't actually talk to her, but I desperately wanted to take her picture and post it - too bad I couldn't find an excuse to get in front of her and do it.

#4. I realized the boy has no clue what Orange Crush is. Again, I ask, WTF? Sometimes I wonder if his parents kept him locked in a closet when he was little. We attended an outdoor wedding reception this weekend (which was in the middle of "Hurricane Danny") and of course I couldn't drown my sorrows at the open bar, so I opted for an Orange Crush. Dan walks up and asks for one, only to get in an argument with the bartender. When he is handed said can of Crush, he is thoroughly confused because he is thinking an orange slushy-type thing. I promptly edumacated him that it also comes in Strawberry and Grape. Yikes.

#5. I bought a new-to-me-vehicle. Without consulting the boy. Which is exactly what he gets for buying a new truck and plow last fall without consulting me first. I am still sticking out my tongue at him over that one.

So that's my weekend wrap-up. I'm headed north for the weekend to visit the 'rents for a night and then Sunday and Monday I have a wee bit of work to do. I've been bit of a slacker lately and it shows. Have a fun and safe holiday weekend!

Summer is Officially Over

I truly believe that summer is over. Although we're supposed to reach 80 in a few days, it won't be the same 80 that we had last week.

And that's just fine with me. 80 and humid sucks - when you're pregnant, it sucks even more.

We're slowly getting ready to ease back into a routine. The kid is excited to go back to school, I'm excited to do the same and my mind is swimming with all the things I need to get done before February. It's a long list and includes moving my office to the basement where I'd really like to make some major changes so that it's a little more "homey" and inviting. The prospect of working next to the hum of the furnace and staring at the washer and dryer is not exactly appealing, but done right, I think it will be alright. That is my major fall project - I'll post pictures and you can be the judge of how well I do.

The summer has been productive though we didn't do anything major at all. Just laid around, spent lots of time at the pool and the kid learned about money management with not one, but two, jobs that she juggled. Pretty impressive for a 10-year-old. Now she's looking forward to May when she's 11 and can take the Red Cross Babysitters Class. When we were in NYC for her birthday we of course visited the American Girl store where she purchased a babysitter's kit, complete with business cards. She's got them filled out and ready to go. Bless her heart.

Hopefully now that fall is nearly here, I'll be visiting the blog more frequently. I'm having a hard time deciding what direction to take it - should it stay the same? Or change? I have lots of creative projects in mind that I'd like to talk about, but are those really as funny as my bitchy comments about the world around me? Probably not. And I could spend a lot of time bitching about pregnancy over 30 (because, by the way, it's a hell of a lot different than when you're pregnant at 21), but I feel like that might be bad jou-jou. Of course, after the baby is born, I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories about how our life has been turned upside down, how Dan is bitching about diaper changing (he opposes cloth, I think it's more environmentally friendly - and besides, what's the difference between disposing of dog crap and disposing of baby crap?) and how we're dealing with two kids that are a decade apart. It should be fun. But for now, I'll just keep rambling and showcase my slowly but sure changing office in the basement. Good times.

See you soon.

This Much I Know

Being pregnant is a lot like having constant PMS.

If you're a man, you only know that this means I'm being bitchy.

If you're a woman, you know that this means I'm tired, bitchy, feeling ginormous, having headaches, not sleeping well, have swelling feet and back pain.

So, here's the scoop. I'm totally not complaining - I'm only stating the absolute truth. My family is currently walking on eggshells, not sure if I'm going to be Happy Harriette or Psycho Sally at any given moment. But the other night tops all others to date.

Our neighbors are away doing who knows what and their just-barely-21-year-old children decided to throw a party the other night. Now, our bedroom window faces their house, so all of their wonderful yelling, bottle throwing and illegal firework playing assaulted us like Lionel Richie - all night long.

Just as I dozed off, I woke up to go to the bathroom (of course - what's a full night's sleep?) As I stumble downstairs, willing myself to not completely wake up thinking my chances of falling right back to sleep are greater if I can at least keep my eyes half closed, I go tinkle and flush. No sooner had I walked out of the bathroom and laid one foot on the hallway floor when I heard the tell-tale sign of a toilet that was not going to flush. No, it was definitely filling, quickly.

And before I could reach the plunger, it over-flowed.

Does life get any worse than being pregnant, half-asleep and plunging a toilet while cursing whoever took the offending shit that clogged it? It only gets worse when you realize that you still need to clean up the bathroom floor and you're now definitely fully awake.

Not surprisingly, no one in the house will admit to being the offending shitter and I've been Psycho Sally for two days.

Holy Shit. It's Stacie.

Summer vacation is half-way over and our 1st trimester is at a close.

Hallelujah.

Overall, I'm not as crazy as I thought I would be with the kid home all the time, and my moodiness has nearly disappeared. What I am totally disgusted with is the weather - why has it rained all summer?

Last week my sister came for a visit, which was fun, and the weather was good so we weren't cooped up inside. Although, between a 14-year-old girl and a 10-year-old girl, I think we definitely came to the conclusion that military school might be in order for our oldest - at least if she gets that moody and mouthy.

And it wasn't even moody and mouthy to my face (or the kid's), it was behind closed doors and via email, which was a little disheartening. If you think your niece is being a spoiled snotty bitch, tell her to her face - don't waste your time emailing all your friends about how you can't wait until she gets her ass kicked in middle school so that you can laugh in her face and then forget to sign out of your email so I end up reading it.

Yikes.

Of course, I didn't want to confront her because I felt a little bit like I had invaded her privacy. And, I know for sure that my kid can be a spoiled snotty bitch, absolutely. In fact, I've told her as much on occasion. But to email it and then act sweet to her face? Not okay.

And, before you think I'm throwing stones in glass houses, bear in mind that if I'm bitchy to someone in my blog, I'm bitchy to their face; that includes the neighbors across the street.

So, we'll see what the rest of the summer brings. I'm feeling like the "other kid" is a girl, but the heartbeat is at 126 which is old-wives-tale boy-range. The boy is hoping for a boy - and after last week with my sister, it's become an absolute necessity for him. In fact, the other day he asked, "if it's a girl and I swear out loud at the ultrasound, do you think the doctor will be mad at me?"

I've assured him that it probably happens more often than he knows.