Friday, May 29, 2015

In which we use Facebook to remember what the crap happened for four months . . .

To be perfectly honest, my pregnancy was so jam-packed with major events that the little times in-between fade into some kind of sleepy, sickly blur.

We moved into Chris's parent's house while we waited for our possessions to arrive in that giant moving truck. The rental home we would be renting was cute, exactly what we needed, and, on the surface, appeared spotless. Opening the cabinets, however, revealed sticky residue, dirt, BEARD TRIMMINGS (not even kidding), and a wealth of cockroach turds.
Yes, yes, I about lost it over that last one.

From Facebook: 
  • So today we started cleaning out the new rental because, even though it's pretty nice, the previous boarders didn't believe in wiping down anything.
    I'm pretty sure they were cavemen. Or college students. Same difference, right?
    Me: "Good news! The stuff you thought was mildew--not mildew! Wipes right up. .......... I hope it's not poop."
    Chris: "Yeah, I think that's roach poop."
    Me: "No no no no no no NO. Do NOT tell me that. There's no where to hide. Where could they be?"
    Chris: "In the walls."
    Me: "NO DO NOT TELL ME THAT."Chris: "Welcome to Florida."
    I'm declaring war. All out war, folks.

Followed by this a few weeks later . . .

  • "CHRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSS!!!! KILL IT!!! KILL IT WITH FIRE!!!!! IT IS AN AGENT OF DARKNESS SEEKING REFUGE FROM THE LIGHT!!!! I can still see it, signs of it, it hasn't moved, foul demon! Chris! You have to kill it! It may have beat death, but it can't beat you! Hurry! Aaaaaaaaah!!!! It's climbing up the wall! Spawn of hell! Kill it!! KIIILLL IIIIIIIIIIT!!! Oh, thank God. Thank you! No, I won't flush it, I'm above it. You flush it. But I mean, you're above it, too, I mean--"
    "You can flush your own dang roach, woman!"

    I can't sleep now. Everywhere I look I picture them, hiding in dark corners, those wicked skinny antenna twitching, scheming, laughing at the humans who cannot defeat them.

    Stupid bathroom roach. Ruined my bedtime

Just so you know, the roaches returned with the spring rains. In Florida, it doesn't matter how clean your house is--when it rains, the roaches decide they should check-in. You know, make sure you're comfortable and happy SO THEY CAN RUIN IT ALL.
As Aragorn astride his mighty steed urged the men of Gondor to stand against the might of Mordor, so I rallied my strength and declared war on all six-legged demons who dared to invade my castle.
By, you know, begging Chris to go buy a DIY home pest control kit.
Haven't seen one since.
My kitchen, however, is still in shambles and recovering from the attack.
Your kitchen would be, too, if you found roach turds in your casserole dishes -_-

ANYWAYS . . . . 

I was pregnant, so there were, apparently, oodles of posts asking about what brand of diaper bag is best or what baby products you can't live without or how tips for trying a natural birth (you want to know how to make your page explode? Ask people about natural birth, vaccines, and politics). There were innumerable posts about puking (forgive me . . . but that was kind of my existence) and a few on weird pregnancy dreams and symptoms.

Nineteen weeks! I just barely had a bump!
From Facebook:

  • Had a dream that Rick from "The Walking Dead" and I were trying to construct a safe haven in a cabin in the woods. Unfortunately, our weapons were not sharp enough and the zombies had evolved to not only speak but use tools against us. The most terrifying bit? All the zombies were former infomercial sales reps still trying to convince us to buy Shamwows for the undead .......
    I couldn't make this up if I tried.
  • Dear Digestive Track:
    Stop this ridiculous nonsense.
    First off, every website, doctor, blog post, Facebook comment, TV show, and book tells me you should be back to normal by now. THEY ALL SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES. A porcelain throne of liiiiiiiiiiieeeesssssss.
    Secondly, stop telling my brain that you're starving ALL THE TIME. You are not a bottomless pit. You have limited space. I cannot possibly fit more food inside you, and yet you're sending very whiny signals to my brain that you really could for more in there. In fact, you NEED more. WHICH IS A LIE. The only place that food is going is straight to my hips, and we most certainly do not need any more of that nonsense.
    Screw it.

    Against all odds and reason, I am starving.

  • "Chris, I had a dream that I gave birth in the back of a fifteen passenger van. At first, the baby wasn't breathing, but then we did like CPR and he was okay, so that was great ...... Also, he looked like a potato alien."
    "Don't you think ALL newborns look like potato aliens?"
    "Well ..... yeah .... but ours especially so. I had hopes he would eventually grow into his forehead."
    So now you know what my subconscious dreads:
    --labor in weird places

    --terrifying complications

    --large-foreheaded offspring that resembles a Mr Potato Head.
 I also ate a LOT of Chick-Fil-A Cool Chicken Wraps.
Because mama got preggo cravings, man. 

 And I was so STINKIN' happy to reach twenty weeks and be halfway done that I did this:

And then I posted it on Instagram for the ENTIRE internet to see . . . . I have no regrets.

  Aaaaaaaand shortly afterwards, we got to make this announcement:

I've gotta tell ya, seeing that little guy with his feet up by his ears flashing us his manhood, I shed a single, quiet tear.
I knew we would adore a little girl to bits and pieces, but Chris and I have always wanted boys--little mancubs to run wild and adventure with.  I've thought little boys were the coolest from the time I was seventeen and started babysitting this trio of brothers who would rearrange the furniture so they could do flips around the living room. Coolest dudes EVER.
And then we discovered we were having one of our own! Chris was proud as a peacock.

 Oh! And I was teaching!
You see, when my teacher friends in Florida discovered I was moving back, they asked me if I would be willing to teach first period tenth grade English. The fun bit? I would have some of my old seventh graders!!! While it was definitely difficult due to my overwhelming I'm-growing-a-miniature-human exhaustion, I absolutely loved it. I miss those kids like crazy.
I don't miss the grading. At all.
But I definitely miss the kids and working in a classroom.

From Facebook:
  • Are we really learning ANYTHING in English II??? Oh golly, I hope so. The highlight today was discussing the potency of the wine Odysseus used to inebriate the Cyclops before stabbing him in the eye ..... which of course led to questions on other alcoholic beverages ....... because, you know, that's an all-important mystical topic of mystery to the American teenager ..... or something ..... Then, of course, they all assumed he was taking molly and not moly to avoid Circe's enchantments ..... Parents, I really am trying to be a good influence, here, I swear ..... 
 P.S. I'd like to think that we DID learn something and had fun doing it, but you'd have to ask my former students about that one.
So, really, that was pretty much life: pretty good minus the queasies.
Oh, and that time the dude at Dunkin' Donuts screwed up my order and my LIFE.
Okay, so maybe it was just my evening, but it FELT like my life.

From Facebook/Instagram:

  • How to Enrage a Pregnant Woman In One Easy Step: screw up her doughnut order. I dunno, maybe it's my fault, but, previously, when ordering a dozen doughnuts, I've listed four varieties and received three of each flavor. Today, he gave me not a mix of Boston Creme, Pumpkin, Blueberry, or Glazed Cake doughnuts. Nope. He gave me ONE of each of the three good ones and NINE cake doughnuts minus the glaze ...... and I didn't notice until I was home and too hungry to care. The hubs and I have each eaten a cake doughnut out of pure desperation and bitterness. There goes my desserts for the week squint emoticon ‪#‎doughnutfail‬


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